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JAMES   R.  OSGOOD   &    CO.,  Boston. 


Claries  Heme's  Morfc^ 

ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  EDITION. 

PEG  WOFFINGTON,   CHRISTIE 
JOHNSTONE,  Etc., 

AND 

A    SIMPLETON. 


BY 


CHARLES    READE. 


TWO    VOLUMES    IN    ONE. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.    OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknok  &  Fields,  and  Fiklds,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1876. 


author's  edition. 


University  Press:  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

Peg  Woffington 5 

Curistie  Johnstone 97 

Clouds  and  Sunshine 185 

Art  :  a  Dramatic  Tale 2:31 

Propria  qu.e  Maribus 267 

The  Box  Tunnel 295 

Jack  of  all  Trades 303 


PEG    WOFFINGTON, 
CHRISITE     JOHNSTONE, 


ETC, 


TO 
T.    TAYLOR,    ESQ., 

MY    FRIEND,    AND    COADJUTOR    IN    THE    COMEDY    OF 

"MASKS  AND   FACES," 

TO  WHOM  THE  READER  OWES  MUCH  OF  THE    REST  MATTER   IN    THIS    TALE  I 

i 

AND 

TO    TIIE    MEMORY    OF   MARGARET    WOEFINGTON, 
falsely  summed  up  until  to-day, 

THIS 

"dramatic    Gtorn" 

IS   INSCRIBED   by 

CHARLES  READE. 

LoSDOS,  December  15,  1852. 


PEG   WOFFMGTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  the  last 
century,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  in  a  large  but  poor  apartment, 
a  man  was  slumbering  on  a  rough 
coach.  His  rusty  and  worn  suit  of 
black  was  of  a  piece  with  bis  uncarpet- 
cd  room,  the  deal  table  of  borne  manu- 
facture, and  its  slim  nnsnuil'ed  candle. 

The  man  was  Triplet,  scene  paint- 
er, actor,  and  writer  of  sanguinary 
plays,  in  which  what  ought  to  be,  viz. 
truth,  plot,  situation,  and  dialogue, 
were  not ;  and  what  ought  not  to  be, 
were  :  scilicet,  small  talk,  big  talk,  fops, 
ruffians,  and  ghosts. 

His  three  mediocrities  fell  so  short 
of  one  talent,  that  he  was  sometimes 
impransus. 

He  slumbered,  but  uneasily;  the 
dramatic  author  was  uppermost,  and 
his  "Demon  of  the  Hayloft"  hung 
upon  the  thread  of  popular  favor. 

On  his  uneasy  slumber  entered  from 
the  theatre  .Mrs.  Triplet. 

She  was  a  lady  who  in  one  respect 
fell  behind  her  husband;  she  lacked 
bis  variety  in  ill-doing,  but  she  re- 
covered herself  by  doing  her  one  thinp 
a  shade  worse  than  lie  did  any  of  his 
three.  She  was  what  is  called  in  prim 
sport  an  actress;  she  had  just  cast  her 
mite  of  discredit  on  royalty  by  playing 
the  Queen,  and  had  trundled  home 
the  moment  the  breath  was  outofher 
royal  body.  She  came  in  rotatorj 
with  fatigue,  and  fell,  gristle,  into  a 
chair  ;   she   wrenched   from   her   brow 

a  diadem  and  eyed  it  with  contempt, 
took  from  her  pocket  a  Bausage,  and 

1* 


contemplated  it  with  respect  and  affec- 
tion, placed  it  in  a  frying-pan  on  the 
fire,  and  entered  her  bedroom,  mean- 
ing to  don  a  loose  wrapper,  and  de- 
throne herself  into  comfort. 

But,  the  poor  woman  was  shot  walk- 
ing by  Morpheus,  and  subsided  alto- 
gether; for  dramatic  performances, 
amusing  and  exciting  to  youth  seated 
in  the  pit,  convey  a  certain  weariness 
to  those  bright  beings  who  sparkle 
on  the  stage  for  bread  and  cheese. 

Royalty,  disposed  of,  still  left  its 
trail  of  events.  The  sausage  began 
to  "  spit."  The  sound  was  hardly 
out  of  its  body,  when  poor  Triplet 
writhed  like  a  worm  on  a  hook. 
"  Spitter,  spittest,"  went  the  sausage. 
Triplet  groaned,  and  at  last  his  in- 
articulate murmurs  became  words  : 
"That's  right,  pit,  now  that  is  so 
reasonable  to  condemn  a  poor  fellow's 
play  before  you  have  heard  it  out." 
Then,  witli  a  change  of  tone,  "  Tom," 
muttered  he,  "they  are  losing  their 
respect  for  spectres;  if  they  do.  hun- 
ger will  make  a  ghost  of  me."  Next, 
he  fancied  the  clown  or  somebody  bad 
got  into  his  ghost's  costume. 

"Dear,"  said  the  poor  dreamer, 
"the  clown  makes  a  very  pretty  spec- 
tre, with  bis  ghastly  white  face,  and 
bis  blood  hollered  cheeks  and  nose. 
1  never  saw  the  fun  of  aclown  before, 
no  !  no  !  no  !  it  is  not  the  clown,  it  is 
worse,  much  worse;  ()  dear,  uub!" 
and  Triplet  rolled  oil'  the  couch  like 
Richard  the  Third,  lie  sat  a  moment 
on  the  floor,  with  a  finger  in  each  eye  ; 
and  then,  finding  be  was  neither  daub- 
ing, ranting,  nor  deluging  earth  with 


10 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


"  acts,"  he  accused  himself  of  indo- 
lence, and  sat  down  to  write  a  small 
tale  of  blood  and  bombast;  he  took  his 
seat  at  the  deal  table  with  some  alacrity, 
for  he  had  recently  made  a  discovery. 

How  to  write  well,  rim  <jue  ecla. 

"  First,  think  in  as  homely  a  way 
as  you  can  ;  next,  shove  your  pen  un- 
der the  thought,  and  lift  it  by  poly- 
syllables to  the  true  level  of  fiction  " ; 

triplet's  facts. 

A  farthing  dip  is  on  the  table. 

It  wants  snuffing. 

He  jumped  up,  and  snuffed  it  with 
his  fingers.  Burned  his  fingers,  and 
swore  a  little. 


Before,  however,  the  mole  Triplet 
could  undermine  literature  and  level 
it  with  the  dust,  various  interruptions 
and  divisions  broke  in  upon  his  de- 
sign, and  sic  nos  servavit  Apollo.  As 
he  wrote  the  last  sentence,  a  loud  rap 
came  to  his  door.  A  servant  in  livery 
brought  him  a  note  from  Mr.  Vane, 
dated  Covcnt  Garden.  Triplet's  eyes 
sparkled,  he  bustled,  wormed  himself 
into  a  less  rusty  coat,  and  started  off 
to  the  Theatre  Royal,  Covcnt  Gar- 
den. 

In  those  days,  the  artists  of  the  pen 
and  the  brush  ferreted  patrons,  instead 
of  aiming  to  be  indispensable  to  the 
public,  the  only  patron  worth  a  single 
gesture  of  the  quill. 

Mr.  Vane  had  conversed  witli  Trip- 
let, that  is,  let  Triplet  talk  to  him  in 
a  coffee-house,  and  Triplet,  the  most 
tauguine  of  unfortunate  men,  bad  al- 
ready built  a  series  of  expectations 
upon  that  interview,  when  this  note 
arrived.  Leaving  him  on  his  road 
from  Lambeth  to  Covcnt  Garden,  we 
must  introduce  more  important  per- 
Bonages. 

Mr.  Vane  was  a  wealthy  gentleman 
from  Shropshire,  whom  business  had 
called  to  London  four  months  ago, 
and  now  pleasure  detained.     Business 


(when  done,  find  a  publisher — if  you 
can).  "This,"  said  Triplet,  "insures 
common  sense  to  your  ideas,  which 
does  pretty  well  for  a  basis,"  said 
Triplet,  apologetically,  "  and  elegance. 
to  the  dress  they  wear."  Triplet, 
then  casting  his  eyes  round  in  search 
of  such  actual  circumstances  as  could 
be  incorporated  on  this  plan  with  fic- 
tion, began  to  work  thus  :  — 

triplet's  fiction. 

A  solitary  candle  cast  its  pale  gleams 
around. 

Its  elongated  wick  betrayed  an  own- 
er steeped  in  oblivion. 

He  rose  languidly,  and  trimmed  it 
with  an  instrument  that  he  had  by  his 
side  for  that  purpose,  and  muttered  a 
silent  ejaculation. 

still  occupied  the  letters  he  sent  now 
and  then  to  his  native  county;  but  it 
'  had  ceased  to  occupy  the  writer.  He 
I  was  a  man  of  learning  and  taste,  as 
times  went ;  and  his  love  of  the  Arts 
had  taken  him  some  time  before  our 
tale  to  the  theatres,  then  the  resort  of 
all  who  pretended  to  taste ;  and  it 
was  thus  he  had  become  fascinated 
by  Mrs.  Woffineton,  a  lady  of  great 
beauty,  and  a  comedian  high  in  favor 
with  the  town. 

The  first  night,  he  saw  her  -\vas  an 
epoch  in  the  history  of  this  gentle- 
man's mind.  He  had  learning  and 
refinement,  and  he  had  not  great 
practical  experience,  and  such  men 
are  most  open  to  impression  from  the 
stage.  He  saw  a  being,  all  grace  and 
bright  nature,  move  like  a  goddess 
among  the  stiff  puppets  of  the  scene ; 
her  glee  and  her  pathos  were  equally 
catching,  she  held  a  golden  key  at 
which  all  the  doors  of  the  heart  Hew 
open.  Her  face,  too,  was  as  full  of 
goodness  as  intelligence, — itwas  like 
no  other  face;  the  heart  bounded  to 
meet  it. 

He  rented  a  box  at  her  theatre. 
He  was  there  every  night  before  the 
curtain  drew  up;  and,  1  am  sorry  to 
say,  he  at  last  took  half  a  dislikts  to 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


11 


Sunday, — Sunday  "which  knits  up 
the  ravelled  slcave  of  care,"  Sunday 
"  tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,"  'be- 
cause on  Sunday  there  was  no  Peg 
Woffington.  At  first  he  regarded 
her  as  a  being  of  another  sphere,  an 
incarnation  of  poetry  and  art ;  but  by 
degrees  his  secret  aspirations  became 
bolder.  She  was  a  woman  ;  there 
were  men  who  knew  her;  some  of 
them  interior  to  him  in  position,  and, 
he  flattered  himself,  in  mind.  He  had 
even  heard  a  tale  against  her  charac- 
ter. To  him  her  face  was  its  confuta- 
tion, and  he  knew  how  loose-tongued 
is  calumny  ;   but  still  —  ! 

At  last,  one  day  he  sent  her  a  let- 
ter, unsigned.  This  letter  expressed 
his  admiration  of  her  talent  in  warm 
but  respectful  terms;  the  writer  told 
her  it  had  become  necessary  to  his 
heart  to  return  her  in  some  way  his 
thanks  for  the  land  of  enchantment  to 
which  she  had  introduced  him.  Soon 
alter  this,  choice  flowers  found  their 
way  to  her  dressing-room  every  night, 
and  now  and  then  verses  and  precious 
stones  Mingled  with  her  roses  and 
eglantine.  And  O,  how  he.  watched 
the  great  actress's  eye  all  the  night; 
how  he  tried  to  discover  whether  she 
looked  oftener  towards  his  box  than 
the  corresponding  box  on  the  other 
side  of  the  house. 

Did  she  notice  him,  or  did  she  not ? 
What  a  point  gained,  if  she  was  con- 
scious of  bis  nightly  attendance:  she 
would  feel  he  was  a  friend,  not  a  mere 
auditor.  He  was  jealous  of  the  pit, 
on  whom  .Mrs.  Woffington  lavished 
her  smiles  without  measure. 

At  last,  one  day  he  sent  her  a  wreath 
pf  flowers,  and  implored  her,  if  am 
word  he  had  said  to  her  had  pleased 
or  interested  her,  to  wear  this  wreath 
that  night.  After  ho  had  done  this 
he  trembled  :  he  had  courted  a  flecis- 

ion,  when,  perhaps,  his  safety  lay  in 
patience  and  time.  She  made  her 
tiilrc'i- ;  he  turned  cold  as  she  glided 
into  sight  from  the  prompter's  side  ; 
lie  raisl  d  his  eyes  slowly  and  fearfully 
from  her  feet  to  her  head  ;  her  head  was 
bare,  wreathed  only    by  its  own   rich 


glossy  honors.  "  Fool  !  "  thought 
he,  "  to  think  she  would  hang  frivoli- 
ties upon  that  glorious  head  for  me." 
Yet  his  disappointment  told  him  he 
had  really  hoped  it ;  he  would  not 
have  sat  out  the  play  but  for  a  lead- 
en incapacity  of  motion  that  seized 
him. 

The  curtain  drew  up  for  the  fifth 
act,  and  —  could  he  believe  his  eyes  ? 
—  Mrs.  Woffington  stood  upon  the 
stage  with  his  wreath  upon  her  grace- 
ful head.  She  took  away  his  breath. 
She  spoke  the  epilogue,  and,  as  the 
curtain  fell,  she  lifted  her  eyes,  he 
thought,  to  his  box,  and  made  him 
a  distinct,  queen-like  courtesy;  his 
heart  fluttered  to  his  mouth,  and  he 
walked  home  on  wings  and  tiptoe. 
In  short  — 

Mrs.  Woffington,  as  an  actress,  jus- 
tified a  portion  of  this  enthusiasm  ; 
she  was  one  of  the  truest  artists  of 
her  day  ;  a  fine  lady  in  her  hands  was 
a  lady,  with  the  genteel  affectation  of 
a  gentlewoman,  not  a  harlot's  affecta- 
tion, which  is  simply  and  without  ex- 
aggeration what  the  stage  commonly 
gives  us  for  a  fine  lady  ;  an  old  wo- 
man in  her  hands  was  a  thorough 
woman,  thoroughly  old,  not  a  cack- 
ling young  person  of  epicene  gender. 
She  played  Sir  Harry  Wildair  like  a 
man,  which  is  how  he  ought  to  be 
played  (or,  which  is  better  still,  not 
at  all),  so  that  Garrick  acknowledged 
her  as  a  male  rival,  and  abandoned 
the  part  he  no  longer  monopolized. 

Now  it  very,  very  rarely  happens 
that  a  woman  of  her  age  is  high 
enough  in  art  and  knowledge  to  do 
these  things.  In  players,  vanity  crip- 
ples art  at  every  step.  The  young 
actress  who  is  not  a  Woffington  aims 
to  display  herself  by  means  of  her 
part,  Which  is  vanity  ;  not  to  raise 
her  part  by  sinking  herself  in  it,  which 
is  art.      It  has  liecti  my  misfortune  to 

sec ,  and ,  and ,  and , 

et  ceteras,  play  the  man  :  Nature,  for- 
give them,  if  you  can,  for  art  never 
will  ;  they  never  readied  any  idea 
more  manly  than  a  steady  resolve  to 
exhibit  the  points  of  a  woman  with 


12 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


greater  ferocity  than  they  could  in  a 
gown.  But  consider,  ladies,  a  man  is 
not  the  meanest  of  the  brute  creation, 
so  how  can  he  be  an  unwomanly  fe- 
male 1  This  sort  of  actress  aims  not 
to  give  her  author's  creation  to  the 
public,  but  to  trot  out  the  person  in- 
stead of  the  creation,  and  shows  sots 
what  a  calf  it  has  —  and  is. 

Vanity,  vanity  !  all  is  vanity  ! 
Mesdames  les  Cbarlatanes. 

Margaret  Woffington  was  of  anoth- 
er mould ;  she  played  the  ladies  of 
high  comedy  with  grace,  distinction, 
and  delicacy.  But  in  Sir  Harry 
Wildair  she  parted  with  a  woman's 
mincing  foot  and  tongue,  and  played 
the  man  in  a  style  large,  spirited, 
and  e'lance.  As  Mrs.  Day  (com- 
mittee) she  painted  wrinkles  on  her 
lovely  face  so  honestly  that  she  was 
taken  for  tbreescorc,  and  she  carried 
out  tbe  design  with  voice  and  person, 
and  did  a  vulgar  old  woman  to  the 
life.  She  disfigured  ber  own  beauties 
to  show  the  beauty  of  her  art;  in  a 
word,  she  was  an  artist!  It  does  not 
follow  she  was  the  greatest  artist  that 
ever  breatbed ;  far  from  it.  Mr. 
Vane  was  carried  to  this  notion  by 
passion  and  ignorance. 

On  the  evening  of  our  tale  he  was 
at  his  post  patiently  sitting  out  one 
of  those  sanguinary  discourses  our 
rude  forefathers  thought  were  tragic 
plays.  Sedet  aiternuntaue  Sedebit  In- 
felix  Theseus,  because  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton is  to  speak  tbe  epilogue. 

These  epilogues  were  curiosities 
of  the  human  mind ;  they  whom, 
just  to  ourselves  and  them,  we  call 
out  forbears,  had  an  idea  their  blood 
and  bombast  were  not  ridiculous 
enough  in  themselves,  so  when  the 
curtain  had  fallen  on  the  de'bris  of  the 
dramatis  persona,  and  of  common 
sense,  they  sent  on  an  actress  to  turn 
all  the  sentiment  so  laboriously  ac- 
quired into  a  jest. 

To  insist  that  nothing  good  or 
beautiful  shall  be  carried  safe  from  a 
play  out  into  the  street  was  the  big- 
otry of  English  horse-play.  Was  a 
Lucretia  the  heroine  of  the  tragedy, 


she  was  careful  in  the  epilogue  to 
speak  like  Messalina.  Did  a  king's 
mistress  come  to  hunger  and  repent- 
ance, she  disinfected  all  the  petites 
mattresses  in  the  house  of  the  moral, 
by  assuring  them  that  sin  is  a  joke, 
repentance  a  greater,  and  that  she 
individually  was  ready  for  either  if 
they  would  but  cry,  laugh,  and  pay. 
Then  the  audience  used  to  laugh, 
and  if  they  did  not,  lo  !  the  manager, 
actor,  and  author  of  heroic  tragedy 
were  exceeding  sorrowful. 

Whilst  sitting  attendance  on  the 
epilogue,  Mr.  Vane  had  nothing  to 
distract  him  from  the  congregation 
but  a  sanguinary  sermon  in  live  heads, 
so  his  eyes  roved  over  the  pews,  and 
presently  he  became  aware  of  a  famil- 
iar face  watching  him  closely.  The 
gentleman  to  whom  it  belonged  find- 
ing himself  recognized  left  his  seat, 
and  a  minute  later  Sir  Charles  Po- 
mander entered  Mr.  Vane's  box. 

This  Sir  Charles  Pomander  was  a 
gentleman  of  vice  :  pleasure  he  called 
it.  Mr.  Vane  had  made  his  acquaint- 
ance two  years  ago  in  Shropshire. 
Sir  Charles,  who  husbanded  every- 
thing except  his  soul,  had  turned  him- 
self out  to  grass  for  a  month.  His 
object  was,  by  roast  mutton,  bread 
with  some  little  flour  in  it,  air,  water, 
temperance,  chastity,  and  peace,  to  be 
enabled  to  take  a  deeper  plunge  into 
impurities  of  food  and  morals. 

A  few  nights  ago,  unseen  by  Mr. 
Vane,  he  had  observed  him  in  the 
theatre  ;  an  ordinary  man  would 
have  gone  at  once  and  shaken  hands 
with  him,  but  this  was  not  an  ordi- 
nary man,  this  was  a  diplomatist. 
First  of  all,  he  said  to  himself : 
"  What  is  this  man  doing  here '!  " 
Then  he  soon  discovered  this  man 
must  be  in  love  with  some  actress ; 
then  it  became  his  business  to  know 
who  she  was ;  this  too  soon  betrajed 
itself.  Then  it  became  more  than 
ever  Sir  Charles's  business  to  know 
whether  Mrs.  Woffington  returned 
the  sentiment ;  and  here  his  penetra- 
tion was  at  fault,  for  the  moment; 
he  determined,  however,  to  discover. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


13 


Mr.  Vane  then  received  his  friend, 
all  unsuspicious  how  that  friend  had 
been  skinning  him  with  his  eyes  for 
some  time  past.  After  the  usual 
compliments  had  passed  between  two 
gentlemen  who  had  been  hand  and 
glove  for  a  mouth  and  forgotten  each 
other's  existence  for  two  years,  Sir 
Charles,  still  keeping  in  view  his  de- 
sign, said  :  — 

"  Let  us  go  upon  the  stage."  The 
fourth  act  had  just  concluded. 

"  Go  upon  the  stage ! "  said  Mr. 
Vane ;  "  what,  where  she  —  I  mean 
among  the  actors  I  " 

"  Yes  :  come  into  the  green-room. 
There  are  one  or  two  people  of  repu- 
tation there ;  I  will  introduce  you  to 
them,  it  you  please." 

"  Go  upon  the  stage  !  "  why,  if  it 
had  been  proposed  to  him  to  go  to 
heaven  he  would  not  have  been  more 
astonished.  He  was  too  astonished 
at  first  to  realize  the  full  beauty  of 
the  arrangement,  by  means  of  which 
he  might  be  within  a  yard  of  Mrs. 
Woihngton,  might  feel  her  dress  rus- 
tle past  him,  might  speak  to  her, 
might  drink  her  voice  fresh  from  her 
lips  almost  before  it  mingled  with 
meaner  air.  Silence  gives  consent, 
and  Mr.  Vane,  though  he  thought  a 
great  deal,  said  nothing  ;  so  Poman- 
dc»  rose,  and  tlicy  left  the  boxes  to- 
gether, lie  led  the  way  to  the  stage 
door,  which  was  opened  obsequiously 
to  him  ;  they  then  passed  through  a 
dismal  passage,  and  suddenly  emerged 
upon  that  scene  of  enchantment, 
the  stage,  —  a  dirty  platform  en- 
cumbered on  all  sides  with  piles  of 
scenery  in  Hats.  They  threaded  their 
Way  through  rusty  velvet  actors  and 
fustian  carpenters,  and  entered  the 
green-room.  At  the  door  of  this 
magic  chamber  Vane  trembled  and 
half  wished  he  could  retire.  They 
entered;  his  apprehension  gave  way 
to  disappointment,  she  was  not  there. 
Collecting  himself,  lie  was  presently 
introduced  to  a  smart,  jaunty,  and,  to 
do  him  justice,  dittingu€  old  beau. 
This  was  Colley  Cibber,  Esq.,  poet 
laureate,  and  retired  actor  and  drama- 


tist, a  gentleman  who  is  entitled  to  a 
word  or  two. 

This  Cibber  was  the  only  actor 
since  Shakespeare's  time  who  had 
both  acted  and  written  well.  Pope's 
personal  resentment  misleads  •  the 
reader  of  English  poetry  as  to  Gib- 
ber's real  place  among  the  wits  of  the 
day. 

The  man's  talent  was  dramatic,  not 
didactic,  or  epic,  or  pastoral.  Pope 
was  not  so  deep  in  the  drama  as  in  oth- 
er matters,  and  Cibber  was  one  of  its 
luminaries ;  he  wrote  some  of  the 
best  comedies  of  his  day.  He  also 
succeeded  where  Dryden,  for  lack  of 
true  dramatic  taste,  failed,  lie  tam- 
pered successfully  with  Shakespeare. 
Colley  Gibber's  version  of  "  Richard 
the  Third  "  is  impudent  and  slightly 
larcenic,  but  it  is  marvellously  effect- 
ive. It  has  stood  a  century,  and 
probably  will  stand  forever;  and  the 
most  admired  passages  in  what  liter- 
ary humbugs  who  pretend  they  know 
Shakespeare  by  the  closet,  not  the 
stage,  accept  as  Shakespeare's  "  Rich- 
ard," are  Gibber's. 

Mr.  Gibber  was  now  in  private  life, 
a  mild  edition  of  his  own  Lord  Fop- 
pington  ;  he  had  none  of  the  snob-fop 
as  represented  on  our  conventional 
sta.^c;  nobody  ever  had,  and  lived, 
lie  was  in  tolerably  good  taste  ;  but 
he  went  ever  gold-laced,  highly  pow- 
dered, scented,  and  diamonded,  dis- 
pensing graceful  bows,  praises  of  who- 
ever had  the  good  luck  to  be  dead,  and 
satire  of  all  who  were  here  to  enjoy 
it. 

Mr.  Vane,  to  whom  the  drama  had 
now  become  the  golden  branch  of  let- 
ters, looked  with  some  awe  on  this 
veteran,  for  he  had  seen  many  Wof- 
fingtons.  lie  fell  soon  upon  the  sub- 
ject nearest  his  heart.  He  asked  Mr. 
Gibber  whit  he  thought  of  Mrs.  Wof- 

fington.     The  old  gentleman  thought 

well  of  the  young  lady's  talent,  espe- 
cially her  comedy  ;  in  tragedy,  said  he, 
she  imitates  Mademoiselle  Dumesnil, 
of  the  Theatre  Francais,  and  con- 
founds the  sta;,re  rhetorician  with  the 
actress.     The  next  question  was  not 


14 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


so  fortunate.     "  Did  you  ever  see  so  I 
great   and  true  an  actress   npon  the 
whole  ? " 

Mr.  Cibber  opened  his  eyes,  a 
Slight  Hush  eaine  into  his  wash-leath- 
er face,  and  he  replied  :  "  I  have  not 
only  seen  many  equal,  many  superior 
to  her,  but  1  have  seen  some  half- 
dozen  who  would  have  eaten  her  up 
and  spit  her  out  again,  and  not  known 
thev  had  done  anything  out  of  the 
way." 

Here  Pomander  soothed  the  veter- 
an's dudgeon  by  explaining  in  dulcet 
tones  that  his  friend  was  not  long 
from  Shropshire,  and —  The  critic 
interrupted  him,  and  bade  him  not 
dilute  the  excuse. 

Now  Mr.  Vane  had  as  much  to  say 
as  cither  of  them,  but  he  had  not  the 
habit,  which  dramatic  folks  have,  of 
cartying  his  whole  bank  in  his  cheek- 
pocket,  so  they  quenched  him  for  two 
minutes.  But  lovers  are  not  silenced, 
he  soon  returned  to  the  attack ;  he 
dwelt  on  the  grace,  the  ease,  the  fresh- 
ness, the  intelligence,  the  universal 
beauty  of  Mrs.  Woffington.  Poman- 
der sneered,  to  draw  him  out.  Cibber 
Smiled,  with  good-natured  superiority. 
This  nettled  the  young  gentleman,  he 
fired  up,  his  handsome  countenance 
glowed,  he  turned  Demosthenes  for 
her  he  loved.  One  advantage  he  had 
over  both  Cibber  and  Pomander,  a 
fair  stock  of  classical  learning;  on 
this  he  now  drew. 

"Other  actors  and  actresses,"  said 
he,  "are  monotonous  in  voice,  monot- 
onous in  action,  but  Mrs.  Woffington 's 
delivery  has  the  compass  and  variety 
of  nature,  and  her  movements  are  free 
from  the  stale  uniformity  that  dis- 
tinguishes artifice  from  art.  The 
others  seem  to  me  to  have  but  two 
dreams  of  grace,  a  sort  of  crawling  on 
stilts  is  their  motion,  and  an  angular 
stiffness  their  repose."  He  then  cited 
the  most  famous  statues  of  antiquity, 
and  quoted  situations  in  plays  where, 
by  her  fine  dramatic  instinct,  Mrs. 
Woffington,  he  said,  threw  her  person 
into  poStUres  similar  to  these,  and  of 
equal  beauty  ;  not  that  she  strikes  at- 


titudes like  the  rest,  but  she  melts  from 
one  beautiful  statue  into  another;  and, 
if  sculptors  could  gather  from  her  im* 
mortal  graces,  painters  too  might  take 
from  her  face  the  beauties  that  belong 
of  right  to  passion  and  thought,  and 
orators  might  revive  their  withered 
art,  and  learn  from  those  golden  lips 
the  music  of  old  Athens,  that  quelled 
tempestuous  mobs,  and  princes  drunk 
with  victory. 

Much  as  this  was,  he  was  going  to 
say  more,  ever  so  much  more,  but  he 
became  conscious  of  a  singular  sort  of 
grin  upon  every  face  ;  this  grin  made 
him  turn  rapidly  round  to  look  for  its 
cause.  It  explained  itself  at  once ;  at 
his  very  elbow  was  a  lady,  whom  his 
heart  recognized,  though  her  back  was 
turned  to  him.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
rich  silk  gown,  pearl  white,  with  flow- 
ers and  sprigs  embroidered  ;  her  beau- 
tiful white  neck  and  arms  were  bare. 
She  was  sweeping  up  the  room  with 
the  epilogue  in  her  hand,  learning  it 
off  by  heart ;  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room  she  turned,  and  now  she  shone 
full  upon  him. 

It  certainly  was  a  dazzling  creature : 
she  had  a  head  of  beautiful  form, 
perched  like  a  bird  upon  a  throat  mas- 
sive yet  shapely  and  smooth  as  a  col- 
umn of  alabaster,  a  symmetrical  brow, 
black  eyes  full  of  fire  and  tenderness, 
a  delicious  mouth,  with  a  hundred 
varying  expressions,  and  that  mar- 
vellous faculty  of  giving  beauty  alike 
to  love  or  scorn,  a  sneer  or  a  smile. 
But  she  had  one  feature  more  remark- 
able than  all,  her  eyebrows,  —  the 
actor's  feature  ;  they  were  jet  black, 
strongly  marked,  and  in  repose  were 
arched  like  a  rainbow ;  but  it  was 
their  extraordinary  flexibility  which 
made  other  faces  upon  the  stage  look 
sleepy  beside  Margaret  Woffington's. 
In  person  she  was  considerably  above 
the  middle  height,  and  so  finely  formed 
that  one  could  not  determine  the 
exact  character  of  her  figure.  At 
one  time  it  seemed  all  statclincss, 
at  another  time  elegance  personi- 
fied, and  flowing  voluptuousness  at 
another.  She  was  Juno,  Psyche,  Hebe, 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


15 


by  turns,  and  for  aught  we  know  at 
will. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  a  sort  of 
halo  of  personal  grandeur  surrounds 
a  great  actress.  A  scene  is  set ;  half 
a  dozen  nobodies  are  there  lost  in  it, 
because  they  are  and  seem  lumps  of 
nothing.  The  great  artist  steps  upon 
that  scene,  and  how  she  fills  it  in  a 
moment!  Mind  and  majesty  wait 
upon  her  in  the  air ;  her  person  is  lost 
in  the  greatness  of  her  personal  pres- 
ence ;  she  dilates  with  thought,  and  a 
stupid  giantess  looks  a  dwarf  beside 
her. 

No  wonder  then  that  Mr.  Vane  felt 
overpowered  by  this  torch  in  a  closet. 
To  vary  the  metaphor,  it  seemed  to 
him,  as  she  swept  up  and  down,  as  if 
the  green-room  was  a  shell,  and  this 
glorious  creature  must  burst  it  and  be 
free.  Meantime,  the  others  saw  a 
pretty  actress  studying  her  business  ; 
and  Cibber  saw  a  dramatic  school-girl 
learning  what  he  presumed  to  be  a 
very  silly  set  of  words.  Sir  C.  Po- 
mander's eye  had  been  on  her  the 
moment  she  entered,  and  he  watched 
keenly  the  effect  of  Vane's  eloquent 
eulogy;  but  apparently  the  actress 
Mas  too  deep  in  her  epilogue  for  atiy- 
thing  else.  She  came  in,  saying, 
"  Mum,  mum,  muni,"  over  her  task, 
and  she  went  on  doing  so.  The  ex- 
perienced Mr. Cibber,  who  had  divined 
Vane  in  an  instant,  drew  him  into  a 
corner,  and  complimented  him  on  his 
well-timed  eulogy. 

"  You  acted  that  mighty  well,  sir," 
said  he.  "  Stop  my  vitals !  if  I  did 
not  think  you  were  in  earnest,  till  I 
saw  the  jade  had  slipped  in  among  us. 
It  told,  sir, —  it  told." 

Up  fired  Vane.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  sir !  "  said  he.  "  Do  you  sup- 
pose niv  admiration  of  that  lady  is 
feigned?" 

"  No  need  to  speak  so  loud,  sir," 
replied  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  Bhe  hears 
you.  These  hussies  have  ears  like 
hawks." 

He  then  dispensed  a  private  wink 
and  a  public  bow;  with  which  he 
strolled  away   from    Mr.    Vane,   and 


walked  feebly  and  jauntily  up  the 
room,  whistling  "  Fair  Hebe  " ;  fixing 
his  eye  upon  the  past,  and  somewhat 
ostentatiously  overlooking  the  exist- 
tence  of  the  present  company. 

There  is  no  great  harm  in  an  old 
gentleman  whistling,  but  there  are 
two  ways  of  doing  it ;  and  as  this  old 
beau  did  it,  it  seemed  not  unlike  a 
small  cock-a-doodle-doo  of  general 
defiance ;  and  the  denizens  of  the 
green-room,  swelled  now  to  a  consid- 
erable number  by  the  addition  of  all 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had 
been  killed  in  the  fourth  act,  or  whom 
the  buttery-fingered  author  could  not 
keep  in  hand  until  the  fall  of  the  cur- 
tain, felt  it  as  such;  and  so  they  were 
not  sorry  when  Mrs.  Woffington, 
looking  up  from  her  epilogue,  cast 
a  glance  upon  the  old  beau,  wait- 
ed for  him,  and  walked  parallel  with 
him  on  the  other  side  the  room,  giv- 
ing an  absurdly  exact  imitation  of 
his  carriage  and  deportment.  To 
make  this  more  striking,  she  pulled 
out  of  her  pocket,  after  a  mock  search, 
a  huge  paste  ring,  gazed  on  it  with  a 
ludicrous  affectation  of  simple  won- 
der, stuck  it,  like  Cibber 's  diamond,  on 
her  little  finger,  and,  pursing  up  her 
mouth,  proceeded  to  whistle  a  quick 
movement, 

"  Whicb,  by  some  devilish  cantrip  sleight," 

played  round  the  old  beau's  slow 
movement,  without  being  at  vari- 
ance with  it.  As  for  the  character 
of  this  ladylike  performance,  it  was 
clear,  brilliant,  and  loud  as  black- 
smith. 

The  folk  laughed  ;  Vane  was 
shucked.  "  She  profanes  herself  by 
whistling,"  thought  he.  Mr.  Cibber 
wa.s  confounded.  He  appeared  to 
have  no  idea  whence  came  this  spar- 
kling adagio.  He  looked  round, placed 
his  hands  to  his  cars,  and  left  off 
whistling.  So  did  Jus  musical  accom- 
plice. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Cibber,  with 
pathetic  gravity,  "  the  \\  ind  howls 
most  dismally  this  evening !  J  took  it 
for  a  drunken  shoemaker!" 


16 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


At  this  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter, 
except  from  Mr.  Vane.  Peg  Wof- 
fington  laughed  as  merrily  as  the 
others,  and  showed  a  set  of  teeth  that 
were  really  dazzling ;  hut  all  in  one 
moment,  without  the  preliminaries  an 
ordinary  countenance  requires,  this 
laughing  Venus  pulled  a  face  gloomy 
beyond  conception.  Down  came  her 
black  brows  straight  as  a  line,  and 
she  cast  a  look  of  bitter  reproach 
on  all  present;  resuming  her  study, 
as  who  should  say,  "  Are  ye  not 
ashamed  to  divert  a  poor  girl  from  her 


epilogue 


And  then  she  went  on, 


"Mum  !  mum  !  mum  !  "  casting  off 
ever  and  anon  resentful  glances  ;  and 
this  made  the  fools  laugh  again. 

The  Laureate  was  now  respectfully 
addressed  by  one  of  his  admirers, 
James  Quiii,  the  Falstaff  of  the  day, 
and  the  rival  at  this  time  of  Garrick 
in  tragic  characters,  though  the  gen- 
eral opinion  was,  that  he  could  not 
long  maintain  a  standing  against  the 
younger  genius  and  his  rising  school 
of  art. 

Off  the  stage,  James  Quin  was  a 
character;  his  eccentricities  were  three, 
—  a  humorist,  a  glutton,  and  an  hon- 
est man  ;  traits  that  often  caused  as- 
tonishment and  ridicule,  especially 
the  last. 

"  May  we  not  hope  for  something 
from  Mr.  Gibber's  pen  after  so  long  a 
silence?" 

"  No,"  was  the  considerate  reply. 
*'  Who  have  ye  got  to  play  it  1  " 

"  Plenty,"  said  Quin ;  "  there 's  your 
humble  servant,  there  's  —  " 

"  Humility  at  the  head  of  the  list," 
cried   she  of  the  epilogue.     "  Mum  ! 


muni!  mum 


i>> 


Vane  thought  this  so  sharp. 

"  Garrick,'  Barry,  Macklin,  Kitty 
Clive  here  at  my  side,  Mrs.  Cibber,  the 
best  tragic  actress  1  ever  saw  ;  and 
"Wofhngton,  who  is  as  good  a  come- 
dian as  you  ever  saw,  sir  "  ;  and  Quin 
turned  as  red  as  fire. 

"  Keep  jour  temper,  Jemmy,"  said 
Mrs.  Woningtdn,  with  asevere  accent. 
"  Mum  !  mum  !  mum  !  " 

"  Vou  misunderstand  my  question," 


replied  Cibber,  calmly  ;  "I  know  your 
dramatis  persona',  but  where  the  devil 
are  your  actors  1 " 

Here  was  a  blow. 

"  The  public,"  said  Quin,  in  some 
agitation,  "  would  snore,  if  we  acted 
as  they  did  in  your  time." 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  sir  ?  " 
was  the  supercilious  rejoinder;  "you 
never  tried  !  " 

Mr.  Quin  was  silenced.  Peg  "VVof- 
fington  looked  off  her  epilogue. 

"  Bad  as  we  arc,"  said  she,  coolly, 
"  we  might  be  worse." 

Mr.  Cibber  turned  round,  slightly 
raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  he.  "  Madam !  " 
added  he,  with  a  courteous  smile; 
"  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  explain 
to  me  how  you  could  be  worse  !  " 

"  If,  like  a  crab,  we  could  go  back- 
wards !  " 

At  this  the  auditors  tittered;  and 
Mr.  Cibber  had  recourse  to  his  spy- 
glass. 

This  gentleman  was  satirical  or  in- 
solent, as  the  case  might  demand,  in 
three  degrees,  of  which  the  snuff-bo* 
was  the  comparative,  and  the  spy -glass 
the  superlative.  He  had  learned  this 
on  the  stage  ;  in  annihilating  Quin 
he  had  just  used  the  snuff  weapon,  and 
now  he  drew  his  spy-glass  upon  poor 
Peggy. 

"  Whom  have  we  here  ?  "  said  he : 
then  he  looked  with  his  spy-glass  to 
see ;  "  oh !  the  little  Irish  orange- 
girl  ! " 

"  Whose  basket  outweighed  Colley 
Gibber's  salary  for  the  first  twenty 
years  of  his  dramatic  career,"  was  the 
delicate  reply  to  the  above  delicate 
remark.  It  staggered  him  for  a  mo- 
ment; however,  he  affected  a  most 
puzzled  air,  then  gradually  allowed  a 
light  to  steal  into  his  features. 

"  Eh  !  ah  !  oh !  how  stupid  I  am  ; 
I  understand;  you  sold  something 
besides  oranges  ! " 

"  Oh ! "  said  Mr.  Vane,  and  col- 
ored up  to  the  temples,  and  cast  a 
look  on  Gibber,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"  If  you  were  not  seventy-three !  " 

His  ejaculation  was  something   so 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


17 


different  from  any  tone  any  other  per- 
son there  present  could  have  uttered, 
that  the  actress's  eye  dwelt  on  him 
for  a  single  moment,  and  in  that  mo- 
ment he  felt  himself  looked  through 
and  through. 

"  I  sold  the  young  fops  a  bargain, 
you  mean,"  was  her  calm  reply ;  "  and 
now  I  am  come  down  to  the  old  ones. 
A  truce,  Mr.  Cibber,  what  do  you  un- 
derstand by  an  actor  1  Tell  me  ;  for 
I  am  foolish  enough  to  respect  your 
opinion  on  these  matters  !  " 

"  An  actor,  young  lady,"  said  he, 
gravely,  "  is  an  artist  who  has  gone 
deep  enough  in  his  art  to  make 
dunces,  critics,  and  greenhorns  take 
it  for  nature ;  moreover,  he  really 
personates ;  which  your  mere  man  of 
the  star/e  never  does.  lie  has  learned 
the  true  art  of  self-multiplication. 
He  drops  Betterton,  Booth,  Wilkes, 
or,  ahem —  " 

"  Cibber,"  inserted  Sir  Charles 
Pomander.     Cibber  bowed. 

"  In  his  dressing-room,  and  comes 
out  young  or  old,  a  fop,  a  valet,  a  lov- 
er, or  a  hero,  with  voice,  mien,  and 
every  gesture  to  match.  A  grain  less 
than  this  may  be  good  speaking,  tine 
preaching,  deep  grunting,  high  rant- 
ing, eloquent  reciting ;  but  I  '11  be 
hanged  if  it  is  acting!  " 

"  Then  Colley  Cibber  never  acted," 
whispered  Qnha  to  .Mrs.  (Jlive. 

"  Then  Margaret  Woffington  is  an 
actress,"  said  M.  W.  ;  "  the  tine  ladies 
take  my  Lady  Betty  for  their  sister. 
In  Mrs.  Day,  I  pass  lor  a  woman  of 
seventy;  and  in  Sir  Harry  Wildair  I 
have  been  taken  for  a  man.  I  would 
have  told  you  that  licfore,  but  I 
diil  n't  know  it  was  to  my  credit,"  said 
she,  slyly,  "  till  Mr.  Cibber  laid  down 
the  law." 

"Proof!"  said  Cibber. 

"  A  warm  letter  from  one  lady,  dia- 
mond buckles  from  another,  and  an 
oiler  of  her  hand  and  fortune  from  a 
third  ;   run  qut  it  In." 

Mr.  Cibbw  eonvcyed  behind  her 
back  a  look  of  absolute  incredulity; 
flhc  divined  it. 

"  I  will  not  show  you  the  letters," 


continued  she,  "because  Sir  Harry, 
though  a  rake,  was  a  gentleman ;  but 
here  are  the  buckles  "  ;  and  she  fished 
them  out  of  her  pocket,  capacious  of 
such  things.  The  buckles  were  grave- 
ly inspected,  they  made  more  than  on* 
eye  water,  they  were  undeniable. 

"  Well,  let  us  see  what  we  can  do  for 
her,"  said  the  Laureate.  He  tapped 
his  box  and  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation produced  the  most  execrabla 
distich  in  the  language  :  — 

"  Now  who  is  like  Peggy,  with  talent  at  will 
A  maid  loved  her  Harry,  for  want  of  ft 
Bill  ? 

"  Well,  child,"  continued  he,  after 
the  applause  which  follows  extempo- 
rary verses  had  subsided,  "  take  me  in. 
Play  something  to  make  me  lose  sight 
of  saucy  Peg  Woffington,  and  I  '11  give 
the  world  live  acts  more  before  the 
curtain  tails  on  Colley  Cibber." 

"  If  you  could  be  deceived,"  put  in 
Mr.  Vane,  somewhat  timidly ;  "  I 
think  there  is  no  disguise  through 
which  grace  and  beauty  such  as  Mrs. 
Wofnngton's  woidd  not  shine,  to  my 
eyes." 

"  That  is  to  praise  my  person  at 
the  expense  of  my  wit,  sir,  is  it  not  1 " 
was  her  reply. 

This  was  the  first  word  she  had 
ever  addressed  to  him.  The  tones 
appeared  so  sweet  to  him,  that  he 
could  not  find  anything  to  reply  for 
listening  to  them;  and  Cibber  re- 
sumed :  — 

"  Meantime,  I  will  show  you  a  real 
actress;  she  is  coming  here  to-night 
to  meet  me.  Did  ever  you  children 
hear  <>f  Ann  Bracegirdle  i  " 

"  Bracegirdle  !  "  said  Mrs.  Clivc  ; 
"why,  she  has  been  dead  this  thirty 
years  ;  at  least  I  thought  so." 

"  Dead  to  the  stage.  There  is 
more  heat  in  her  ashes  than  in  your 
lire,  Kate  Clivc!  Ah!  here  comes 
her  messenger,"  eontintied  he,  as  an 
ancient  man  appeared  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand.  This  letter  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton   snatched    ami    read,    and    at    the 

same  instant  in  beamed  the  call-boy. 
"  Epilogue  called,"  said  this  urchin, 


18 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


in  the  tone  of  command  which  these 
small  try  of  Parnassus  adopt;  and, 
obedient  to  his  high  behest,  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington moved  to  the  door,  with  the 
Bracegirdle  missive  in  her  hand,  but 
not  before  she  had  delivered  its  general 
contents  :  "  The  great  actress  will  be 
here  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  she,  and 
she  glided  swiftly  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  IL 

People  whose  mind  or  manners 
possess  any  feature,  and  are  not  as  de- 
void of  all  eccentricity  as  half-pounds 
of  butter  bought  of  metropolitan  gro- 
cers, are  recommended  not  to  leave  a 
roomful  of  their  acquaintances  until 
the  last  but  one.  Yes,  they  should 
always  be  penultimate.  Perhaps  Mrs. 
Woffington  knew  this  ;  but  epilogues 
are  stubborn  things,  and  call-boys  un- 
deniable. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  a  woman 
whistle  before  ? " 

"  Never  ;  hut  I  saw  one  sit  astride 
on  an  ass  in  Germany  !  " 

"  The  saddle  was  not  on  her  hus- 
band, I  hope,  madam  1  " 

"  No,  sir ;  the  husband  walked  by 
his  kinsfolk's  side,  and  made  the  best 
of  a  bad  bargain,  as  Peggy's  husband 
will  have  to." 

"  Wait  till  some  one  ventures  on 
the  gay  Lotharia,  —  Mi  res  triplex; 
that  means  he  must  have  triple  brass, 
Kitty." 

"  I  deny  that,  sir ;  since  his  wife  will 
always  have  enough  for  both." 

"  I  have  not  observed  the  lady's 
brass,"  said  Vane,  trembling  with  pas- 
sion ;  "  bat  I  observed  her  talent,  and 
I  noticed  that  whoever  attacks  her  to 
her  face  comes  badly  off." 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  answered  Quin ; 
"and  I  wish  Kitty  here  would  tell  us 
why  she  hates  Mrs.  Woffington,  the 
best-natured  woman  in  the  theatre  1 " 

"  I  don't  hate  her,  I  don't  trouble 
my  head  about  her." 

"  Yes,  you  hate  her  ;  for  you  never 
miss  a  cut  at  her,  never  !  " 


"  Do  you  hate  a  haunch  of  venison, 
Quin  1 "  said  the  lady. 

"  No,  you  little  unnatural  monster," 
replied  Quin. 

"  For  all  that,  you  never  miss  a  cut 
at  one,  so  hold  your  tongue !  " 

"  Le  beau  raisonnement !  "  said  Mr. 
Cibber.  "James  Quin,  don't  inter- 
fere with  nature's  laws  ;  let  our  ladies 
hate  one  another,  it  eases  their  minds  ; 
try  to  make  them  Christians,  and  you 
will  not  convert  their  tempers,  but 
spoil  your  own.  Peggy  there  hates 
George  Anne  Bellamy,  because  she 
has  gaudy  silk  dresses  from  Paris,  by 
paying  for  them,  as  she  could,  if  not  too 
stingy.  Kitty  here  hates  Peggy  be- 
cause Rich  has  breeched  her,  whereas 
Kitty,  who  now  sets  up  for  a  prude, 
wanted  to  put  delicacy  off  and  small- 
clothes on  in  Peg's  stead,  that  is 
where  the  Kate  and  Peg  shoe  pinches, 
near  the  femoral  artery,  James. 

"  Shrimps  have  the  souls  of 
shrimps,"  resumed  this  censor  custi;/(i- 
torque  minorum.  "Listen  to  me,  and 
learn  that  really  great  actors  are  great 
in  soul,  and  do  not  blubber  like  a 
great  school-girl  because  Anne  Bel- 
lamy has  two  yellow  silk  dresses 
from  Paris,  as  I  saw  Woffington  blub- 
ber in  this  room,  and  would  not  be 
comforted  ;  nor  fume  like  Kitty  Clive, 
because  Woffington  has  a  pair  of 
breeches  and  a  little  boy's  rapier  to  go 
a  playing  at  acting  with.  When  I  was 
young,  two  giantesses  fought  for  em- 
pire upon  this  very  stage,  where  now 
dwarfs  crack  and  bounce  like  parched 
peas.  They  played  Roxana  and  Sta- 
tira  in  the  "  Rival  Queens."  Rival 
queens  of  art  themselves,  they  put  out 
all  their  strength.  In  the  middle  of 
the  last  act  the  town  gave  judgment 
in  favor  of  Statira.  What  did  Pox- 
ana  ?  Did  she  spill  grease  on  Statira's 
robe,  as  Peg  Woffington  would !  or 
stab  her,  as  I  believe  Kitty  here  capa- 
ble of  doing  ?  No  !  Statira  was  never 
so  tenderly  killed  as  that  night :  she 
owned  this  to  me.  Roxana  bade  the 
theatre  farewell  that  night,  and  wrote 
to  Statira  thus  :  I  give  you  word  for 
word:  "Madam,  the  best   judge  wo 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


19 


have  has  decided  in  your  favor.  I 
shall  never  play  second  on  a  stage 
where  I  have  been  first  so  long,  but 
I  shall  often  be  a  spectator,  and  mc- 
thinks  none  will  appreciate  your  tal- 
ent more  than  I,  who  have  felt  its 
weight.  My  wardrobe,  one  of  the  best 
in  Europe,  is  of  no  use  to  me;  if  you 
will  honor  me  by  selecting  a  few  of 
mv  dresses,  you  will  gratify  me,  and  I 
shall  fancy  I  see  myself  upon  the  stage 
to  greater  advantage  than  before.' ': 

"And   what  did    Statira    answer, 
sir  ?  "  said  Mr.  Vane,  eagerly. 

"  She  answered  thus  :  '  Madam,  the 
town  has  often  been  wrong,  and  may 
have  bjen  so  last  night,  in  supposing 
that  I  vied  successfully  with  your  mer- 
it; but  thus  much  is  certain,  —  and 
here,  madam,  I  am  the  best  judge,  — 
that  off  the  stage  you  have  just  con- 
quered me.  I  shall  wear  with  pride 
any  dress  you  have  honored,  and  shall 
feel  inspired  to  great  exertions  by 
your  presence  among  our  spectators, 
unless,  indeed,  the  sense  of  your  mag- 
nanimity anil  the  recollection  of  your 
talent  should  damp  me  by  the  dread  of 
losing  any  portion  of  your  good  opin- 
ion." 

"  What  a  couple  of  stiff  old  things," 
said  Mrs.  Clive. 

"  Nay,  madam,  say  not  so,"  cried 
Vane,  warmly  ;  "  surely,  this  was  the 
lofty  courtesy  of  two  great  minds  not 
to  be  overbalanced  by  strife,  defeat,  or 
victory." 

"  What  were  their  names,  sir  T" 

"  Statira  was  the  great  Mrs.  Old- 
field.  RoxaQB  vou  will  see  hero  to- 
night." 

This  caused  a  sensation. 

Colley's  reminiscences  were  inter- 
rupted by  loud  applause  from  the  the- 
atre; the  present  seldom  gives  the 
past  a  long  hearing. 

The  old  war-horse,  cocked  his  ears. 

"  It  is  Wbffington  speaking  the  epi- 
logue," said  Qmn. 

"  < ),  she  has  gut  the  length  of  their 
foot,  BOmehOW,"  said  a  small  actress. 

"  And  the  breadth  of  their  hands, 
too,"  said  Pomander,  waking  from  a 
nap. 


"  It  is  the  depth  of  their  hearts  she 
has  sounded,"  said  Vane. 

In  those  days,  if  a  metaphor  started 
up,  the  poor  thing  was  coursed  up 
hill  and  down  dale,  and  torn  limb 
from  jacket ;  even  in  Parliament,  a 
trope  was  sometimes  hunted  from  one 
session  into  another. 

"  You  were  asking  me  about  Mrs. 
Oldneld,  sir,"  resumed  Gibber,  rather 
peevishly.  "  I  will  own  to  you,  I 
lack  words  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  her 
double  and  complete  supremacy.  But 
the  comedians  of  this  day  are  weak- 
strained  farceurs  compared  with  her, 
and  her  tragic  tone  was  thunder  set  to 
music. 

"I  saw  a  brigadier-general  cry  like 
a  child  at  her  Indiana ;  I  have  seen  her 
crying  with  pain  herself  at  the  wing 
(for  she  was  always  a  great  sufferer), 
I  have  seen  her  then  spring  upon  the 
stage  as  Lady  Townley,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment sorrow  brightened  into  joy  ;  the 
air  seemed  to  fill  with  singing-birds, 
that  chirped  the  pleasures  of  fashion, 
love,  and  youth,  in  notes  sparkling 
like  diamonds  and  stars  and  prisms. 
She  was  above  criticism,  out  of  its 
scope,  as  is  the  blue  sky ;  men  went 
not  to  judge  her,  they  drank  her,  and 
gazed  at  Iter,  and  were  warmed  at 
her,  and  refreshed  by  her.  The  fops 
were  awed  into  silence,  and  with 
their  humbler  betters  thanked  Heav- 
en for  her,  if  they  thanked  it  for  any- 
thing. 

"  In  all  the  crowded  theatre,  care 
and  pain  and  poverty  were  banished 
from  the  memory,  whilst  Oldfield's 
face  spoke,  and  her  tongue  flashed 
melodies  ;  the  lawyer  forgot  his  quil- 
lets; the  polemic,  the  mote  in  his 
brother's  eye ;  the  old  maid,  her 
grudge  against  the  two  sexes  ;  the  old 
man,  his  gray  hairs  and  his  lost  hours. 
And  can  it  be,  that  all  this  which 
should  have  been  immortal,  is  quite 
—  quite  lust,  is  as  though  it  had 
never  been  !  "  he  sighed.  "  Can  it  be 
that  its  fame  is  now  sustained  by  nie  ; 

who  twang  with  my  poor  Inte,  cracked 

and  old,  these  feeble  praises  of  a  bro- 
|  ken  lyre  :  — 


20 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


1  Whose  wires  were  golden,  and  its  heavenly 
air 
More  tunable  than  lark  to  shepherd's  ear, 
When  wheat  is  green,  when  hawthorn  buds 
appear '  ? " 

He  paused,  and  his  eye  looked  back 
over  many  years  :  then,  with  a  very 
different  tone,  he  added  :  — 

"  And  that  Jack  Fal  staff  there  must 
have  seen  her,  now  I  think  on  't." 

"  Only  once,  sir,"  said  Quin,  "  and 
I  was  but  ten  years  old." 

"  He  saw  her  once,  and  he  was  ten 
years  old  ;  yet  he  calls  Woflington  a 
great  comedian,  and  my  son  The's 
wife,  with  her  hatchet  face,  the  great- 
est tragedian  he  ever  saw !  Jeniiny, 
what  an  ass  you  must  be !  " 

"  Mrs.  Cibber  always  makes  me  cry, 
and  t'other  always  makes  me  laugh," 
said  Quin,  stoutly,  "  that 's  why." 

Ce  beau  raisonnement  met  no  answer, 
but  a  look  of  sovereign  contempt. 

A  very  trifling  incident  saved  the 
ladies  of  the  British  stage  from  fur- 
ther criticism.  There  were  two  can- 
dles in  this  room,  one  on  each  side ; 
the  call-boy  had  entered,  and,  poking 
about  for  something,  knocked  down 
and  broke  one  of  these. 

"Awkward  imp!"  cried  a  velvet 
page. 

"  I  '11  go  to  the  Treasury  for  anoth- 
er, ma'am,"  said  the  boy,  pertly,  and 
vanished  with  the  fractured  wax. 

I  take  advantage  of  the  interruption 
to  open  Mr.  Vane's  mind  to  the  read- 
er. First,  he  had  been  astonished  at 
the  freedom  of  sarcasm  these  people 
indulged  in  without  quarrelling;  next 
at  the  n  on -respect  of  sex. 

"  So  sex  is  not  recognized  in  this 
community,"  thought  he.  Then  the 
glibness  and  merit  of  some  of  their 
answers  surprised  and  amused  him. 
He,  like  me,  had  seldom  met  an  im- 
aginative repartee,  except  in  a  play  or 
a  book.  "  Society's  "  repartees  were 
then,  as  they  are  now,  the  good  old 
tree  in  various  dresses  and  veils  :  Tu 
rjurxjue,  tu  mentiris,  vox  damnemini  ;  but 
he  was  sick  and  dispirited  on  the 
whole  ;  such  very  bright  illusions  had 
been  dimmed  in  these  few  minutes. 


She  was  brilliant;  but  her  man- 
ners, if  not  masculine,  were  very  dar- 
ing ;  and  yet,  when  she  spoke  to  him, 
a  stranger,  how  sweet  and  gentle  her 
voice  was  !  Then  it  was  clear  noth- 
ing but  his  ignorance  could  have 
placed  her  at  the  summit  of  her 
art. 

Still  he  clung  to  his  enthusiasm 
for  her.  He  drew  Pomander  aside. 
"  What  a  simplicity  there  is  in 
Mrs.  Woffington  !  "  said  he  ;  "  the 
rest,  male  and  female,  are  all  so  af- 
fected ;  she  is  so  fresh  and  natural. 
They  are  all  hot-house  plants ;  she 
is  a  cowslip  with  the  May  dew  on 

"  What  yoti  take  for  simplicity  is 
her  refined  art,"  replied  Sir  Charles. 

"  No  !  "  said  Vane,  "  I  never  saw  a 
more  innocent  creature  !  " 

Pomander  laughed  in  his  face  ;  this 
laugh  disconcerted  him  more  than 
words  ;  he  spoke  no  more,  —  he  sat 
pensive.  He  was  sorry  he  had  come 
to  this  place,  where  everybody  knew 
his  goddess ;  yet  nobody  admired, 
nobody  loved,  and,  alas  !  nobody  re- 
spected her. 

He  was  roused  from  his  revery  by 
a  noise ;  the  noise  was  caused  by 
Cibber  falling  on  Garrick,  whom 
Pomander  had  maliciously  quoted 
against  all  the  tragedians  of  Colley 
Cibber's  day. 

"I  tell  you,"  cried  the  veteran, 
"  that  this  Garrick  has  banished  dig- 
nity from  the  stage,  and  given  us  in 
exchange  what  you  and  he  take  for 
fire  ;  but  it  is  smoke  and  vapor.  His 
manner  is  little,  like  his  person,  it  is 
all  fuss  and  bustle.  This  is  his  idea 
of  a  tragic  scene:  A  little  fellow 
comes  bustling  in,  goes  bustling  about, 
and  runs  bustling  out."  Here  Mr. 
Cibber  left  the  room,  to  give  greater 
effect  to  his  description,  but  presently 
returned  in  a  mighty  pother,  saying : 
"  '  Give  me  another  horse ! '  Well, 
where 's  the  horse  ?  don't  you  see  I  'm 
waiting  for  him?  'Bind  tip  my 
wounds  ! '  Look  sharp  now  with 
these  wounds.  '  Have  mercy,  Heav- 
en ! '  but  be  quick  about  it,  for  the  pit 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


21 


can't  wait  for  Heaven.  Bustle !  bus- 
tle !  bustle ! " 

The  old  dog  was  so  irresistibly 
funny,  that  the  whole  company  were 
obliged  to  laugh  ;  but  in  the  midst  of 
their  merriment  Mrs.  Woflington's 
voice  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"  This  way,  madam." 

A  clear  and  somewhat  shrill  voice 
replied  :  "  I  know  the  way  better 
than  you,  child";  and  a  stately  old 
lady  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  Bracegirdle,"  said  Mr.  Gibber. 

It  may  well  be  supposed  that  every 
eye  was  turned  on  this  new-comer,  — 
that  Roxana  fur  whom  Mr.  Cibbcr's 
story  had  prepared  a  peculiar  interest. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  rich  green  vel- 
vet gown  with  gold  fringe.  Cibber 
remembered  it;  she  had  played  the 
"  Eastern  Qugen,  in  it.  Heaven  for- 
give all  concerned  !  It  was  fearful- 
ly pinched  in  at  the  waist  and  ribs,  so 
as  to  give  the  idea  of  wood  inside,  not 
woman. 

Her  hair  and  eyebrows  were  iron- 
gray,  and  she  had  lost  a  front  tooth,  or 
she  would  still  have  been  eminently 
handsome.  She  was  tall  and  straight 
as  a  dart,  and  her  noble  port  betrayed 
none  of  the  weakness  of  age,  only  it 
was  to  be  seen  that  her  hands  were  a 
little  weak,  and  the  gold-headed  crutch 
struck  the  ground  rather  sharply,  as 
if  it  did  a  little  limbs'-duty. 

Such  was  the  lady  who  marched 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  with  a 
"  How  do,  Golley  <  "  and,  looking 
over  the  company's  heads  as  if  she  did 
not  see  them,  regarded  the  four  walls 
with  some  interest.  Like  a  cat,  she 
Beemed  to  think  more  of  places  than 
Of  folk.  The  page  obsequiously  of- 
fered her  a  chair. 

"  Not  mi  clean  as  it  used  to  be,"  said 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle. 

Unfortunately,  in  making  this  re- 
mark, the  old  lady  graciously  patted 
the  page's  head  for  offering  her  the 
chair;  and  this  action  gave,  with 
some  of  the  ill-constituted  minds  that 
are  ever  on  the  titter,  a  ridiculous  di- 
rection to  a  remark  intended,  I  believe, 
for  the  paint  and  wainscots,  ^e. 


"  Nothing  is  as  it  used  to  be,"  re« 
marked  Mr.  Cibber. 

"  All  the  better  for  everything," 
said  Mrs.  Cliye. 

"  We  were  laughing  at  this  mighty 
little  David,  first  actor  of  this  mighty 
little  age." 

Now  if  Mr.  Cibber  thought  to  find 
in  the  new-comer  an  ally  of  the  past 
in  its  indiscriminate  attack  upon  the 
present,  he  was  much  mistaken ;  for 
the  old  actress  made  onslaught  on  this 
nonsense  at  once. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  she,  "  and  not  the 
first  time  by  many  hundreds.  "P  is  a 
disease  you  have.  Cure  yourself, 
Golley.  Davy  Garrick  pleases  the 
public  ;  and  in  trifles  like  acting,  that 
take  nobody  to  heaven,  to  please  all 
the  world,  is  to  be  great.  Some  pre- 
tend to  higher  aims,  but  none  have 
'em.  You  may  hide  this  from  young 
fools,  mayhap,  but  not  from  an  old 
'onian  like  me.  He  !  he  !  he  !  No, 
no,  no,  —  not  from  an  old  'oman  like 
me." 

She  then  turned  round  in  her  chair, 
and  with  that  sudden,  unaccountable 
snappishness  of  tone  to  which  the 
brisk  old  are  subject,  she  snarled : 
"  Gie  me  a  pinch  of  snuff,  some  of  ye, 
do  !  " 

Tobacco  dust  was  instantly  at  her 
disposal.  She  took  it  with  the  points 
of  her  fingers,  delicately,  and  divest- 
ed the  crime  of  half  its  uncleanness 
and  vulgarity,  —  more  an  angel  could 
n't. 

"  Monstrous  sensible  woman, 
though !  "  whispered  Quin  to  Clive. 

"  llcy,  sir!  what  do  you  say,  sir  ' 
for  I  'in  a  little  deaf."  (Not  very  to 
praise,  it  seems.) 

"That  your  judgment,  madam,  is 
equal  to  the  reputation  of  your  tal- 
ent." 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken,  be- 
fore the  old  lady  rose  upright  as  a 
towei-.  She  then  made  an  oblique 
preliminary  sweep,  and  came  down 
with  such  a  courtesy  as  the  young  had 
never  seen. 

.lames  QuiUi  not  to  disgrace  his 
generation,  attempted  a  correspond- 


22 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


ing  how,  for  which  his  figure  and 
apoplectic  tendency  rendered  him  un- 
fit ;  and  whilst  he  was  transacting  it, 
the  graceful  Gibber  stepped  gravely 
up,  and  looked  down  and  up  the  pro- 
cess with  his  glass,  like  a  naturalist 
inspecting  some  strange  capriccio  of 
an  orang-outang.  The  gymnastics 
of  courtesy  ended  without  back-falls, 
—  Cibber  lowered  his  tone. 

"  You  are  right,  Bracy.  It  is  non- 
sense denying  the  young  fellow's  tal- 
ent; but  his  Othello,  now,  Bracy! 
he  just,  —  his  Othello  !  " 

"  O  dear !  O  dear  !  "  cried  she  ; 
"  I  thought  it  was  Desdemona's  little 
black  boy  come  in  without  the  tea- 
kettle." 

Quin  laughed  uproariously. 

"  It  made  me  laugh  a  deal  more 
than  Mr.  Quin's  Falstaff.  O  dear! 
O  dear ! " 

"Falstaff,  indeed!  Snuff!"  In 
the  tone  of  a  trumpet. 

Quin  secretly  revoked  his  good 
opinion  of  this  woman's  sense. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  page,  timidly, 
"if  you  would  but  favor  us  with  a 
specimen  of  the  old  stvle !  " 

"Well,  child,  why  not?  Only 
what  makes  you  mumble  like  that? 
but  they  all  do  it  now,  I  see.  Bless 
my  soul !  our  words  used  to  come  out 
like  brandy-cherries  ;  but  now  a  sen- 
tence is  like  raspberry -jam,  on  the 
stage  and  off." 

Cibber  chuckled. 

"And  why  don't  you  men  carry 
yourself  like  Cibber  here  ?  " 

"  Don't  press  that  question,"  said 
Colley,  dryly. 

"  A  monstrous  poor  actor,  though," 
said  the  merciless  old  woman,  in  a 
mock  aside  to  the  others  ;  "  only 
twenty  shillings  a  week  for  half 
bis  life";  and  her  shoulders  went 
up  to  her  ears,  —  then  she  fell  into 
a  half-revery.  "  Yes,  we  were  dis- 
tinct," said  "she;  "but  I  must  own, 
children,  we  were  slow.  Once,  in 
the  midst  of  a  beautiful  tirade,  my 
lover  went  to  sleep,  and  fell  against 
me.  A  mighty  pretty  epigram, 
twenty  lines,  was  writ  on  't  by  one 


of  my  gallants.  Have  ye  as  man) 
of  them  as  we  used  ?  " 

"  In  that  respect,"  said  the  page 
"  we  are  not  behind  our  great-grand 
mothers." 

"  I  call  that  pert,"  said  Mrs.  Brace 
girdle,  with  the  air  of  one  drawing 
scientific  distinctions.  "  Now,  is  thai 
a  boy  or  a  lad/  that  spoke  to  mc 
last  ?  " 

"  By  its  dress,  I  should  say  a  hoy,' 
said  Cibber,  with  his  glass ;  "  by  its 
assurance,  a  lady  !  " 

"  There 's  one  clever  woman 
amongst  ye;  Peg  something,  plays 
Lothario,  Lady  Betty  Modish,  and 
what  not?" 

"  What !  admire  Woffington  ?  ' 
screamed  Mrs.  Clive ;  "  why,  she  is 
the  greatest  gabbler  on  the  stage." 

"I  don't  care,"  was  the  reply 
"  there 's  nature  about  the  jade 
Don't  contradict  me,"  added  she,  with 
sudden  fury  ;  "  a  parcel  of  children. ,: 

"  No,  madam,"  said  Clive,  humbly 
"  Mr.  Cibber,  will  you  try  and  pre- 
vail on  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  to  favor  us 
with  a  recitation  ?  " 

Cibber  handed  his  cane  with  pomj 
to  a  small  actor.  Bracegirdle  did  the 
same ;  and,  striking  the  attitudes  thai 
had  passed  for  heroic  in  their  day 
they  declaimed  out  of  the  "  Rival 
Queens  "  two  or  three  tirades,  which 
I  graciously  spare  the  reader  of  this 
tale.  Their  elocution  was  neat  and 
silvery ;  but  not  one  bit  like  the  way 
people  speak  in  streets,  palaces,  fields, 
roads,  and  rooms.  They  had  nol 
made  the  grand  discovery,  which  Mr. 
A.  Wigan  on  the  stage,  and  every 
man  of  sense  off  it,  has  made  in  our 
day  and  nation ;  namely,  that  the 
stage  is  a  representation,  not  of  stage, 
but  of  life  ;  and  that  an  actor  ought 
to  speak  and  act  in  imitation  of  hu- 
man beings,  not  of  speaking  machines 
that  have  run  and  creaked  in  a  stage 
groove,  with  their  eyes  shut  upon  the 
world  at  large,  upon  nature,  upon 
truth,  upon  man,  upon  woman,  and 
upon  child. 

"  This  is  slow,"  cried  Cibber ;  "  let 
us  show   these    young    people    how 


PEG   WOFFIXGTON. 


23 


ladles    and    gentlemen    moved   fifty 
years  ago,  dansons." 

A  fiddler  was  caught,  a  beautiful 
slow  minuet  played,  and  a  bit  of 
"  solemn  dancing  "  done.  Certainly, 
it  was  not  gay,  but  it  must  be  owned 
it  was  beautiful ;  it  was  the  dance  of 
kings,  the  poetry  of  the  courtly  sa- 
loon. 

The  retired  actress,  however,  had 
frisker  notions  left  in  her.  "  This  is 
slow,"  cried  she,  and  bade  the  fiddler 
play,  "  The  wind  that  shakes  the  bar- 
ley," an  ancient  jig  tune  ;  this  she 
danced  to  in  a  style  that  utterly  as- 
tounded the  spectators. 

She  showed  them  what  fun  was  ; 
her  feet  and  her  stick  were  all  echoes 
to  the  mad  strain  ;  out  went  her  heel 
behind,  and,  returning,  drove  her  four 
yards  forward.  She  made  unaccoun- 
table slants,  and  cut  them  all  over 
in  turn  if  they  did  not  jump  for  it. 
Roars  of  inextinguishable  laughter 
arose,  it  would  have  made  an  oyster 
merry.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  and 
put  her  hands  to  her  sides,  and  soon 
after  she  gave  a  vehement  cry  of 
pain. 

The  laughter  ceased. 

She  gave  another  cry  of  such  agony, 
that  they  were  all  round  her  in  a 
moment 

"  O,  help  me,  ladies,"  screamed 
the  poor  woman,  in  tones  as  feminine 
as  they  were  heart-rending  and  pite- 
ous. "O  my  back!  my  loins  !  I  suf- 
fer,  gentlemen,"  said  the  poor  thing, 
faintly. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Mr.  Vane 
offered  his  penknife  to  cut  her  laces. 

"  You  shall  cut  my  head  off  soon- 
er," cried  she,  with  sudden  energy. 
"  Don't  pity  me,"  said  she,  sadly,  "I 
don't  deserve  it";  then,  lifting  her 
eyes,  she  exclaimed,  with  a  sail  air  of 
self-reproach  :  "  0  vanity!  do  you  nev- 
er leave  a  woman  ?  " 

"  Nay,  madam  !  "  whimpered  the 
page,  wlio  was  a  good-hearted  girl ; 
"  't  was  your  great  complaisance  for 
us,  not  vanity.  Oh!  oh!  oh!"  and 
she  began  to  blubber,  to  make  mat- 
ters better. 


"No,  my  children,"  said  the  old 
lady,  "  't  was  vanity.  I  wanted  to 
show  you  what  an  old  'oman  could 
do ;  and  I  have  humiliated  myself, 
trying  to  outshine  younger  folk.  I 
am  justly  humiliated,  as  you  see" ;  and 
she  began  to  cry  a  little.' 

"  This  is  very  painful,"  said  Cibber. 

Mrs.  Bracegirdle  now  raised  her 
e)?'es  (they  had  set  her  in  a  chair),  and 
looking  sweetly,  tenderly,  and  earnest- 
ly on  her  old  companion,  she  said  to 
him,  slowly,  gently,  but  impressive- 
ly :  "  Colley,  at  threescore  years  and 
ten,  this  was  ill  done  of  us !  You 
audi  are  here  now — for  what?  to 
cheer  the  young  up  the  hill  we  mount- 
ed years  ago.  And,  old  friend,  if  we 
detract  from  them  we  discourage  them. 
A  great  sin  in  the  old  !  " 

"  Every  dog  his  day." 

"  We  have  had  ours."  Here  she 
smiled,  then,  laying  her  hand  tenderly 
in  the  old  man's,  she  added,  with  calm 
solemnity :  "  And  now  we  must  go 
quietly  towards  our  rest,  and  strut 
and  fret  no  more  the  few  last  minutes 
of  life's  fleeting  hour." 

How  tame  my  cacotype  of  these 
words  compared  with  what  they  were. 
I  am  ashamed  of  them  and  myself, 
and  the  human  craft  of  writing,  which, 
though  commoner  far,  is  so  miserably 
behind  the  godlike  art  of  speech  :  <Sj 
ipsam  audivisses ! 

These  ink  scratches,  which  in  the 
imperfection  of  language  we  have 
called  words,  till  the  unthinking  act- 
ually dream  they  arc  words,  but  which 
are  the  shadows  of  the  corpses  of 
words  ;  these  word-shadows  then  were 
living  powers  on  her  lips,  and  sub- 
dued, as  eloquence  always  dors,  every 
heart  within  reach  of  the  imperial 
tongue. 

The  young  loved  her,  and  the  old 
man,  softened  and  vanquished,  and 
mindful  of  his  failing  life,  was  silent, 
and  pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his 
eyes  a  moment ;  then  he  said  :  — 

"  No,    Bracy,   no.    Be    composed, 

I  pray  you.  She  is  right.  Young 
people,  forgive  me  that  1  love  the  dead 
too  well,  and  the  days   when  1   was 


24 


TEG  WOFFINGTON. 


what  von  are  now.  Drat  the  woman," 
continued  he,  half  ashamed  of  his 
emotion ;  "  she  makes  us  laugh,  and 
makes  us  cry,  just  as  she  used." 

"  What  does  he  say,  young  wo- 
man 1  "  said  the  old  lady,  dryly,  to 
Mrs.  Ciive. 

"  He  says  you  make  us  laugh,  and 
make  us  cry,  madam  ;  and  so  you  do 
me,  I  'm  sure." 

"  And  that 's  Peg  Woffington's  no- 
tion of  an  actress  !  Better  it,  Cibber 
and  Bracegirdle,  if  you  can,"  said  the 
other,  rising  up  like  lightning. 

She  then  threw  Colley  Gibber  a 
note,  and  walked  coolly  and  rapidly 
out  of  the  room,  without  looking  once 
behind  her. 

The  rest  stood  transfixed,  looking 
at  one  another,  and  at  the  empty 
chair.  Then  Gibber  opened  and  read 
the  note  aloud.  It  was  from  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle:  "Playing  at  tric-trac; 
so  can't  play  the  fool  in  your  green- 
room to-night.  —  B." 

On  this,  a  musical  ringing  laugh 
was  heard  from  outside  the  door,  where 
the  pseudo  Bracegirdle  was  washing 
the  gray  from  her  hair,  and  the 
wrinkles  from  her  face,  —  ah  !  I  wish  I 
could  do  it  as  easily !  —  and  the  little 
bit  of  sticking-plaster  from  her  front 
tooth*. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  Irish  jade !  "  roared 
Cibber. 

"  Divil  a  less  !  "  rang  back  a  rich 
brogue ;  "  and  it 's  not  the  furst  time 
we  put  the  comcther  upon  ye,  Eng- 
land, my  jewal !  " 

One  more  mutual  glance,  and  then 
the  mortal  cleverness  of  all  this  began 
to  dawn  on  their  minds ;  and  they 
broke  forth  into  clapping  of  hands, 
and  gave  this  accomplished  mime 
three  rounds  of  applause;  Mr.  Vane 
and  Sir  Charles  Pomander  leading 
with,  "  Brava,  Wofrington  !  " 

Its  effect  on  Mr.  Vane  may  be 
imagined.  Who  hut  she  could  have 
done  this?  This  was  as  if  a  painter 
should  so  paint  a  man  as  to  deceive 
his  species.  This  was  acting,  but  not 
like  the  acting  of  the  stage.  He  was 
in  transports,  and  self-satisfaction  at 


his  own  judgment  mingled  pleasantly 
with  his  admiration. 

In  this  cheerful  exhibition,  one 
joined  not,  —  Mr.  Cibber.  His  the- 
ories had  received  a  shock  (and  we  all 
love  our  theories).  He  himself  had 
received  a  rap,  and  we  don't  hate  our- 
selves. 

Great  is  the  syllogism  !  But  there 
is  a  class  of  arguments  less  vulnera- 
ble. 

If  A  says  to  B,  "  You  can't  hit  me, 
as  I  prove  by  this  syllogism"  (here 
followeth  the  syllogism),  "  and  B, 
pour  toute  re'ponse,  knocks  A  down 
such  a  whack  that  he  rebounds  into  a 
sitting  posture  ;  and  to  him  the  man, 
the  tree,  the  lamp-post,  and  the  fire- 
escape  become  not  clearly  distinguish- 
able; this  barbarous  logic  prevails 
against  the  logic  in  Barbara,  and  the 
syllogism  is  in  the  predicament  of 
Ilumpty  Dumpty. 

In  this  predicament  was  the  Poet 
Laureate.  "  The  miscreant  Proteus 
(could  not)  escape  these  chains  !  "  So 
the  miscreant  Proteus  —  no  bad  name 
for  an  old  actor  —  took  his  little 
cocked  hat  and  marched,  a  smaller,  if 
not  a  wiser  man.  Some  disjointed 
words  fell  from  him  :  "  Mimicry  is 
not  acting,"  &c. ;  and  with  one  bitter, 
mowing  glance  at  the  applauders,  ra'r- 
cumferens  acriter  oculos,  lie  vanished  in 
the  largest  pinch  of  snuff  on  record. 
The  rest  dispersed  more  slowly. 

Mr.  Vane  waited  eagerly,  and 
watched  the  door  for  Mrs.  Wofring- 
ton ;  but  she  did  not  come.  He  then 
made  acquaintance  with  good-natured 
Mr.  Quin,  who  took  him  upon  the 
stage  and. showed  him  by  what  vulgar 
appliances  that  mnjestic  rise  of  the 
curtain  he  so  admired  was  effected. 
Returning  to  the  green-room  for  his 
friend,  he  found  him  in  animated 
conversation  with  Mrs.  Wofrington. 
This  made  Vane  uneasy. 

Sir  Charles,  up  to  the  present  mo- 
ment of  the  evening,  had  been  un- 
wontedly  silent,  and  now  he  was  talk- 
ing nineteen  to  the  dozen,  and  Mrs. 
Wofflngton  was  listening  with  an 
appearance  of  interest  that  sent    a 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


25 


pang  to  poor  Vane's  heart ;  he  begged 
Mr  Quin  to  introduce  him. 

Mr.  Quin  introduced  him. 

The  lady  received  his  advances 
with  polite"  composure.  Mr.  Vane 
stammered  his  admiration  of  her 
Bracegirdle;  but  all  he  could  find 
words  to  say  was  mere  general  praise, 
and  somewhat  coldly  received.  Sir 
Charles,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  more 
like  a  critic.  "  Had  you  given  us  the 
stage  cackle,  or  any  of  those  tradition- 
ary symptoms  of  old  age,  we  should 
have  instantly  detected  you,"  said  he  ; 
"  but  this  was  art  copying  nature,  and 
it  may  be  years  before  such  a  triumph 
of  illusion"  is  again  effected  under  so 
many  adverse  circumstances." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Sir  Charles," 
was  the  reply.  "  You  natter  me.  It 
was  one  of  those  things  which  look 
greater  than  they  are  ;  nobody  here 
knew  Bracegirdle  but  Mr.  Cibber ; 
Mr.  Cibber  cannot  see  well  without 
his  glasses,  and  I  got  rid  of  one  of  the 
candles  ;  I  sent  one  of  the  imps  of  the 
theatre  to  knock  it  down.  I  know 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  by  heart.  I  drink 
tea  with  her  every  Sunday.  I  had 
her  dress  on,  and  I  gave  the  old  boy 
her  words  and  her  way  of  thinking; 
it  was  mere  mimicry;  it  was  nothing 
compared  with  what  I  once  did;  but, 
a-hem!" 

"  Tray  tell  us  !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  shock  your 
friend.  I  see  he  is  not  a  wicked  man 
like  you,  and  perhaps  does  not  know 
what  gqod-for-notning  creatures  ac- 
tresses arc." 

"  He  is  not  so  ignorant  as  he 
looks,"  replied  Sir  Charles. 

"  That  is  not  quite  the  answer  I 
expected,  Sir  Charles,"  replied  this 
lively  lady;  "but  it  serves  me  right 
for  fishing  on  dry  land.  Well,  then, 
you  must  know  a  yonng  gentleman 
Courted  me.  I  forget  whether  I  liked 
him  or  not;  but  you  will  fancy  I 
hated  him,  for  I  promised  to  marry 
him.  Yon  must  understand,  gentle- 
men, that  1  was  sent  into  the  world, 
not  to  act,  which  I  abominate,  but  to 
chronicle  small  beer  and  teach  an 
2 


army  of  little  brats  their  letters ;  so 
this"  word  'wife,'  and  that  word 
'chimney-corner,'  took  possession  of 
my  mind,  and  a  vision  of  darning 
Stockings  for  a  large  party,  all  my 
own,  tilled  my  heart,  and  really  I  felt 
quite  grateful  to  the  little  brute  that 
was  to  give  me  all  this,  and  he  would 
have  had  such  a  wife  as  men  never  do 
have,  still  less  deserve.  But  one  fine 
day  that  the  theatre  left  me  time  to 
examine  his  manner  towards  me,  I 
instantly  discovered  he  was  deceiving 
me.  So  I  had  him  watched,  and  the 
little  brute  was  going  to  marry  anoth- 
er woman,  and  break  it  to  me  by  de- 
grees afterwards,  &c.  You  know,  Sir 
Charles  ?     Ah  !  I  see  you  do. 

"  1  found  her  out ;  got  an  introduc- 
tion to  her  father;  went  down  to 
his  house  three  days  before  the  mar- 
riage, with  a  little  coal-black  mus- 
tache, regimentals,  and  what  not, 
made  up,  in  short,  with  the  art  of  my 
sex,  gentlemen,  —  and  the  impudence 
of  yours. 

"  The  first  day  I  flirted  and  danced 
with  the  bride.  The  second  I  made 
love  to  her,  and  at  night  I  let  her 
know  that  her  intended  was  a  villain. 
I  showed  her  letters  of  his  ;  protesta- 
tions, oaths  of  eternal  fidelity  to  one 
Peg  Woffington,  'who  will  die,' 
drawled  I,  'if  he  betrays  her.' 

"  And  here,  gentlemen,  mark  the 
justice  of  Heaven.  I  received  a  back- 
handed slap  :  '  Pes  Woffington  !  an 
actress!  O,  the  villain  !'  cried  she; 
'let  him  marry  the  little  vagabond. 
How  dare  he  insult  me  with  his  hand 
that  had  been  offered  in  such  a  quar- 
ter ?  ' 

"  So,  in  a  fit  of  virtuous  indigna- 
tion, the  little  hypocrite  dismissed  the 
little  brute;  in  other  words,  she  had 
fallen  in  love  with  me. 

"  I  have  not  bad  many  happy 
hours,  but  I  remember  it  was  delicious 
to  look  out  of  my  window,  and  at  the 
same  moment  smell  the  honeysuckles 
and  see  my  perfidi  dismissed  under  a 
heap  of  scorn  and  a  pile  of  luggage 
lie  had  brought  down  for  his  wedding 
tour. 


26 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


"  I  scampered  up  to  London,  laugh- 
ing all  the  way ;  and  when  I  got 
home,  if  I  remember  right,  I  cried  for 
two  hours.  How  do  you  account  for 
that  % " 

"  I  hope,  madam,"  said  Vane, 
gravely,  "  it  was  remorse  for  having 
trifled  with  that  poor  young  lady's 
heart ;  she  had  never  injured  you." 

"  But,  sir,  the  husband  I  robbed 
her  of  was  a  brute  and  a  villain  in  his 
little  way,  and  wicked  and  good-for- 
nothing,  &c.  He  would  have  deceived 
that  poor  little  hypocrite,  as  he  had 
this  one,"  pointing  to  herself. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean  ;  you 
inspired  her  with  an  attachment,  nev- 
er to  be  forgotten.  Poor  lady,  how 
many  sleepless  nights  has  she  passed 
since  then,  how  many  times  has  she 
strained  her  eyes  to  see  her  angel 
lover  returning  to  her  !  She  will  not 
forget  in  two  years  the  love  it  cost 
you  but  two  days  to  inspire.  The 
powerful  should  be  merciful.  Ah  !  I 
fear  you  have  no  heart." 

These  words  had  no  sooner  burst 
from  Mr.  Vane,  than  he  was  con- 
scious of  the  strange  liberty  he  had 
taken,  and,  indeed,  the  bad  taste  he 
had  been  guilty  of;  and  this  feeling 
was  not  lessened  when  he  saw  Mrs. 
Woffington  color  up  to  the  temples. 
Her  eyes,  too,  glittered  like  basilisks  : 
but  she  said  nothing,  which  was  re- 
markable in  her,  whose  tongue  was 
the  sword  of  a  matt  re  d'armes. 

Sir  Charles  eyed  his  friend  in  a  sly, 
satirical  manner ;  he  then  said,  laugh- 
ingly :  "  In  two  months  she  married  a 
third!  don't  waste  your  sympathy," 
and  turned  the  talk  into  another  chan- 
nel;  and  soon  after,  Mrs.  Wuihiu:- 
ton's  maid  appearing  at  the  door,  she 
courtcsied  to  both  gentlemen  and  left 
the  theatre.  Sir  Charles  Pomander 
accompanied  Mr.  Vane  a  little  way. 

"  What  becomes  of  her  innocence  ?  " 
was  his  first  word. 

"  One  loses  sight  of  it  in  her  im- 
mense talent,"  said  the  lover. 

"  She  certainly  is  clever  in  all  that 
bears  upon  her  business,"  was  the 
reply ;  "  but  I  noticed  you  were  a 


little  shocked  with  her  indelicacy  in 
telling  us  that  story,  and  still  more  in 
having  it  to  tell." 

"  Indelicacy  1  No  !  "  said  Vane ; 
"  the  little  brute  deserved  it.  Good 
Heavens  !  to  think  that '  a  little  brute  ' 
might  have  married  that  angel,  and 
actually  broke  faith  to  lose  her;  it  is 
incredible,  the  crime  is  diluted  by  the 
absurdity." 

"  Have  you  heard  him  tell  the 
story  1  No  ?  Then  take  my  word 
for  it,  you  have  not  heard  the  facts  of 
the  case." 

"  Ah !  you  are  prejudiced  against 
her  %  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  like  her.  But 
I  know  that  with  all  women  the 
present  lover  is  an  angel  and  the  past 
a  demon,  and  so  on  in  turn.  And  I 
know  that  if  Satan  were  to  enter  the 
women  of  the  stage,  with  the  wild  idea 
of  impairing  their  veracity,  he  would 
come  out  of  their  minds  a  greater  liar 
than  he  went  in,  and  the  innocent 
darlings  would  never  know  their  spir- 
itual father  had  been  at  them." 

Doubtful  whether  this  sentiment 
and  period  could  be  improved,  Sir 
Charles  parted  with  his  friend,  leaving 
his  sting  in  him  like  a  friend ;  the 
other's  reflections  as  he  sauntered 
home  were  not  strictly  those  of  a  wise, 
well-balanced  mind ;  they  ran  in  this 
style  :  — 

"  When  she  said,  '  Is  not  that  to 
praise  my  person  at  the  expense  of 
my  wit  ? '  I  ought  to  have  said, 
'  Nay,  madam ;  could  your  wit  dis- 
guise your  person,  it  would  betray 
itself,  so  you  would  still  shine  con- 
fessed ' ;  and  instead  of  that  I  said 
not1  ling  !  " 

He  then  ran  over  in  his  mind  all 
the  opportunities  he  had  had  for  put- 
ting in  something  smart,  and  bitter- 
ly regretted  those  lost  opportunities  ; 
and  made  the  smart  things,  and  beat 
the  air  with  them.  Then  his  cheeks 
tingled  when  he  remembered  that  he 
had  almost  scolded  her;  and  he  con- 
cocted a  very  different  speech,  and 
straightway  repeated  it  in  imagina- 
tion. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


27 


This  is  lovers'  pastime;  I  own  it 
funny;  but  it  is  open  to  one  objec- 
tion, this  single  practice  of  sitting 
upon  eggs  no  longer  chickenable, 
carried  to  a  habit,  is  capable  of  turn- 
ing a  solid  intellect  into  a  liquid  one, 
and  ruining  a  mind's  career. 

\\re  leave  Mr.  Vane,  therefore,  with 
a  hope  that  he  will  not  do  it  every 
night ;  and  we  follow  his  friend  to 
the  close  of  our  chapter. 

Hey  for  a  definition  ! 

What  is  diplomacy  1  Is  it  folly  in 
a  coat  that  looks  like  sagacity  ?  Had 
Sir  Charles  Pomander,  instead  of 
watching  Mr.  Vane  and  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington,  askeil  the  former  whether 
he  admired  the  latter,  and  whether 
the  latter  responded,  straightforward 
Vane  would  have  told  him  the  whole 
truth  in  a  minute.  Diplomacy  there- 
fore was,  as  it  often  is,  a  waste  of  time. 

But  diplomacy  did  more  in  this 
case,  it  sapienter  descendebat  infossarti : 
it  fell  on  its  nose  with  gymnastic 
dexterity,  as  it  generally  does,  upon 
my  word. 

To  watch  Mrs.  Woffington's  face 
vis-h-ris  Mr.  Vane,  Pomander  intro- 
duced Vane  to  the  green-room  of  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Covent  Garden.  By 
this  Pomander  learned  nothing,  be- 
cause Mrs.  Wollington  had,  with  a 
wonderful  appearance  of  openness, 
the  closest  face  in  Europe  when  she 
chose. 

On  the  other  hand,  by  introducing 
this  country  gentleman  to  this  green- 
room, he  gave  a  mighty  impulse  and 
opportunity  to  Vane's  hive;  an  Op- 
portunity Which  he  forgot  the  timid, 
Inexperienced  Damon  might  other- 
wise never  have  found. 

Here  diplomacy  was  not  policy,  for, 
as  my  sagacious  reader  has  perhaps 
divined,  Sir  Charles  Pomander  1008 
after  Iter  hintsrlf. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Yr.s,   Sir   Charles    was   nfhr    Miss 
Wollington.      1  use  that  phrase   be- 


cause it  is  a  fine  generic  one,  suitable 
to  different  kinds  of  love-making. 

Mr.  Vane's  sentiments  were  an  in* 
explicable  compound ;  but  respect, 
enthusiasm,  and  deep  admiration  were 
the  uppermost. 

The  good  Sir  Charles  was  no  enig- 
ma :  he  had  a  vacancy  in  his  estab- 
lishment, —  a  very  high  situation,  too, 
for  those  who  like  that  sort  of  thing, 
—  the  head  of  his  table,  his  left  hand 
when  he  drove  in  the  Park,  &c.  To 
this  he  proposed  to  promote  Miss  Wof- 
fington.  She  was  handsome  and  witty, 
and  he  liked  her.  But  that  was  not 
what  caused  him  to  pursue  her;  slow, 
sagacious,  inevitable,  as  a  beagle. 

She  was  celebrated,  and  would  con- 
fer great  eclut  on  him.  The  scandal 
of  possessing  her  was  a  burning  temp- 
tation. Women  admire  celebrity  in 
a  man  ;  but  men  adore  it  in  a  woman. 

"  The  world,"  says  Philip,  "  is  a  famous  man  ; 
What  will  not  women  love  so  taught  ?  " 

I  will  try  to  answer  this  question. 
The  women  will  more  readily  for- 
give disgusting  physical  deformity  for 
Fame's  sake  than  we.  They  would 
embrace  with  more  rapture  a  famous 
orang-outang,  than  we  an  illustrious 
chimpanzee;  but  when  it  conies  to 
moral  deformity  the  tables  are  turned. 
Had  the  Queen  pardoned  Mr.  Creen- 
acre  and  Mrs.  Manning,  would  the 
great  rush  have  been  on  the  hero,  or 
the  heroine?  Why,  on  Mrs.  Mac- 
beth !  To  her  would  the  blackguards 
have  brought  honorable  proposals, 
and  the  gentry  liberal  ones. 

(ireenaere  would  have  found  more 
female  admirers  than  I  ever  shall ; 
but  the  grand  stream  of  sexual  admi- 
ration would  have  set  Mariawards. 
This  ('act  is  as  dark  as  night;  but  it 
is  as  sure  as  the  sun. 

The  next  day  "  the  friends  "  (most 
laughable  of  human  substantives!) 
met  in  the  theatre,  and  again  visited 
the  green-room  ;  and  this  time  Vane 
determined  to  do  himself  more  jus- 
tice.     He  was  again   disappointed  ; 

the   actress's    manner   was    ceremoni- 
ously polite.     She  was    almost   con- 


28 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


stantly  on  the  stage,  and  in  a  hurry 
when  off  it ;  and,  when  there  was  a 
word  to  be  got  with  her,  the  ready, 
glih  Sir  Charles  was  sure  to  get  it. 
Vane  could  not  help  thinking  it  hard 
that  a  man  who  professed  no  respect 
for  her  should  thus  keep  the  light 
from  him  ;  and  he  could  hardly  con- 
ceal his  satisfaction  when  Pomander, 
at  night,  bade  him  farewell  for  a  fort- 
night. Pressing  business  took  Sir 
Charles  into  the  country. 

The  good  Sir  Charles,  however, 
could  not  go  without  leaving  his 
sting  behind  as  a  companion  to  his 
friend.  He  called  on  Mr.  Vane,  and 
after  a  short  preface,  containing  the 
words  "  our  friendship,"  "  old  kind- 
ness," "  my  greater  experience,"  he 
gravely  warned  him  against  Mrs. 
Woffington. 

"  Not  that  I  would  say  this  if  you 
could  take  her  for  what  she  is,  and 
amuse  yourself  with  her  as  she  will 
with  you,  if  she  thinks  it  worth  her 
while.  But  I  see  you  have  a  heart, 
and  she  will  make  a  football  of  it, 
and  torment  you  beyond  all  you  have 
ever  conceived  of  human  anguish." 

Mr.  Vane  colored  high,  and  was 
about  to  interrupt  the  speaker ;  but 
he  continued :  — 

"  There,  I  am  in  a  hurry.  But 
ask  Quin,  or  anybody  who  knows  her 
history,  you  will  find  she  has.  had 
scores  of  lovers,  and  no  one  remains 
her  friend  after  they  part." 

"  Men  are  such  villains  !  " 

"  Very  likely,"  was  the  reply  ; 
"  but  twenty  men  don't  ill-use  one 
good  woman  :  those  are  not  the  pro- 
portions.    Adieu  ! " 

This  last  hit  frightened  Mr.  Vane, 
he  began  to  look  into  himself;  he 
could  not  but  feel  that  he  was  a  mere 
child  in  this  woman's  hands;  and, 
more  than  that,  his  conscience  told 
him  that,  if  his  heart  should  be  made 
a  football  of,  it  would  only  he  a  just 
and  probable  punishment.  For  there 
were  particular  reasons  why  he,  of  all 
men,  had  no  business  to  look  twice  at 
any  woman  whose  name  was  Wel- 
lington 


That  night  he  avoided  the  green- 
room, though  he  could  not  forego  the 
play ;  but  the  next  night  he  deter- 
mined to  stay  at  home  altogether. 
Accordingly,  at  five  o'clock,  the  as- 
tounded box-keeper  wore  a  visage  of 
dismay,  —  there  was  no  shilling  for 
him  !  and  Mr.  Vane's  nightly  shilling 
had  assumed  the  sanctity  of  salary  in 
his  mind. 

Mr.  Vane  strolled  disconsolate  ;  he 
strolled  by  the  Thames,  he  strolled 
up  and  down  the  Strand ;  and,  final- 
ly, having  often  admired  the  wisdom 
of  moths  in  their  gradual  approach  to 
what  is  not  good  for  them,  he  strolled 
into  the  green-room,  Covent  Garden, 
and  sat  down.  When  there  he  did 
not  feel  happy.  Besides,  she  had  al- 
ways been  cold  to  him,  and  had  given 
no  sign  of  desiring  his  acquaintance, 
still  less  of  recognition. 

Mr.  Vane  had  often  seen  a  weather- 
cock at  work,  and  he  had  heard  a 
woman  compared  to  it ;  but  he  had 
never  realized  the  simplicity,  beauty, 
and  justice  of  the  simile.  He  was 
therefore  surprised,  as  well  as  thrilled, 
when  Mrs.  Woffington,  so  cool,  cere- 
monious, and  distant  hitherto,  walked 
up  to  him  in  the  green-room  with  a  face 
quite  wreathed  in  smiles,  and,  with- 
out preliminary,  thanked  him  for  all 
the  beautiful  flowers  he  had  sent  her. 

"What,  Mrs.  Woffington,  —  what, 
you  recognize  me  f  " 

"  Of  course,  and  have  been  foolish 
enough  to  feel  quite  supported  by  the 
thought  I  had  at  least  one  friend  in 
the  house.  But,"  said  she,  looking 
down,  "  now  you  must  not  be  angry  ; 
here  are  some  stones  that  have  fallen 
somehow  among  the  flowers,  I  am 
going  to  give  you  them  hack,  because 
I  value  flowers,  so  I  cannot  have 
them  mixed  with  anything  else;  but 
don't  ask  me  for  a  flower  back,"  add- 
ed she,  seeing  the  color  mount  on 
his  face,  "  lor  I  would  not  give  one 
of  them  to  you,  or  anybody." 

Imagine  the  effect  of  this  on  a  ro- 
mantic disposition  like  Mr.  Vane's. 

He  told  her  how  glad  he  was  that 
she    could    distinguish   his    features 


PEG  W0FF1NGT0N. 


29 


amidst  the  crowd  of  her  admirers  ;  he 
confessed  he  had  been  mortified  when 
he  found  himself,  as  he  thought,  en- 
tirely a  stranger  to  her. 

She  interrupted  him. 

"  Do  you  know  your  friend  Sir 
Charles  Pomander  ?  No  !  I  am  al- 
most sure  you  do;  well,  he  is  a  man 
I  do  not  like.  He  is  deceitful,  besides 
he  is  a  wicked  man.  There,  to  be 
plain  with  you,  he  was  watching  me 
all  that  night,  the  first  time  you  came 
here,  and,  because  I  saw  he  was 
watching  me,  I  would  not  know  who 
you  were,  nor  anything  about  you." 

"  But  you  looked  as  if  you  had 
never  seen  me  before." 

"  Of  course  I  did,  when  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to,"  said  the  ac- 
tress, naively. 

"  Sir  Charles  has  left  London  for  a 
fortnight,  so,  if  he  is  the  only  obsta- 
cle, I  hope  you  will  know  me  every 
night." 

"  Why,  you  sent  me  no  flowers 
yesterday  or  to-day." 

"  But  I  will  to-morrow." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  I  shall  know 
your  face  again  :  good  by.  Won't 
you  see  me  in  the  last  act,  and  tell 
me  how  ill  I  do  it  !  " 

"  0  yes  !  "  and  he  hurried  to  his 
box,  and  so  the  actress  secured  one 
pair  of  hands  for  her  last  act. 

He  returned  to  the  green-room,  but 
she  did  not  revisit  that  verdant  bow- 
er. The  next  night,  after  the  usual 
compliments,  she  said  to  him,  looking 
down  with  a  sweet,  engaging  air  :  — 

"I  sent  a  messenger  into  the  coun- 
try to  know  about  that  lady." 

"  What  lady  !  "  said  Vane,  scarce- 
ly believing  his  senses. 

"  That  you  were  so  unkind  to  me 
about." 

"  1,  unkind  to  you?  what  a  brute 
1  must  be  !  " 

"  My  meaning  is,  you  justly  re- 
buked me,  only  you  should  not  tell 
an  actress  she  has  no  heart,  —  that  is 

always  understood.  Well,  Sir  Charles 
Pomander  said  she  married  a  third  in 
two  months  ! 

"And  did  she?" 


"  No,  it  was  in  six  weeks ;  that  man 
never  tells  the  truth  ;  and  since  then 
she  has  married  a  fourth." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it !  " 

"  So  am  I,  since  you  awakened  my 
conscience." 

Delicious  flattery !  and  of  all  flat- 
tery the  sweetest,  when  a  sweet  crea- 
ture does  flattery,  not  merely  utters 
it. 

After  this,  Vane  made  no  more 
struggles  ;  he  surrendered  himself  to 
the  charming  seduction,  and  as  his 
advances  were  respectful,  but  ardent 
and  incessant,  he  found  himself  at  the 
end  of  a  fortnight  Mrs.  Woflington's 
professed  lover. 

They  wrote  letters  to  each  other 
every  day.  On  Sunday  they  went  to 
church  together  in  the  morning,  and 
spent  the  afternoon  in  the  suburbs 
wherever  grass  was  and  dust  was  not. 

In  the  next  fortnight,  poor  Vane 
thought  he  had  pretty  well  fathomed 
this  extraordinary  woman's  character. 
Plumb  the  Atlantic  with  an  eighty- 
fathom  line,  sir ! 

"  She  is  religious,"  said  he,  "  she 
loves  a  church  much  better  than  a 
playhouse,  and  she  never  laughs  nor 
goes  to  sleep  in  church  as  I  do.  And 
she  is  breaking  me  of  swearing,  — by 
degrees.  She  says  that  no  fashion 
can  justify  what  is  profane,  and  that 
it  must  be  vulgar  as  well  as  wicked. 
And  she  is  frankness  and  simplicity 
itself." 

Another  thing  that  charmed  him 
was  her  disinterestedness.  She  or- 
dered him  to  buy  her  a  present  every 
day,  but  it  was  never  to  COSt  above  a 
shilling.  If  an  article  could  be  found 
thai  cost  exactly  tenpence  (a  favorite 
sum  of  hers),  she  was  particularly 
pleased,  and  these  shilling  presents 

were  received  with  a  (lush  of  pleasure 

and  brightening  eyes :  but  when  one 
day  he  appeared  with  a  diamond 
necklace,  it  was  taken  very  coldly,  he 
was  not  even  thanked  for  it,  and  he 
Was   made    to   feel,   once   tor  all,   that 

the  tenpenny  ones  were  the  best  in- 
vestments towards  her  favor. 

Then   he  found  out    that    she  was 


30 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


very  prudent  and  rather  stingy ;  of 
Spartan  simplicity  in  her  diet,  and  a 
seorner  of  dress  off  the  stage.  To  re- 
deem this  she  was  charitable,  and  her 
charity  and  her  economy  sometimes 
had  a  sore  fight,  daring  which  she 
was  peevish,  poor  little  soul. 

One  day  she  made  him  a  request. 

"  I  can't  bear  you  should  think  me 
worse  than  I  am,  and  I  don't  want 
you  to  think  me  better  than  I  am." 

Vane  trembled. 

"  But  don't  speak  to  others  about 
me ;  promise,  and  I  will  promise  to 
tell  you  my  whole  story,  whenever 
you  are  entitled  to  such  a  confidence." 

"  When  shall  I  be  entitled  to  it  ?  " 

"  When  I  am  sure  you  love  me." 

"  Do  you  doubt  that  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  I  think  you  love  me,  but 
I  am  not  sure." 

"  Margaret,  remember  I  have  known 
you  much  longer  than  you  have  known 
me." 

"  No !  " 

"  Yes  !  Two  months  before  we 
ever  spoke  1  lived  upon  your  face  and 
voice." 

"  That  is  to  say  you  looked  from 
your  box  at  me  upon  the  stage,  and 
did  not  I  look  from  the  stage  at 
you  ?  " 

"  Never !  yon  always  looked  at  the 
pit,  and  my  heart  used  to  sink." 

"On  the  17th  of  May  you  first 
came  into  that  box.  I  noticed  you  a 
little,  the  next  day  I  noticed  you  a 
little  more  ;  I  saw  you  fancied  you 
liked  me,  after  a  while  I  could  not 
have  played  without  you." 

Here  was  delicious  flattery  again, 
and  poor  Vane  believed  every  word 
of  it. 

As  for  her  request  and  her  promise, 
she  showed  her  wisdom  in  both  these. 
As  Sir  Charles  observed,  it  is  a  won- 
derful point  gained  if  you  allow  a 
woman  to  tell  her  story  her  own  way. 

How  the  few  facts  that  are  allowed 
to  remain  get  moulded  and  twisted 
out  of  ligly  forms  into  pretty  shapes 
by  those  supple,  dexterous  fingers  ! 

This  present  story  cannot  give  the 
life  of  Mrs.  Wotfington,  but  only  one 


great  passage  therein,  as  do  the  epic 
and  dramatic  writers  ;  but  since  there 
was  often  j^reat  point  in  any  sentences 
spoken  on  important  occasions  by  this 
lady,  I  will  just  quote  her  defence  of 
herself.  The  reader  may  be  sure  she 
did  not  play  her  weakest  card ;  let 
us  give  her  the  benefit. 

One  day  she  and  Kitty  Clive  were 
at  it  ding-dong ;  the  green-room  was 
full  of  actors,  male  and  female,  but 
there  were  no  strangers,  and  the  ladies 
were  saying  things  which  the  men  of 
this  generation  only  think ;  at  last 
Mrs.  Woffington  finding  herself  rough- 
ly, and,  as  she  thought,  unjustly  han- 
dled, turned  upon  the  assembly  and 
said  :  "  What  man  did  ever  I  ruin  in 
all  my  life  ?     Speak  who  can  ! " 

And  there  was  a  dead  silence. 

"  What  woman  is  there  here  at  as 
much  as  three  pounds  per  week  even, 
that  has  n't  ruined  two  at  the  very 
least  'I " 

Report  says  there  was  a  dead  si- 
lence again,  until  Mrs.  Clive  perked 
up,  and  said  she  had  only  ruined  one, 
and  that  was  his  own  fault ! 

Mrs.  Woffington  declined  to  attach 
weight  to  this  example.  "  Kitty 
Clive  is  the  hook  without  the  bait," 
said  she;  and  the  laugh  turned,  as  it 
always  did,  against  Peggy's  antago- 
nist. 

Thus  much  was  speedily  shown  to 
Mr.  Vane,  that,  whatever  were  Mrs. 
Woffington 's  intentions  towards  him, 
interest  had  at  present  nothing  to  do 
with  them  ;  indeed  it  was  made  clear 
that,  even  were  she  to  surrender  her 
liberty  to  him,  it  would  only  be  as  a 
princess,  forging  golden  chains  for 
herself  with  her  own  royal  hand. 

Another  fortnight  passed  to  the  mu- 
tual satisfaction  of  the  lovers.  To 
Vane  it  was  a  dream  of  rapture  to  be 
near  this  great  creature,  whom  thou- 
sands admired  at  such  a  distance  ;  to 
watch  over  her,  to  take  her  to  the 
theatre  in  a  warm  shawl,  to  stand  at 
the  wing  and  receive  her  as  she  came 
radiant  from  her  dressing-room,  to 
watch  her  from  her  rear  as  she  stood 
like  some  power  about  to  descend  on 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


31 


(he  stage,  to  see  her  falcon-like  stoop 
upon  tlie  said  stage,  and  hear  the 
hurst  of  applause  that  followed,  as 
the  report  does  the  flash  ;  to  compare 
this  with  the  spiritless  crawl  with 
which  common  artists  went  on,  tame 
from  their  first  note  to  their  last ;  to 
take  her  hand  when  she  came  off,  feel 
how  her  nerves  were  strung  like  a 
greyhound's  after  a  race,  and  her 
whole  frame  in  a  high  even  glow,  with 
the  great  Pythoness  excitement  of 
art. 

And  to  have  the  same  great  crea- 
ture leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  listening  with  a  charming  com- 
placency, whilst  he  purred  to  her  of 
love  and  calm  delights,  alternate  with 
still  greater  triumphs;  for  he  was  to 
turn  dramatic  writer,  for  her  sake  was 
to  write  plays,  a  woman  the  hero,  and 
love  was  to  inspire  him,  and  passion 
supply  the  want  of  pencraft.  (You 
make  me  laugh,  Mr.  Vane  ! ) 

All  this  was  heavenly. 

And  then  with  all  her  dash,  and 
fire,  and  bravado,  she  was  a  thorough 
woman. 

"  Margaret ! " 

"  Ernest !  " 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question. 
Did  you  really  cry  because  that  Miss 
Bellamy  had  dresses  from  Paris  1  " 

"  It  does  not  seem  very  likely." 

"  No,  hut  tell  me;  did  you  I" 

"Who  said  I  did;" 

"  Mr.  (Jibber." 

"Old  fool!" 

"  Yes,  but  did  you?" 

"  Did  I  what!" 

"Cry!" 

"  Ernest,  the  minx's  dresses  were 
beautiful." 

"  No  doubt.     But  did  you  cry?" 

"And  mill!'  wen:  dirty;  1  don't 
care  about  gilt  rags,  but  dirty  dress- 
es, agh  !  " 

"  Tell  me,  then." 

"Tell  you  what?" 

"  Did  you  cry  or  not  ?  " 

"  Ah!  he  wants  to  tindout  whether 
I  am  a  fool,  and  despise  inc." 

'  No,  I  think  I  should  love  you 
better :  for  hitherto  I   have    seen    no 


weakness  in  you,  and  it  makes  me  un- 
comfortable." 

"  Be  comforted  !  Is  it  not  a  weak- 
ness to  like  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  free  from  that  weakness, 
or  you  would  gratify  my  curiosity." 

"  Be  pleased  to  state,  in  plain,  in- 
telligible English,  what  you  require  of 
me." 

"  I  want  to  know,  in  one  word,  did 
you  cry  or  not  ?  " 

"  Promise  to  tease  me  no  more 
then,  and  I  '11  tell  you." 

"  I  promise." 

"  You  won't  despise  me  ?  " 

"  Despise  you  !  of  course  not." 

"  Well,  then,  —  I  don't  remember! " 

On  another  occasion,  they  were 
seated  in  the  dusk,  by  the  side  of  the 
canal  in  the  Park,  when  a  little  ani- 
mal began  to  potter  about  on  an  ad- 
jacent bank. 

Mrs.  Woffington  contemplated  it 
with  curiosity  and  delight. 

"  O  you  pretty  creature  !  "  said 
she.  "  Now  you  are  a  rabbit :  at  least, 
I  think  so." 

"  No,"  said  Vane,  innocently ;  "that 
is  a  rat." 

"Ah!  ah!  ah!"  screamed  Mrs. 
Woffington,  and  pinched  his  arm. 
This  frightened  the  rat,  who  disap- 
peared. tShc  burst  out  laughing: 
"  There  's  a  fool  !  The  thing  did  not 
frighten  me,  and  the  name  (lid.  De- 
pend upon  it,  it  's  true  what  they  say, 

—  that,  off  the  stage,  I  am  the  great- 
est fool  there  is.  1  '11  never  be  so  ab- 
surd again.  Ah!  ah!  ah!  here  it  is 
again  "  (scream  and  pinch,  as  before). 
"  Do  take  me  from  this  horrid  place, 
where  monsters  come  from  the  great 
deep." 

And  she  flounced  away,  looking 
daggers  askant  at  the  place  the  rat 
had  vacated  in  equal  terror. 

All  this  was  silly,  but  it  pleases  us 
men,  and  contrast  is  so  charming  ! 
This  same  fool  was  brimful  of  talent, 

—  and  cunning,  too,  for  that   matter. 
She    played    late  that  night,  and 

Mr.  Vane  saw  the  Barm  creature, 
who  dared  not  stay  where  she  was  li- 
able to  a  distant  rat,  spring  upon  the 


32 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


stage  as  a  gay  rake,  and  flash  out  her 
rapier,  and  act  valor's  king  to  the 
life,  and  seem  ready  to  eat  up  every- 
body, King  Fear  included  ;  and  then, 
after  her  brilliant  sally  upon  the  pub- 
lic, Sir  Harry  Wildair  came  and 
stood  beside  Mr.  Vane. 

Her  bright  skin,  contrasted  with 
her  powdered  periwig,  became  daz- 
zling. She  used  little  rouge,  but  that 
little  made  ber  eyes  two  balls  of  black 
lightning.  Fromher  high  instep  to  her 
polished  forehead,  all  was  symmetry. 
Her  leg  would  have  been  a  sculptor's 
glory  ;  and  the  curve  from  her  waist 
to  her  knee  was  Hogarth's  line  itself. 
She  stood  like  Mercury  new  light- 
ed on  a  heaven-kissing  hill.  She 
placed  her  foot  upon  the  ground,  as 
she  might  put  a  hand  upon  her  lover's 
shoulder.  We  indent  it  with  our 
eleven  undisguised  stone. 

Such  was  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  who 
stood  by  Mr.  Vane,  glittering  with 
diamond  buckles,  gorgeous  with  rich 
satin  breeches,  velvet  coat,  ruffles, 
pidce  testis  et  auri ;  and  as  she  bent 
her  long  eye-fringes  down  on  him 
(be  was  seated),  all  her  fiery  charms 
gradually  softened  and  quivered  down 
to  womanhood. 

"  The  first  time  I  was  here,"  said 
Vane,  "  my  admiration  of  you  broke 
out  to  Mr.'Oibber ;  and  what  do  you 
think  he  said  ?  " 

"  That  you  praised  me,  for  me  to 
hear  you.     Hid  you  1  " 

"  Acquit  me  of  such  meanness." 
"  Forgive  me.     It  is  just  what  I 
should  have  done,  had  I  been  court- 
ing an  actress." 

"  I  think  you  have  not  met  many 
ingenuous  spirits,  dear  friend  ?  " 
"  Not  one,  my  child." 
This  was    a  phrase  she  often    ap- 
plied to  him  now. 

"  The  old  fellow  pretended  to  hear 
what  I  said,  too  ;  and  I  am  sure  you 
did  not,  —  did  you  1 " 
"  Guess." 
"  I  guess  not." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  plead  guilty. 
An  actress's  ears  are  so  quick  to  hear 
praise,   to  tell    you  the  truth,  I  did 


catch  a  word  or  two,  and,  'It  told, 
sir,  — it  told.'  " 

"  You  alarm  me  !  At  this  rate,  I 
shall  never  know  what  you  see,  hear, 
or  think,  by  your  face." 

"  When  you  want  to  know  any- 
thing, ask  me,  and  I  will  tell  you ; 
but  nobody  else  shall  learn  anything, 
nor  even  you,  any  other  way." 

"  Did  you  hear  the  feeble  tribute  of 
praise  I  was  paying  you,  when  you 
came  in  1 "  inquired  Vane. 

"  No.  You  did  not  say  that  my 
voice  had  the  compass  and  variety  of 
nature,  and  my  movements  were  free 
and  beautiful,  whilst  the  others  when 
in  motion  were  stilts,  and  cofi'ee-pots 
when  in  repose,  did  you  1  " 

"  Something  of  the  sort,  I  believe," 
cried  Vane,  laughing. 

"  I  melted  from  one  fine  statue  into 
another,  I  restored  the  Antinous  to 
his  true  sex.  —  Goose  !  —  Painters 
might  learn  their  art  from  me  (in  my 
dressing-room,  no  doubt),  and  orators 
revive  at  my  lips  the  music  of  Ath- 
ens, that  quelled  mad  mobs  and  prin- 
ces drunk  with  victory.  —  Silly  fel- 
low !  —  Praise  was  never  so  sweet  to 
me,"  murmured  she,  inclining  like  a 
goddess  of  love  towards  him  ;  and  he 
fastened  on  two  velvet  lips,  that  did 
not  shun  the  sweet  attack,  hut  gently 
parted  with  a  heavenly  sigh  ;  while 
her  heaving  bosom  and  yielding 
frame  and  swimming  eyes  confessed 
her  conqueror. 

That  morning  Mr.  Vane  had  been 
dispirited,  and  apparently  self-discon- 
tented; but  at  night  he  went  home 
in  a  state  of  mental  intoxication. 
His  poetic  enthusiasm,  his  love,  his 
vanity,  were  all  gratified  at  once. 
And  all  these,  singly,  have  conquered 
Prudence  and  Virtue  a  million  times. 
She  had  confessed  to  him  that  she 
was  disposed  to  risk  her  happiness  on 
him  ;  she  had  begged  him  to  submit 
to  a  short  probation  ;  and  she  had 
promised,  if  her  confidence  and  es- 
teem remained  unimpaired  atthc  close 
of  that  period,  —  which  was  not  to  be 
an  unhappy  one,  —  to  take  advantage 
of  the  summer  holidays,  and  cross  the 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


S3 


water  with  him,  and  forget  everything 
in  the  world  with  him,  but  love. 

How  was  it  that  the  very  next 
morning  clouds  chased  one  another 
across  His  face  3  Was  it  that  men  are 
happy  but  while  the  chase  is  doubt- 
ful 1  Was  it  the  letter  from  Poman- 
der announcing  his  return,  and  sneer- 
ingly  inquiring  whether  he  was  still 
the  dupe  of  Peg  Woffington  ?  or  was 
it  that  same  mysterious  disquiet  which 
attacked  him  periodically,  and  then 
gave  way  for  a  while  to  pleasure  and 
her  golden  dreams  ? 

The  next  day  was  to  be  a  day  of 
delight.  He  was  to  entertain  her  at 
his  own  house ;  and,  to  do  her  honor, 
he  had  asked  Mr.  (Jibber,  Mr.  Quin, 
and  other  actors,  critics,  &c. 

Our  friend,  Sir  Charles  Pomander, 
had  been  guilty  of  two  ingenuities  : 
first,  he  had  written  three  or  four  let- 
ters, full  of  respectful  admiration,  to 
Mrs.  Woflington,  of  whom  he  spoke 
slightingly  to  Vane  ;  second,  he  had 
made  a  disengenuous  purchase. 

This  purchase  was  Pompey,  Mrs. 
Wbffington's  little  black  .slave.  It  is 
a  horrid  fact,  but  Pompey  did  not 
love  his  mistress  :  lie  was  a  little  en- 
amored of  her,  as  small  boys  are  apt 
to  be,  but,  on  the  whole,  a  sentiment 
of  hatred  slightly  predominated  in  his 
little  black  bosom. 

It  was  not  without  excuse. 

This  lady  was  subject  to  two  un- 
pleasant companions,  —  sorrow  and 
bitterness.  About  twice  a  week  she 
would  cry  for  two  hours  ;  and  after 
this  class  of  fit  she  generally  went 
abroad,  and  made  a  round  of  certain 
poor  or  sick  proWgdb  she  had,  and  re- 
turned smiling  and  cheerful. 

Hut  other  twice  a  week  she  might 
be  seen  to  sit  upon  her  chair,  con- 
tracted into  half  her  size,  and  look- 
ing daggers  at  the  universe  in  gen- 
eral, the  world  in  particular;  and  on 
these  occasions,  it  must  be  owned, 
6hc  stared  at  home,  and  sometimes 
whipped  Pompey. 

Pompey  had  not  the  sense  to  reflect 
that  he  ought  to  have  been  whipped 
tvery  day,  or  the  esprit  ds  corps  to  be 
2* 


consoled  by  observing  that  this  sort 
of  thing  did  his  mistress  good.  What 
he  felt  was,  that  his  mistress,  who  did 
everything  well,  whipped  him  with 
energy  and  skill ;  it  did  not  take  ten 
seconds,  but  still,  in  that  brief  period, 
Pompey  found  himself  dusted  and 
polished  off. 

The  sacred  principle  of  justice  was 
as  strong  in  Mrs.  Woffington  as  in. 
the  rest  of  her  sex ;  she  had  not  one 
grain  of  it.  When  she  was  not  in  her 
tantrums,  the  mischievous  imp  was  as 
sacred  from  check  or  remonstrance  as 
a  monkey,  or  a  lap-dog  ;  and  several 
female  servants  left  the  house  on  his 
account. 

But  Nemesis  overtook  him  in  the 
way  we  have  lunted,  and  it  put  his 
little  black  pipe  out. 

The  lady  had  taken  him  out  of 
great  humanity ;  he  was  fed  like  a 
game-cock,  and  dressed  like  a  Bar- 
baric prince  ;  and  once  when  he  was 
ill  his  mistress  watched  him,  and 
nursed  him,  and  tended  him  with  the 
same  white  hand  that  plied  the  ob- 
noxious whip ;  and  when  he  died, 
she  alone  withheld  her  consent  from 
his  burial,  and  this  gave  him  a  chance 
black  boys  never  get,  and  he  came  to 
again  ;  but  still  these  tarnation  lick- 
ings "  stuck  in  him  gizzard."  So 
when  Sir  Charles's  agent  proposed  to 
him  certain  silver  coins,  cheap  at  a  II  i- 
tlc  treachery,  the  ebony  ape  grinned 
till  he  turned  half-ivory,  and  became 
a  spy  in  the  house  of  his  mistress. 

The  reader  will  have  gathered  that 
the  good  Sir  Charles  had  been  quietly 
in  London  some  hours  before  he  an- 
nounced himself  as  /«o<7<<  postjuturum. 

Diamond  cut  diamond;  a  diplo- 
matic stole  this  march  upon  an  ac- 
tress, and  took  her  black  pawn.  One 
for  Pomander  !     ((Jun.) 


CHAPTER  IV. 

TRIPLET,  the  Cerberus  of  art.  who 
had  the  first  bark  in  this  legend,  and 
has  since    been    out  of  hearing,    ran 
c 


34 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


from  Lambeth  to  Covent  Garden,  on 
receipt  of  Mr.  Vane's  note.  But  ran 
he  never  so  quick,  he  had  built  a  full- 
sized  castle  in  the  air  before  he  reached 
Bow  Street. 

The  letter  hinted  at  an  order  upon 
his  muse  for  amatory  verse ;  delight- 
ful task,  cheering  prospect. 

Bid  a  man  whose  usual  lot  it  is  to 
break  stones  for  the  parish  at  ten- 
pence  the  cubic  yard,  —  bid  such  an 
one  play  at  marbles  with  some  stone 
taws  for  half  an  hour  per  day,  and 
pocket  one  pound  one,  —  bid  a  poor 
horse  who  has  drawn  those  stones 
about,  and  browsed  short  grass  by  the 
wayside,  —  bid  him  canter  a  few  times 
round  a  grassy  ring,  and  then  go  to 
his  corn,  —  in  short,  bid  Kosinante 
change  with  Pegasus,  and  you  do  no 
more  than  Mr.  Vane's  letter  held  out 
to  Triplet. 

The  amatory  verse  of  that  day  was 
not  up-hill  work.  There  was  a  beat- 
en track  on  a  dead  level,  and  you  fol- 
lowed it.  You  told  the  tender  crea- 
ture, with  a  world  of  circumlocution, 
that,  "without  joking  now,"  she  was 
a  leper,  ditto  a  tigress,  item  marble. 
You  next  feigned  a  lucid  interval,  and 
to  be  on  the  point  of  detesting  your 
monster,  but  in  twenty  more  verses 
love  became,  as  usual,  stronger  than 
reason,  and  you  wound  up  your  rot- 
ten yarn  thus : — 

You  hugged  a  golden  chain.  You 
drew  deeper  into  your  wound  a 
barbed  shaft,  like  —  (any  wild  animal 
will  do,  no  one  of  them  is  such  an 
ass,  so  you  had  an  equal  title  to  all)  : 
and  on  looking  back  you  saw  with 
horrible  complacency  that  you  had 
inflicted  one  hundred  locusts,  five  feet 
long,  upon  oppressed  humanity. 

Wont  to  travel  over  acres  of  canvas 
for  a  few  shillings,  and  roods  of  paper 
on  bare  speculation,  Triplet  knew  he 
could  make  a  thousand  a  year  at  the 
above  work  without  thinking. 

He  came  therefore  to  the  box-keeper 
with  his  eyes  glittering. 

"  Mr.  Vane  1 " 

"  Just  gone  out  with  a  gentleman." 

"  I  '11  wait  then." 


Now  Mr.  Vane,  we  know,  was  in 
the  green-room,  and  went  home  by 
the  stage-door.  The  last  thing  he 
thought  of  was  poor  Triplet ;  the  rich 
do  not  dream  how  they  disappoint  the 
poor.  Triplet's  castle  fell  as  many  a 
predecessor  had.  When'  the  lights 
were  put  out,  he  left  the  theatre  with 
a  bitter  sigh. 

"  If  this  gentleman  knew  how  many 
sweet  children  1  have,  and  what  a 
good,  patient,  suffering  wife,  sure  he 
would  not  have  chosen  me  to  make  a 
fool  of!  "  said  the  poor  fellow  to  him- 
self. 

In  Bow  Street,  he  turned,  and 
looked  back  upon  the  theatre.  How 
gloomy  and  grand  it  loomed  ! 

"  Ah ! "  thought  he,  "  if  I  could  but 
conquer  you;  and  why  not  1  All 
history  shows  that  nothing  is  uncon- 
querable except  perseverance.  Han- 
nibal conquered  the  Alps,  and  I'll 
conquer  you,"  cried  Triplet,  firmly. 
"  Yes,  this  visit  is  not  lost ;  here  I 
register  a  vow :  I  will  force  my  way 
into  that  mountain  of  masonry,  or 
perish  in  the  attempt." 

Triplet's  most  unpremeditated 
thoughts  and  actions  often  savored 
ridiculously  of  the  sublime.  Then 
and  there,  gazing  with  folded  arms 
on  this  fortress  of  Thespis,  the 
polytechnic  man  organized  his  first 
assault.  The  next  evening  he  made 
it. 

Five  months  previously  he  had  sent 
the  manager  three  great,  large  trage- 
dies. He  knew  the  aversion  a  theat- 
rical manager  has  to  rend  a  manuscript 
play,  not  recommended  by  influential 
folk;  an  aversion  which  always  has 
been  carried  to  superstition.  So  he 
hit  on  the  following  scheme  :  — 

He  wrote  Mr.  Rich  a  letter;  in 
this  he  told  Mr.  Rich  that  he  (Trip- 
let) was  aware  what  a  quantity  of 
trash  is  offered  every  week  to  a  mana- 
ger, how  disheartening  it  must  be  to 
read  it  at  all,  and  how  natural,  after 
a  while,  to  read  none.  Therefore, 
he  (Triplet)  had  provided  that  Mr. 
Rich  might  economize  his  time,  an*" 
yet  not   remain  in   ignorance  of  tho 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


od 


dramatic  treasure  that  lay  ready  to 
his  hand. 

"  The  soul  of  a  play,"  continued 
Triplet,  "is  the  plot  or  fable.  A 
gentleman  of  your  experience  can  de- 
cide at  once  whether  a  plot  or  story  is 
one  to  take  the  public  !  " 

So  then  he  drew  out,  in  full,  the 
three  plots.  He  wrote  these  plots  in 
verse!  Heaven  forgive  us  all,  he 
really  did.  There  were  also  two 
margins  left ;  on  one,  which  was  nar- 
row, he  jotted  down  the  locale  per 
page  of  the  most  brilliant  passages  ; 
on  the  other  margin,  which  was  as 
wide  as  the  column  of  the  plot,  he 
made  careful  drawings  of  the  person- 
ages in  the  principal  dramatic  situa- 
tions ;  seroils  issued  from  their  mouths, 
on  which  were  written  the  words  of 
fire  that  were  flowing  from  each  in 
these  eruptions  of  the  dramatic  action. 
All  was  referred  to  pages  in  the  man- 
uscripts. 

"  By  this  means,  sir,"  resumed  the 
latter,  "  you  will  gut  my  fish  in  a 
jiffy ;  permit  me  to  recall  that  expres- 
sion, with  apologies  for  my  freedom. 
I  would  say,  you  will,  in  a  few  min- 
utes of  your  valuable  existence,  skim 
the  cream  of  Triplet." 

This  author's  respect  for  the  mana- 
ger's time  carried  him  into  further 
and  unusual  details. 

"  Breakfast,"  said  he,  "  is  a  quiet 
meal.  Let  me  respectfully  suggest, 
that  by  placing  one  of  my  plots  on 
the  table,  with,  say,  the  BUgar-basin 
upon  it  (this,  again,  is  a  mere  sugges- 
tion), and  the  play  it  appertains  to  on 
yourother  side  ;  you  can  readily  judge 
my  work  without  disturbing  the  avo- 
cations of  the  day,  and  master  a  play 
in  tin-,  twinkling  of  a  teacup;  forgive 
my  facetiousness.  This  day  month, 
at  ten  of  the  clock,  1  shall  expect," 
said  Triplet,  with  sudden  severity, 
"  sir,  your  decision  !  " 

Then,  gliding  back  to  the  courtier, 
he  formally  disowned. all  special  title 
to  the  consideration  lie  expected  from 
Mr.  Rich's  well-known  courtesy;  still 
be  begged  permission  to  remind  that 
gentleman,  that  he  had  six  years  ago 


painted  for  him  a  lar^e  scene,  illumi- 
nated by  two  great  poetical  incidents  : 
a  red  sun,  of  dimensions  never  seen 
out  of  doors  in  this  or  any  country  ; 
and  an  ocean  of  sand,  yellower  than 
up  to  that  time  had  been  attained  in 
art  or  nature ;  and  that  once,  when 
the  audience,  late  in  the  evening,  had 
suddenly  demanded  a  popular  song 
from  Mr.  Nokes,  he  (Triplet)  seeing 
the  orchestra  thinned  by  desertion, 
and  nugatory  by  iutoxieation,  had 
started  from  the  pit,  resuscitated  with 
the  whole  contents  of  his  snuff-box 
the  bass  fiddle,  snatched  the  leader's 
violin,  and  carried  Mr.  Nokes  tri- 
umphantly through  ;  that  thunders 
of  applause  had  followed,  and  Mr. 
Nokes  had  kindly  returned  thanks 
for  both  ;  but  that  he  (Triplet)  had  has- 
tily retired  to  evade  the  manager's 
acknowledgments,  preferring  to  wait 
an  opportunity  like  the  present,  when 
both  interests  could  be  conciliat- 
ed, &c. 

This  letter  he  posted  at  its  destina- 
tion, to  save  time,  and  returned  trium- 
phant home.  He  had  now  forgiven 
and  almost  forgotten  Vane ;  and  had 
reflected  that,  after  all,  the  drama  was 
his  proper  walk. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Trip- 
let, "this  family  is  on  the  eve  of  a 
great  triumph  !  "  Then,  inverting 
that  order  of  the  grandiloquent  and 
the  homely  Which  he  invented  in  our 
first  chapter,  he  proceeded  to  say  :  "  I 
have  reared  in  a  single  day  a  new  ave- 
nue by  which  histrionic  greatness,  hith- 
erto obstructed,  may  become  accessi- 
ble. Wife,  I  think  I  have  done  the 
trick  at  last.  LysimachtiS  !  "  added  he, 
"let  a  libation  be  poured  out  on  so  smil- 
ing an  occasion,  and  a  burnt-offering 
rise  to  propitiate  the  celestial  powers. 
Run  to  the  '  Sun,'  you  dbg.  Three 
pennyworth  of  ale,  and  a  hap'orth  o' 
tobacco." 

Ere  the  month  was  out,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,  the  Triplets  were  reduced  to  a 
state  ofbeggary.    Mrs.  Triplet's  health 

had  long  been  failing;  and,  although 

her   duties    at   her  little   theatre  were 
Kghl  and  occasional,  the  manager  was 


36 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


obliged   to   discharge  her,  since    she 
could  not  be  depended  upon. 

The  family  had  not  enough  to  eat ! 
Think  of  that !  They  were  not  warm 
at  night,  and  they  felt  gnawing  and 
faintness  often  by  day.  Think  of 
that ! 

Fortune  was  unjust  here.  The  man 
was  laughable,  and  a  goose ;  and  had 
no  genius  either  for  writing,  painting, 
or  acting ;  but  in  that  he  resembled 
most  writers,  painters,  and  actors  of 
his  own  day  and  ours.  He  was  not 
beneath  the  average  of  what  men  call 
art,  and  it  is  art's  antipodes,  — tread- 
mill artifice. 

Other  fluent  ninnies  shared  gain, 
and  even  fame,  and  were  called  '  pen- 
men,' in  Triplet's  day.  Other  rant- 
ers were  quietly  getting  rich  by  noise. 
Other  liars  and  humbugs  were  paint- 
ing out  o'  doors  in-doors,  and  eating 
mutton  instead  of  thistles  for  drenched 
stinging  -  nettles,  yclept  trees ;  for 
block-tin  clouds  ;  for  butlers'  pantry 
sc;is,  and  garret-conceived  lakes ;  for 
molten  sugar-candy  rivers  ;  for  airless 
atmosphere  and  sunless  air  ;  for  carpet 
nature,  and  cold,  dead  fragments  of  an 
earth  all  soul  and  living  glory  to  every 
cultivated  eye  but  a  routine  painter's. 
Yet  the  man  of  many  such  mediocri- 
ties could  not  keep  the  pot  boiling. 
We  suspect  that,  to  those  who  would 
rise  in  life,  even  strong  versatility  is  a 
very  doubtful  good,  and  weak  versa- 
tility ruination. 

At  last,  the  bitter,  weary  month 
was  gone,  and  Triplet's  eye  bright- 
ened gloriously.  He  donned  his  best 
suit ;  and,  whilst  tying  his  cravat,  lec- 
tured his  family,  i'irst,  he  compli- 
mented them  upon  their  deportment 
in  adversity ;  hinted  that  moralists, 
not  experience,  had  informed  him 
prosperity  was  far  more  trying  to  the 
character.  Put  them  all  solemnly  on 
their  guard  down  to  Lucy,  cetat  five, 
that  they  were  morituri  and  ce,  and 
must  be  pleased  to  abstain  from  "  inso- 
lent gladness  "  upon  his  return. 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity  !  " 
continued  this  cheerful  monitor.  "If 
we  had  not  been  hard  up  this  while, 


we  should  not  come  with  a  full  relish 
to  meat  three  times  a  week,  which, 
unless  I  am  an  ass  (and  I  don't  see 
myself  in  that  light),"  said  Triplet, 
dryly,  "will,  I  apprehend,  be,  after 
this  day,  the  primary  condition  of  our 
future  existence." 

"  James,  take  the  picture  with  you," 
said  Mrs.  Triplet,  in  one  of  those 
calm,  little,  desponding  voices  that  fall 
upon  the  soul  so  agreeably  when  one 
is  a  cock-a-hoop,  and  desires,  with  per- 
mission, so  to  remain. 

"  What  on  earth  am  I  to  take  Mrs. 
YVoffington's  portrait  for  ?  " 

"  We  have  nothing  in  the  house," 
said  the  wife,  blushing. 

Triplet's  eye  glittered  like  a  rattle- 
snake's. 

"  The  intimation  is  eccentric,"  said 
he.  "  Are  you  mad,  Jane  ?  Pray," 
continued  he,  veiling  his  wrath  in 
scornful  words,  "  is  it  requisite,  hero- 
ic, or  judicious  on  the  eve,  or  more 
correctly  the  morn,  of  affluence  to  de- 
posit an  unfinished  work  of  art  with  a 
mercenary  relation  ?  Hang  it,  Jane ! 
would  you  really  have  me  pawn  Mrs. 
WotHngton  to-day  ?  " 

"  James,"  said  Jane,  steadily,  "  the 
manager  may  disappoint  you,  we  have 
often  been  disappointed ;  so  take  the 
picture  with  you.  They  will  give  you 
ten  shillings  on  it." 

Triplet  was  of  those  who  see  things 
roseate,  Mrs.  Triplet  lurid. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  poet,  "  for  the 
first  time  in  our  conjugal  career,  your 
commands  deviate  so  entirely  from 
reason,  that  I  respectfully  withdraw 
that  implicit  obedience  which  has 
hitherto  constituted  my  principal  rep- 
utation. I  'in  hanged  if  1  do  it, 
Jane  !  " 

"  Dear  James,  to  oblige  me  !  " 

"  That  alters  the  case  ;  you  confess 
it  is  unreasonable  ?  " 

"  0  yes  !  it  is  only  to  oblige  me." 

"  Enough ! "  said  Triplet,  whose 
tongue  was  often  a  flail  that  fell  on 
friend,  foe,  and  self  indiscriminately. 
"  Allow  it  to  be  unreasonable,  and  I 
do  it  as  a  matter  of  course,  —  to  please 
you,  Jane." 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


Accordingly  the  good  soul  wrapped 
it  in  sreen  baize  ;  but  to  relieve  his 
mind  he  was  obliged  to  get  behind  his 
wife,  and  shrug  his  shoulders  to  Ly- 
simachus  and  the  eldest  girl,  as  who 
should  say  voila  bien  une  femme  votre 
mere  a  vote  ! 

At  last  he  was  off,  in  high  spirits. 
He  reached  Covent  Garden  at  half- 
past  ten,  and  there  the  poor  fellow 
was  sucked  into  our  narrative  whirl- 
pool. 

We  must,  however,  leave  him  for  a 
few  minutes. 


CHAPTER    V. 

Sir  Chart.es  Pomander  was  de- 
tained in  the  country  much  longer 
than  he  expected. 

He  was  rewarded  by  a  little  adven- 
ture. As  he  cantered  up  to  London 
with  two  servants  and  a  post-boy,  all 
riding  on  horses  ordered  in  relays  be- 
forehand, he  came  up  with  an  ante- 
diluvian coach,  stuck  fast  by  the  road- 
side. Looking  into  the  window,  with 
tin'  humane  design  of  quizzing  the 
elders  who  should  be  there,  he  saw  a 
young  lady  of  surpassing  beauty. 
This  altered  the  case  ;  Sir  Charles  in- 
stantly drew  bridle  and  offered  his 
services. 

The  lady  thanked  him,  and  bein^c 
an  innocent  country  lady,  she  opened 
those  sluices,  her  eyes,  and  two  tears 
gently  trickled  down,  while  she  told 
him  how  eager  she  was  to  reach  Lon- 
don, and  how  mortified  at  this  de- 
lay. 

The  #ood  Sir  Charles  was  touched. 
He  leaped  bis  horse  over  a  hedge,  gal- 
loped to  a  farm-house  in  sight,  and  re- 
turned with  ropes  and  rustic-;.  These 
and  Sir  ( Iharles's  horses  soon  drew 
the  coach  out  of  some  Btiffish  elay. 

The  lady  thanked  him,  and  thanked 
liiin,  and  thanked  him,  with  height- 
ening color  and  beaming  eyes,  and  he 
rode  away  like  a  hero. 

Before  he  had  f^one  five  miles  he 
became  thoughtful  and  self-dissatis- 
fied, finally  his   remorse   came   to   a 


head ;  he  called  to  him  the  keenest  of 
his  servants,  Hunsdon,  and  ordered 
him  to  ride  back  past  the  carriage, 
then  follow  and  put  up  at  the  same 
inn,  to  learn  who  the  lady  was,  and 
whither  going ;  and,  this  knowledge 
gained,  to  ride  into  town  full  speed 
and  tell  his  master  all  about  it.  Sir 
Charles  then  resumed  his  complacen- 
cy, and  cantered  into  London  that 
same  evening. 

Arrived  there,  he  set  himself  in  car- 
nest  to  cut  out  his  friend  with  Mrs. 
Wofiington.  He  had  already  caused 
his  correspondence  with  that  lady  to 
grow  warm  and  more  tender  by  de- 
grees. Keeping  a  copy  of  his  last,  he 
always  knew  where  he  was.  Cupid's 
barometer  rose  by  rule ;  and  so  he  ar- 
rived by  just  gradations  at  an  artful 
climax,  and  made  her  in  terms  of 
chivalrous  affection,  an  offer  of  a 
house,  &c,  three  hundred  a  year,  &c., 
not  forgetting  his  heart,  &c.  He 
knew  that  the  ladies  of  the  stage  have 
an  ear  for  flattery  and  an  eye  to  the 
main  chance. 

The  j;ood  Sir  Charles  felt  sur~  that, 
however  ^he  might  flirt  with  Vane  or 
others,  she  would  not  forego  a  posi- 
tion for  any  disinterested  penchant. 
Still,  as  he  was  a  close  player,  he  de- 
termined to  throw  a  little  cold  water 
on  that  flame.  His  plan,  like  every- 
thing truly  scientific,  was  simple. 

"  1  '11  run  her  flown  to  him,  and  ridi- 
cule him  to  her,"  resolved  this  faithful 
friend  and  lover  dear. 

He  began  with  Vane.  He  found 
him  just  leaving  his  own  house.  Af- 
ter the  usual  compliments,  some  such 
dialogue  as  this  took  place  between 

Telemachus  and  pseudo  -Mentor:  — 

"  I  trust  you  are  not  really  in  the 
power  of  this  actress  1  " 

"  You  are  the  slave  of  a  word,"  re- 
plied Vane.  "  Would  you  confound 
black  and  white  because  both  arc  col- 
ors '  She  is  like  that  sisterhood  in 
nothing  but  a  name.  Even  on  the 
Btage  they  have  nothing  in  common. 
They  are  puppets,  —  all  attitude  ami 
trick  :  she  is  all  ease,  grace,  and 
i  nature." 


38 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


"Nature!"  cried  Pomander.  "  Txiis- 
sez-moi  tranquilie.  They  have  artifice, 
—  nature's  libel.  She  has  art,  —  na- 
ture's counterfeit." 

"  Her  voice  is  truth  told  by  mu- 
sic," cried  the  poetical  lover ;  "  theirs 
are  jingling  instruments  of  false- 
hood." 

"  They  are  all  instruments,"  said 
the  satirist;  "  she  is  rather  the  best 
tuned  and  played." 

"  Her  face  speaks  in  every  linea- 
ment ;  theirs  are  rouged  and  wrinkled 
masks." 

"  Her  mask  is  the  best  made, 
mounted,  and  moved ;  that  is  all." 

"  She  is  a  fountain  of  true  feel- 
ing." 

"No;  a  pipe  that  conveys  it  with- 
out spilling  or  holding  a  drop." 

"  She  is  an  angel  of  talent,  sir." 

"  She 's  a  devil  of  deception." 

"  She  is  a  divinity  to  worship." 

"  She  's  a  woman  to  tight  shy  of. 
There  is  not  a  woman  in  London  bet- 
ter known,"  continued  Sir  Charles. 
"  She  is  a  fair  actress  on  the  boards, 
and  a  great  actress  off  them  ;  but  I 
can  tell  you  how  to  add  a  new  charm 
to  her." 

"  Heaven  can  only  do  that,"  said 
Vane,  hastily. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  Make  her  blush. 
Ask  her  for  the  list  of  your  predeces- 
sors " 

Vane  winced  visibly.  Pic  quick- 
ened his  step,  as  if  to  get  rid  of  this 
gadfly. 

"  1  spoke  to  Mr.  Quin,"  said  he, 
at  last;  "  and  he,  who  has  no  preju- 
dice, paid  her  character  the  highest 
compliment." 

"  You  have  paid  it  the  highest  it 
admits,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  have 
let  it  deceive  you."  Sir  Charles  con- 
tinued in  a  more  solemn  tone  :  "  Pray 
be  Warned.  Why  is  it  every  man  of 
intellect  loves  an  actress  once  in  his 
life,  and  no  man  of  sense  ever  did  it 
twice  ?  " 

This  last  hit,  coming  after  the 
carte  and  tierce  we  have  described, 
brought  an  expression  of  pain  to  Mr. 
Vane's    face.       He    said    abruptly  : 


"  Excuse  me,  I  desire  to  be  alone  for 
half  an  hour." 

Macliiavcl  bowed ;  and,  instead  of 
taking  offence,  said,  in  a  tone  full  of 
feeling  :  "  Ah !  I  give  you  pain  1 
But  you  are  right ;  think  it  calmly 
over  awhile,  and  you  will  see  I  ad- 
vise you  well." 

He  then  made  for  the  theatre,  and 
the  weakish  personage  he  had  been 
playing  upon  walked  down  to  the 
river,  almost  ran,  in  fact.  He  want- 
ed to  be  out  of  sight. 

He  got  behind  some  houses,  and 
then  his  face  seemed  literally  to  break 
loose  from  confinement;  so  anxious, 
sad,  fearful,  and  bitter  were  the  ex- 
pressions that  coursed  each  other  over 
that  handsome  countenance. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  these  hot 
and  cold  fits  1  It  is  not  Sir  Charles 
who  has  the  power  to  shake  Mr. 
Vane  so  without  some  help  from 
within.  There  is  something  wiony  about 
this  man! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Machiavel  entered  the  green- 
room, intending  to  wait  for  Mrs. 
Woffington,  and  carry  out  the  second 
part  of  his  plan. 

He  knew  that  weak  minds  cannot 
make  head  against  ridicule,  and  with 
this  pickaxe  he  proposed  to  clear  the 
way,  before  he  came  to  grave,  sensi- 
ble, business  love  with  the  lady. 
Machiavel  was  a  man  of  talent.  If 
he  has  been  a  silent  personage  hither- 
to, it  is  merely  because  it  was  not  his 
cue  to  talk,  but  listen  ;  otherwise,  he 
was  rather  a  master  of  the  art  of 
speech.  He  could  be  insinuating,  el- 
oquent, sensible,  or  satirical,  at  will. 
This  personage  sat  in  the  green-room. 
In  one  hand  was  his  diamond  snuff- 
box, in  the  other  a  richly  laced  hand* 
kerchief ;  his  clouded  cane  reposed 
by  his  side. 

There  was  an  air  of  success  about 
this  personage.  The  gentle  reader, 
however  conceited  a  dog,  could  not 
see  how  he  was  to  defeat  Sir  Charles- 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


S3 


who  was  tall,  stout,  handsome,  rich, 
witty,  self-sufficient,  cool,  majestic, 
courageous,  and  in  whom  were  unit- 
ed the  advantages  of  a  hard  head,  a 
tough  stomach,  and  no  heart  at  all. 

This  great  creature  sat  expecting 
Mrs.  Woffington,  like  Olympian  Jove 
awaiting  Juno.  But  he  was  mortal 
after  all  ;  for  suddenly  the  serenity 
of  that  adamantine  countenance  was 
disturbed  ;  his  eye  dilated  ;  his  grace 
and  dignity  were  shaken.  He  hud- 
dled his  handkerchief  into  one  pocket, 
his  snuff-box  into  another,  and  for- 
got his  cane.  He  ran  to  the  door  in 
unaffected  terror. 

Where  are  all  his  fine  airs  before  a 
real  danger?  Love,  intrigue,  diplo- 
macy, were  all  driven  from  his  mind  ; 
for  he  beheld  that  approaching,  which 
is  the  greatest  peril  and  disaster 
known  to  social  man.  He  saw  a  bore 
coming  into  the  room  ! 

In  a  wild  thirst  for  novelty,  Po- 
mander had  once  penetrated  to  Good- 
man's Fields  Theatre;  there  he  had 
unguardedly  put  a  question  to  a  car- 
penter behind  the  scene  ;  a  seedy- 
black  poet  instantly  pushed  the  car- 
penter away  (down  a  trap  it  is 
thought),  and  answered  it  in  seven 
pages,  and  in  continuation  was  so 
vaguely  communicative,  that  he  drove 
Sir  Charles  hack  into  the  far  west. 

Sir  Charles  knew  him  again  in  a 
moment,  and  at  sight  of  him  bolted. 
They  met  at  the  door.  "Ah!  Mr. 
Triplet!"  said  the  fugitive,  "en- 
chanted—  to  wish  yon  good  morn- 
ing !  "  and  he  plunged  into  the  hid- 
ing-places of  the  theatre. 

"  That  is  a  very  polite  gentleman  !  " 
thought  Triplet.  He  was  followed 
by  the  call-boy)  to  whom  he  was  ex- 
plaining that  his  avocations,  thongh 
numerous,  would  not  prevent  his 
paying  Mr.  Rich  the  compliment  of 
waiting  all  day  in  his  green-rocfm, 
sooner  than  go  without  an  answer  to 
three  important  propositions,  in  which 
the  town  and  the  arts  were  con- 
cerned. 

"  What  is  your  name  7  "  said  the 
boy  of  business  to  the  man  of  words. 


"  Mr.  Triplet,"  said  Triplet. 

"  Triplet  1  There  is  something 
for  you  in  the  hall,"  said  the  urchin, 
and  went  off  to  fetch  it. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Triplet  to  him- 
self; "they  are  accepted.  There's 
a  note  in  the  hall  to  fix  the  reading." 
He  then  derided  his  own  absurdity  in 
having  ever  for  a  moment  desponded. 
"  Master  of  three  arts,  by  each  of 
which  men  grow  fat,  how  was  it 
possible  he  should  starve  all  his 
days !  " 

He  enjoyed  a  natural  vanity  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  came  more 
generous  feelings.  What  sparkling 
eyes  there  would  be  in  Lambeth  to- 
day !  The  butcher,  at  sight  of  Mr. 
Rich's  handwriting,  would  give  him 
credit.  Jane  should  have  a  new 
gown. 

But  when  his  tragedies  were  played, 
and  he  paid  !  El  Dorado  !  His  chil- 
dren should  be  the  neatest  in  the 
street.  Lysimachus  and  Koxalana 
should  learn  the  English  language, 
cost  what  it  might ;  sausages  should 
be  diurnal ;  and  he  himself  would 
not  be  puffed  up,  fat,  lazy.  No !  he 
would  work  all  the  harder,  be  affable 
as  ever,  and,  above  all,  never  swamp 
the  father,  husband,  and  honest  man 
in  the  poet  and  the  blackguard  of 
sentiment. 

Next  his  reflections  took  a  business 
turn. 

"  These  tragedies  —  the  scenery  ? 
O,  I  shall  have  to  paint  it  myself. 
The  heroes  ?  Well,  they  have  no- 
bodv  who  will  play  them  as  1  should. 
(This  was  true!)  It  will  lie  hard 
work,  all  this;  but  then  I  shall  he 
paid  for  it.  I  cannot  goon  this  way  : 
I  must  and  will  he  paid  separately  for 
my  branches." 

Just  as  he  came  to  this  resolution, 
the  boy  returned  with  a  brown-paper 
parcel,  addressed  to  Mr.  James  Trip- 
let. Triplet  weighed  it  in  his  hand  ; 
it  was  heavy.  "  How  is  this  !  "  cried 
he.  "  O,  'I  sec,"  said  he.  "  these 
are  the  tragedies.  He  sends  them  to 
me  for  some  trilling  alterations  :  man- 
agers always  do."     Triplet  then  do- 


40 


PEG  WOFFINGTON.    . 


termined  to  adopt  these  alterations, 
if  judicious  ;  for,  argued  he,  sensibly 
enough  :  "  Managers  are  practical 
men  :  and  we,  in  the  heat  of  composi- 
tion, sometimes  (sic?)  say  more  than 
is  necessary,  and  become  tedious." 

With  that  he  opened  the  parcel, 
and  looked  for  Mr.  Rich's  communi- 
cation ;  it  was  not  in  sight.  He  had 
to  look  between  the  leaves  of  the  man- 
uscripts for  it ;  it  was  not  there.  He 
shook  them ;  it  did  not  fall  out.  He 
shook  them  as  a  dog  shakes  a  rabbit ; 
nothing ! 

The  tragedies  were  returned  with- 
out a  word.  It  took  him  some  time 
to  realize  the  full  weight  of  the  blow ; 
but  at  last  he  saw  that  the  manager 
of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Covent  Gar- 
den, declined  to  take  a  tragedy  by 
Triplet  into  consideration  or  bare  ex- 
amination. 

He  turned  dizzy  for  a  moment. 
Something  between  a  sigh  and  a  cry 
escaped  him,  and  he  sank  upon  a  cov- 
ered bench  that  ran  along  the  wall. 
His  poor  tragedies  fell  here  and  there 
upon  the  ground,  and  his  head  went 
down  upon  his  hands,  which  rested 
on  Mrs.  Woffington's  picture.  His 
anguish  was  so  sharp,  it  choked  his 
breath  ;  when  he  recovered  it,  his  eye 
bent  down  upon  the  picture.  "  Ah, 
Jane,"  he  groaned,  "  you  know  this 
villanous  world  better  than  I !  "  He 
placed  the  picture  gently  on  the  seat 
(that  picture  must  now  be  turned 
into  bread),  and  slowly  stooped  for 
his  tragedies  ;  they  had  fallen  hither 
and  thither ;  he  had  to  crawl  about 
for  them  ;  he  was  an  emblem  of  all 
the  humiliations  letters  endure. 

As  he  went  after  them  on  all-fours, 
more  than  one  tear  pattered  on  the 
dusty  floor.  Poor  fellow!  he  was 
Triplet,  and  could  not  have  died 
without  tingeing  the  death-rattle  with 
some  absurdity  ;  but,  after  all,  he  was 
a  father  driven  to  despair ;  a  castle- 
builder,  with  his  work  rudely  scat- 
tered;  an  artist,  brutally  crushed  and 
insulted  by  a  greater  dunce  than  him- 
self. 

Faint,  sick,  and  dark,  he  sat  a  mo- 


ment on  the  seat  before  he  could  find 
strength  to  go  home  and  destroy  all 
the  hopes  he  had  raised. 

Whilst  Triplet  sat  collapsed  on  the 
bench,  fate  sent  into  the  room  all  in 
one  moment,  as  if  to  insult  his  sor- 
row, a  creature  that  seemed  the  god- 
dess of  gayety,  impervious  to  a  care. 
She  swept  in  with  a  bold,  free  step, 
for  she  was  rehearsing  a  man's  part, 
and  thundered  without  rant,  but  with 
a  spirit  and  fire,  and  pace,  beyond 
the  conception  of  our  poor  tame  ac- 
tresses of  1852,  these  lines  :  — 

"  Now,  by  the  joys 
Which  my  soul  still  has  uncontrolled  pursued, 
I  would  not  turn  aside  from  my  least  pleasure, 
Though  all  thy  force  were  armed  to  bar  my 

way  ; 
But,   like   the  birds,  great  Nature's  happy 

commoners, 
Rifle  the  sweets  —  " 

"I  beg  —  your  par — don,  sir!" 
holding  the  book  on  a  level  with  her 
eye,  she  had  nearly  run  over  "  two 
poets  instead  of  one." 

"  Nay,  madam,"  said  Triplet,  ad- 
miring, though  sad,  wretched,  but  po- 
lite, "pray  continue.  Happy  the 
hearer,  and  still  happier  the  author 
of  verses  so  spoken.     Ah  !  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  "  if  you 
could  persuade  authors  what  we  do 
for  them,  when  we  coax  good  mu- 
sic to  grow  on  barren  words.  Are 
you  an  author,  sir  1 "  added  she,  sly- 

"  In  a  small  way,  madam.  I  have 
here  three  trifles,  —  tragedies." 

Mrs.  Wofrington  looked  askant  at 
them,  like  a  shy  mare. 

"  Ah,  madam  !  "  said  Triplet,  in 
one  of  his  insane  fits,  "if  I  might  but 
submit  them  to  such  a  judgment  as 
yours  1  " 

He  laid  his  hand  on  them.  It  was 
as  when  a  strange  dog  sees  us  go  to 
take  up  a  stone. 

The  actress  recoiled. 

"  I  am  no  judge  of  such  things," 
cried  she,  hastily. 

Triplet  bit  his  lip.  He  could  have 
killed  her.  It  was  provoking,  people 
would  rather  be  hung   than  read  a 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


41 


manuscript.  Yet  what  hopeless  trash 
they  will  read  in  crowds,  which  was 
manuscript  a  day  ago.    Les  imbeciles  1 

"  No  more  is  the  manager  of  this 
theatre  a  judge  of  such  things,"  cried 
the  outraged  quill-driver,  bitterly. 

"  What !  has  he  accepted  them  ?  " 
said  needle-tongue. 

"  No,  madam,  he  has  had  them  six 
months,  and  sec,  madam,  he  has  re- 
turned them  me  without  a  word." 

Triplet's  lip  trembled. 

"  Patience,  my  good  sir,"  was  the 
merry  reply.  "  Tragic  authors  should 
possess  that,  for  they  teach  it  to  their 
audiences.  Managers,  sir,  are  like 
Eastern  monarchs,  inaccessible  but  to 
slaves  and  sultanas.  Do  you  know  I 
called  upon  Mr.  Rich  fifteen  times 
before  I  could  see  him  1  " 

"  You,  madam  ?     Impossible  !  " 

"  O,  it  was  years  ago,  and  he  has 
paid  a  hundred  pounds  for  each  of 
those  little  visits.  Well,  now,  let  me 
see,  fifteen  times ;  you  must  write 
twelve  more  tragedies,  and  then  he 
will  read  one ;  and  when  he  has  read 
it,  he  will  favor  you  with  his  judg- 
ment upon  it ;  and  when  you  have 
got  that,  you  will  have  what  all  the 
world  knows  is  not  worth  a  farthing. 
He!  he!  he! 

'  And    like    the  birds,   gay  Nature's  happy 

commoners. 
Rifle  the  sweets'  —  mum  —  mum  —  mum."- 

Her  high  spirits  made  Triplet  sad- 
der. To  think  that  one  word  from 
this  laughing  lady  would  secure  his 
work  a  bearing,  and  that  he  dared 
not  ask  her.  She  was  up  in  the 
world,  he  was  down.  She  was  great, 
be  was  nobody,  lie  felt  a  sort  of  chill 
at  this  woman,  —  all  brains  and  no 
heart.  II-  took  his  picture  and  his 
plays  under  his  arms  and  crept  sor- 
rowfully away. 

The  actress's  eye  fell  on  him  as  be 
went  off  like  a  fifth  act.  His  Don 
Quixote  face  struck  her.  She  had 
Keen  it  before. 

"  Sir,"  said  she. 

"Madam,"  said  Triplet,  at  the 
door. 


"  We  have  met  before.  There,  don't 
speak,  I  '11  tell  you  who  you  are. 
Yours  is  a  face  that  has  been  good  to 
me,  and  I  never  forget  them." 

"  Me,  madam  !  "  said  Triplet,  ta- 
ken aback.  "  I  trust  I  know  what 
is  due  to  you  better  than  to  be  good 
to  you,  madam,"  said  he,  in  his  con- 
fused way. 

"To  be  sure!"  cried  she,  "it  is 
Mr.  Triplet,  good  Mr.  Triplet!" 
And  this  vivacious  dame,  putting  her 
book  down,  seized  both  Triplet's  hands 
and  shook  them. 

He  shook  hers  warmly  in  return 
out  of  excess  of  timidity,  and  dropped 
tragedies,  and  kicked  at  them  convul- 
sively when  they  were  down,  for  fear 
they  should  be  in  her  way,  and  his 
mouth  opened,  and  his  eyes  glared. 

"  Mr.  Triplet,"  said  the  lady,  "  do 
you  remember  an  Irish  orange-girl 
you  used  to  give  sixpence  to  at  Good- 
man's Fields,  and  pat  her  on  the  head 
and  j^ive  her  good  advice,  like  a  good 
old  soul  as  you  were  1  She  took  the 
sixpence." 

"  Madam,"  said  Trip,  recovering 
a  grain  of  pomp,  "  singular  as  it  may 
appear,  I  remember  the  young  per- 
son ;  site  was  very  engaging.  I  trust 
no  harm  hath  befallen  her,  for  mc- 
thought  I  discovered,  in  spite  of  her 
brogue,  a  beautiful  nature  in  her." 

"  Go  along  wid  your  blarney,"  an- 
swered a  rich  brogue;  "  an'  is  it  the 
coniauther  ye  'd  be  putting  on  poor 
little  Peggy?" 

"  Oh  !  oh  gracious  !  "  gasped  Trip- 
let. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply ;  but  into 
that  "yes"  site  threw  a  whole  sen- 
tence of  meaning.  "  Fine  cha  my 
oranges !  "  chanted  she,  to  put  the 
matter  beyond  dispute. 

"Am  I  really  so  honored  as  to  have 
patted  you  on  that  queen-like  head  !  " 
and  he  glared  at  it. 

"  On  the  same  head  which  now  I 
wear,"    replied   she,   pompously.      "I 

kept  it  for  the convayniencc  hintirely, 

only  there  s  more,  in  it.  Well,  Mr. 
Triplet,  you  sec  what  time  has  done 
for  me;  now  tell  me  whether  lie  has 


42 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


been  as  kind  to  you :  are  yon  going  to 
speak  to  me,  Mr.  Triplet  1  " 

As  a  decayed  hunter  stands  lean 
and  disconsolate,  head  poked  forward 
like  a  goose's,  but  if  hounds  sweep  by 
his  paddock  in  full  cry,  followed  by 
horses  who  are  what  he  was  not,  he 
does  by  reason  of  the  good  blood 
that  is  and  will  be  in  his  heart,  dum 
spiritus  hoss  regit  wins,  cock  his  ears, 
erect  his  tail,  and  trot  fiery  to  his 
extremest  hedge,  and  look  over  it, 
nostril  distended,  mane  flowing,  and 
neigh  the  hunt  onward  like  a  trum- 
pet ;  so  Triplet,  who  had  manhood  at 
bottom,  instead  of  whining  out  his 
troubles  in  the  ear  of  encouraging 
beauty,  as  a  sneaking  spirit  would, 
perked  up,  and  resolved  to  put  the 
best  face  upon  it  aJl  before  so  charm- 
ing a  creature  of  the  other  sex. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  cried  he,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  could  have  smacked 
his  lips,  "Providence  has  blessed  me 
with  an  excellent  wife  and  four 
charming  children.  My  wife  was 
Miss  Chatterton  :  you  remember 
her?" 

"  Yes  !  Where  is  she  playing 
now  i.  " 

"  Why,  madam,  her  health  is  too 
weak  for  it." 

"  Oh  !  —  You  were  scene-painter. 
Do  you  still  paint  scenes  1  " 

"  With  the  pen,  madam,  not  the 
brush  :  as  the  wags  said,  I  transferred 
the  distemper  from  my  canvas  to  my 
imagination."  And  Triplet  laughed 
uproariously. 

When  he  had  done,  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton,  who  had  joined  the  laugh,  in- 
quired quietly  whether  his  pieces  had 
met  with  success. 

"  Eminent  —  in  the  closet ;  the 
stage  is  to  come !  "  and  he  smiled 
absurdly  again. 

The  lady  smiled  back. 

"  In  short,"  said  Triplet,  recapitu- 
lating, "  being  blessed  with  health, 
and  more  tastes  in  the  arts  than  most, 
and  a  cheerful  spirit,  I  should  be 
wrong,  madam,  to  repine;  and  this 
day,  in  particular,  is  a  happy  one," 
added   the  rose  colorist,  "  since    the 


great  Mrs.  Woffington  has  deigned  to 
remember  me,  and  call  me  friend." 

Such  was  Triplet's  summary. 

Mrs.  Woffington  drew  out  her 
memorandum-book,  and  took  down 
her  summary  of  the  crafty  Triplet's 
facts.  So  easy  is  it  for  us  Triplets  to 
draw  the  wool  over  the  eyes  of  women 
and  Woffingtons. 

"  Triplet,  discharged  from  scene- 
painting;  wife,  no  engagement ;  four 
children  supported  by  his  pen,  — 
that  is  to  say,  starving ;  lose  no 
time ! " 

She  closed  her  book;  and  smiled, 
and  said :  — 

"  I  wish  these  things  were  comedies 
instead  of  trash-edies,  as  the  French 
call  them ;  we  would  cut  one  in  half, 
and  slice  away  the  finest  passages, 
and  then  I  would  act  in  it :  and  you 
would  sec  how  the  stage-door  would 
fly  open  at  sight  of  the  author." 

"  0  Heaven  !  "  said  poor  Trip,  ex- 
cited by  this  picture.  "  I  '11  go  home, 
and  write  a  comedy  this  moment." 

"  Stay  !  "  said  she ;  "  you  had  bet- 
ter leave  the  tragedies  with  me." 

"  My  dear  madam !  You  will 
read  them  ?  " 

"  Ahem  !  I  will  make  poor  Kich 
read  them." 

"  But,  madam,  he  has  rejected 
them." 

"  That  is  the  first  step.  Reading 
them  comes  after,  when  it  comes  at 
all.  What  have  you  got  in  that 
green  baize  ?  " 

"  In  this  green  baize  ?  " 

"  Well,  in  this  green  baize,  then." 

"  O  madam  !  nothing  —  nothing ! 
To  tell  the  truth,  it  is  an  adventurous 
attempt  from  memory.  I  saw  you 
play  Silvia,  madam  ;  I  was  so 
charmed,  that  I  came  every  night. 
I  took  your  face  home  with  me,  — 
forgive  my  presumption,  madam,  — 
and  I  produced  this  faint  adumbra- 
tion, which  I  expose  with  diffidence." 

So  then  he  took  the  green  baize  oflf. 

The  color  rushed  into  her  face ; 
she  was  evidently  gratified.  Poor, 
silly  Mrs.  Triplet  was  doomed  to  be 
right  about  this  portrait. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


-13 


"I  will  give  you  a  sitting,"  said 
she.  "  You  will  find  painting  dull 
faces  a  better  trade  than  writing  dull 
tragedies.  Work  for  other  people's 
vanity,  not  your  own  ;  that  is  the  art 
of  art.  And  now  I  want  Mr.  Trip- 
let's address." 

"  On  the  fly-leaf  of  each  work,  mad- 
am," replied  that  florid  author, 
"  and  also  at  the  foot  of  every  page 
which  contains  a  particularly  brilliant 
passage,  I  have  been  careful  to  insert 
the  address  of  James  Triplet,  painter, 
actor,  and  dramatist,  and  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington's  humble,  devoted  servant." 
He  bowed  ridiculously  low,  and 
moved  towards  the  door;  but  some- 
thing gushed  across  his  heart,  and  he 
returned  with  long  strides  to  her. 
"  Madam  !  "  cried  he,  with  a  jaunty 
manner,  "  you  have  inspired  a  son 
of  Thespis  with  dreams  of  eloquence, 
you  have  tuned  in  a  higher  key  a 
poet's  lyre,  you  have  tinged  a  paint- 
er's existence  with  brighter  colors, 
and  —  and  —  "  His  mouth  worked 
still,  but  no  more  artificial  words  would 
come.  He  sobbed  out,  "  and  God  in 
heaven  bless  you,  Mrs.  Woffington  !  " 
and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Woffington  looked  after  him 
with  interest,  for  this  confirmed  her 
suspicions;  but  suddenly  her  expres- 
sion changed,  she  wore  a  look  we 
have  not  yet  seen  upon  her, —  it  was 
a  half-cunning,  half-spiteful  look  ;  it 
was  suppressed  in  a  moment,  she  gave 
herself  to  her  book,  and  presently  Sir 
Charles  Pomander  sauntered  into  the 
room. 

"  Ah  !  what,  Mrs.  Woffington  here  ?  " 
said  the  diplomate. 

"  Sir  Charles  Pomander,  I  declare  !  " 
said  the  actress. 

"  I  have  just  parted  with  an  ad- 
mirer of  yours." 

"  I  wish  I  could  part  with  them 
all,"  was  the  reply. 

"  A  pastoral  youth,  who  means  to 
win  La  Wollington  by  agricultural 
courtship,  —  As  .shepherds  woo  in 
sylvan   shades." 

M  Willi  oaten  pili';  the  rustic  maids," 


quoth  the  Woffington,  improvis- 
ing. 

The  diplomate  laughed,  the  actress 
laughed,  and  said,  laughingly :  "  Tell 
me  what  he  says  word  fur  word  ?  " 

"  It  will  only  make  you  laugh." 

"  Well,  and  am  I  never  to  laugh, 
who  provide  so  many  laughs  for  you 
all  ?  'S 

"  C'est  juste.  You  shall  share  tho 
general  merriment.  Imagine  a  ro- 
mantic soul,  who  adores  you  for  your 
simplicity ! " 

"  My  simplicity !  Am  I  so  very 
simple  f " 

"  No,"  said  Sir  Charles,  monstrous 
dryly.  "  He  says  you  are  out  of 
place  on  the  stage,  and  wants  to  take 
the  star  from  its  firmament,  and  put 
it  in  a  cottage." 

"  I  am  not  a  star,"  replied  tho 
Woffington,  "I  am  only  a  meteor. 
And  what  does  the  man  think  I  am 
to  do  without  this  (here  she  imitated 
applause)  from  my  dear  public's 
thousand  hands  1  " 

"  You  are  to  have  this  "  (he  mim- 
icked a  kiss)  "  from  a  single  mouth, 
instead." 

"  He  is  mad  !  Tell  me  what  more 
he  says.  O,  don't  stop  to  invent ;  I 
should  detect  you ;  and  you  would 
only  spoil  this  man." 

He  laughed  conceitedly.  "  I  should 
spoil  him!  Well,  then,  he  proposes 
to  be  your  friend  rather  than  your 
lover,  and  keep  you  from  being  talked 
of,  he  !  he  !  instead  of  adding  to  your 
e'/at." 

"And  if  he  is  your  friend,  why 
don't  you  tell  him  my  real  character, 
and  send  him  into  the  country  '.  " 

She  said  this  rapidly  and  with  an 
appearance  of  earnest.  The  diplo- 
matist fell  into  the  trap. 

"  I  do,"  said  he ;  "  but  he  snaps  his 
fingers  at  me  and  common  sense  and 
the  world.  I  really  think  there  is 
only  one  way  to  get  rid  of  him,  and 
with  him  of  every  annoyance." 

"  Ah  !  that  would  be  nice." 

"  Delicious  !  I  had  the  honor, 
madam,  of  laying  certain  proposals 
at  your  feet. 


44 


IT.G  WOFFINGTON. 


"  Oh  !  yes,  —  your  letter,  Sir 
Charles.  I  have  only  just  had  time 
to  run  my  eye  down  it.  Let  us  ex- 
amine it  together." 

She  took  out  the  letter  with  a  won- 
derful appearance  of  interest,  and  the 
diplomate  allowed  himself  to  fall  into 
the  absurd  position  to  which  she  in- 
vited him.  They  put  their  two  heads 
together  over  the  letter. 

"  '  A  coach,  a  country-house,  pin- 
money,'  —  and  I  'm  so  tired  of  houses 
and  coaches  and  pins.  Oh !  yes, 
here  's  something ;  what  is  this  you 
offer  me,  up  in  this  corner "?  " 

Sir  Charles  inspected  the  place 
carefully,  and  announced  that  it  was 
"  his  heart." 

"  And  he  can't  even  write  it !  " 
said  she.  "That  word  is  'earth.' 
Ah  !  well,  you  know  best.  There  is 
your  letter,  Sir  Charles." 

She  courtesied,  returned  him  the 
letter,  and  resumed  her  study  of  Lo- 
thario. 

"  Favor  me  with  your  answer, 
madam,"  said  her  suitor. 

"  You  have  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Madam,  I  don't  understand  your 
answer,"  said  Sir  Charles,  stiffly. 

"  I  can't  find  you  answers  and  un- 
derstandings too,"  was  the  lady-like 
reply.  "  You  must  beat  my  answer 
into  your  understanding  whilst  I  beat 
this  man's  verse  into  mine. 

• And  like  the  birds,  &c.' » 

Pomander  recovered  himself  a  lit- 
tle ;  he  laughed  with  quiet  insolence. 
"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  do  you  really 
refuse  ?  " 

"  My  good  soul,"  said  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington,  "  why  this  surprise !  Are 
you  so  ignorant  of  the  stage  and  the 
world  as  not  to  know  that  I  refuse 
such  offers  as  yours  every  week  of  my 
life  ?  " 

"  I  know  better,"  was  the  cool  re- 
ply.    She  left  it  unnoticed. 

"  I  have  so  many  of  these,"  con- 
tinued she,  " that  I  have  begun  to 
forget  they  are  insults." 

At  this  word  the  button  broke  off 
Sir  Charles's  foil. 


"Insults,  madam!  They  arc  the 
highest  compliments  you  have  left  it 
in  our  power  to  pay  you." 

The  other  took  the  button  off  her 
foil. 

"  Indeed  ! "  cried  she,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise.  "  Oh  !  I  under- 
stand. To  be  your  mistress  could 
be  but  a  temporary  disgrace ;  to  be 
your  wife  would  be  a  lasting  dis- 
credit," she  continued.  "  And  now, 
sir,  having  played  your  rival's  game, 
and  showed  me  }'our  whole  hand  "  (a 
light  broke  in  upon  our  diplomate), 
"  do  something  to  recover  the  repu- 
tation of  a  man  of  the  world.  A 
gentleman  is  somewhere  about  in 
whom  you  have  interested  me  by 
your  lame  satire ;  pray  tell  him 
I  am  in  the  greenroom,  with  no 
better  companion  than  this  bad 
poet." 

Sir  Charles  clenched  his  teeth. 

"  I  accept  the  delicate  commis- 
sion," replied  he,  "  that  you  may 
see  how  easily  the  man  of  the  world 
drops  what  the  rustic  is  eager  to  pick 
up" 

"  That  is  better,"  said  the  actress, 
with  a  provoking  appearance  of  good- 
humor.  "  You  have  a  woman's 
tongue,  if  not  her  wit;  but,  my  good 
soul,"  added  she,  with  cool  hauteur, 
"remember  you  have  something  to 
do  of  more  importance  than  anything 
you  can  say." 

"  I  accept  your  courteous  dismis- 
sal, madam,"  said  Pomander,  grind- 
ing his  teeth.  "  I  will  send  a  car- 
penter for  your  swain :  and  I  leave 
you." 

He  howed  to  the  ground. 

"Thanks  for  the  double  favor, 
good  Sir  Charles." 

She  courtesied  to  the  floor. 

Feminine  vengeance !  He  had 
come  between  her  and  her  love.  All 
very  clever,  Mrs.  Actress ;  but  was  it 
wise? 

"  I  am  revenged,"  thought  Mrs. 
Woffington,  with  a  little  feminine 
smirk. 

"  I  will  be  revenged,"  vowed  Po- 
mander, clenching  his  teeth. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


45 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Compare  a  November  day  with  a 
May  day.  They  are  not  more  unlike 
than  a  beautiful  woman  in  company 
with  a.  man  she  is  indifferent  to  or 
averse,  and  the  same  woman  with  the 
man  of  her  heart  by  her  side. 

At  sight  of  Mr.  Vane,  all  her  cold- 
ness and  nonchalance  gave  way  to  a 
gentle  complacency ;  and  when  she 
spoke  to  him,  her  voice,  so  clear  and 
cutting  in  the  1  ate  assaut  d'armes,  sank 
of  its  own  accord  into  the  most  tender, 
delicious  tone  imaginable. 

Mr.  Vane  and  she  made  love.  He 
pleased  her,  and  she  desired  to  please 
him.  My  reader  knows  her  wit,  her 
finesse,  her  fluency ;  but  he  cannot 
conceive  how  godlike  was  her  way 
of  making  love.  I  can  put  a  few  of 
the  corpses  of  her  words  upon  paper, 
but  where  are  the  heavenly  tones,  — 
now  calm  and  convincing,  now  soft 
and  melancholy,  now  thrilling  with 
tenderness,  now  glowing  with  the 
fiery  eloquence  of  passion  ?  She  told 
him  that  she  knew  the  map  of  his 
face ;  that  for  some  days  past  he  had 
been  subject  to  an  influence  adverse 
to  her.  She  begged  him,  calmly,  for 
his  own  sake,  to  distrust  false  friends, 
and  judge  her  by  his  own  heart,  eyes, 
and  judgment.  He  promised  her  he 
would. 

"  And  I  do  trust  you,  in  spite  of 
them  all,"  said  he  ;  "  for  your  face  is 
the  shrine  of  sincerity  and  candor.  I 
alone  know  you." 

Then  she  prayed  him  to  observe 
the  heartlessness  of  his  sex,  and  to 
say  whether  she  had  done  ill  to  hide 
the  riches  of  her  heart  from  the  cold 
and  shallow,  and  to  keep  them  all  for 
one  honest  man,  "  who  will  be  my 
friend,  1  hope,"  said  she,  "as  well  as 
my  lover." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Vane,  "  that  is  my 
Ambition." 

"  We  actresses,"  said  she,  "  make 
good  the  old  proverb,  '  Many  lovers, 
but  few  friends.'  And  <>,  't  is  we 
who  need  a  friend.  Will  you  be 
mine.?" 


Whilst  he  lived,  he  would. 

In  turn,  he  begged  her  to  be  gener- 
ous, and  tell  him  the  way  for  him, 
Ernest  Vane,  inferior  in  wit  and  ad- 
dress to  many  of  her  admirers,  to  win 
her  heart  from  them  all. 

This  singular  woman's  answer  is, 
I  think,  worth  attention 

"  Never  act  in  my  presence  ;  never 
try  to  be  eloquent,  or  clever ;  never 
force  a  sentiment,  or  turn  a  phrase. 
Remember,  I  am  the  goddess  of  tricks. 
Do  not  descend  to  competition  with 
me  and  the  Pomanders  of  the  world. 
At  all  littlenesses,  you  will  ever  be 
awkward  in  my  eyes.  And  I  am  a 
woman.  I  must  have  a  superior  to 
love, — lie  open  to  my  eye.  Light 
itself  is  not  more  beautiful  than  the 
upright  man,  whose  bosom  is  open  to 
the  day.  O  yes !  fear  not  you  will 
be  my  superior,  dear  ;  for  in  me  hon- 
esty has  to  struggle  against  the  habits 
of  my  art  and  lite.  Be  simple  and 
sincere,  and  I  shall  love  you,  and 
bless  the  hour  you  shone  upon  my 
cold,  artificial  life.  Ah,  Ernest ! " 
said  she,  fixing  on  his  eyes  her  own, 
the  fire  of  which  melted  into  tender- 
ness as  she  spoke,  "  be  my  friend. 
Come  between  me  and  the  temptations 
of  an  unprotected  life,  —  the  reckless- 
ness of  a  vacant  heart." 

He  threw  himself  at  her  feet.  He 
called  her  an  angel.  He  told  her 
he  was  unworthy  of  her,  but  that  he 
would  try  and  deserve  her.  Then  he 
hesitated,  and  trembling  he  said  :  — 

"  I  will  be  frank  and  loyal.  Had  I 
not  better  tell  you  everything?  You 
will  not  hate  me  for  a  confession  I 
make  myself?  " 

"I  shall  like  you  better,  —  oh!  so 
much  better  ! " 

"  Then  I  will  own  to  you  —  " 

"  O,  do  not  tell  me  you  have  ever 
loved  before  me  !  1  could  not  bear  to 
hear  it !  "  cried  this  inconsistent  per- 
sonage. 

The  other  weak  creature  needed  no 
more. 

"  I  see  plainly  I  never  loved  but 
you,"  said  he. 

"  Let  me  hear  that  only  !  "  cried 


46 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


she  ;  "  I  am  jealous  even  of  the  past. 
Say  you  never  loved  hut  me  :  never 
mind  whether  it  is  true.  My  child, 
you  do  not  even  yet  know  love.  Er- 
nest, shall  I  make  you  love,  —  as 
none  of  your  sex  ever  loved,  —  with 
heart,  and  brain,  and  breath,  and  life, 
and  soul  1  " 

With  these  rapturous  words,  she 
poured  the  soul  of  love  into  his  eyes ; 
he  forgot  everything  in  the  world  but 
her ;  he  dissolved  in  present  happiness 
and  vowed  himself  hers  forever :  and 
she,  for  her  part,  bade  him  but  retain 
her  esteem  and  no  woman  ever  went 
further  in  love  than  she  would.  She 
was  a  true  epicure :  she  had  learned 
that  passion,  vulgar  in  itself,  is  god- 
like when  based  upon  esteem. 

This  tender  scene  was  interrupted 
by  the  call-boy,  who  brought  Mrs. 
Woffington  a  note  from  the  manager, 
informing  her  there  would  be  no  re- 
hearsal. This  left  her  at  liberty,  and 
she  proceeded  to  take  a  somewhat 
abrupt  leave  of  Mr.  Vane.  He  was 
endeavoring  to  persuade  her  to  let 
him  be  her  companion  until  dinner- 
time (she  was  to  be  his  guest),  when 
Pomander  entered  the  room. 

Mrs.  Woffington,  however,  was  not 
to  be  persuaded ;  she  excused  herself 
on  the  score  of  a  duty  which  she  said 
she  had  to  perform,  and  whispering 
as  she  passed  Pomander,  "  Keep  your 
own  counsel,"  she  went  out  rather 
precipitately. 

Vane  looked  slightly  disappointed. 
Sir  Charles,  who  had  returned  to 
see  whether  (as  he  fully  expected) 
she  had  told  Vane  everything,  —  and 
who,  at  that  moment,  perhaps,  would 
not  have  been  sorry  had  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton's  lover  called  him  to  serious  ac- 
count,—  finding  it  was  not  her  in- 
tention to  make  mischief,  and  not 
choosing  to  publish  his  own  defeat, 
dropped  quietly  into  his  old  line,  and 
determined  to  keep  the  lovers  in  sight, 
and  play  for  revenge.  He  smiled  and 
said  :  "  My  good  sir,  nobody  can  hope 
to  monopolize  Mrs.  Woffington  :  she 
has  others  to  do  justice  to  besides 
you." 


To  his  surprise,  Mr.  Vane  turned 
instantly  round  upon  him,  and,  look- 
ing him  haughtily  in  the  face,  said : 
"  Sir  Charles  Pomander,  the  settled 
malignity  with  which  you  pursue  that 
lady  is  unmanly  and  offensive  to  me, 
who  love  her.  Let  our  acquaintance 
cease  here,  if  jrou  please,  or  let  her  be 
sacred  from  your  venomous  tongue." 
Sir  Charles  bowed  stiffly,  and  re- 
plied, that  it  was  only  clue  to  himself 
to  withdraw  a  protection  so  little  ap- 
preciated. 

The  two  friends  were  in  the  very 
act  of  separating  forever,  when  who 
should  run  in  but  Pompey,  the  rene- 
gade. He  darted  up  to  Sir  Charles, 
and  said  :  "  Massa  Pomannah  she  in 
a  coach,  going  to  10,  Hercules  Build- 
ings. I  'm  in  a  hurry,  Massa  Poman- 
nah." 

"  Where  ?  "  cried  Pomander.  "  Say 
that  again. 

"  10,  Hercules  Buildings,  Lambeth. 
Me  in  a  hurry,  Massa  Pomannah." 

"  Faithful  child,  there  's  a  guinea 
for  thee.     Fly  !  " 

The  slave  flew,  and,  taking  a  short 
cut,  caught  and  fastened  on  to  the 
slow  vehicle  in  the  Strand. 

"  It  is  a  house  of  rendezvous,"  said 
Sir  Charles,  half  to  himself,  half  to 
Mr.  Vane.  He  repeated  in  triumph : 
"  It  is  a  house  of  rendezvous."  He 
then,  recovering  his  sang-froid,  and 
treating  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course, 
explained  that  at  10,  Hercules  Build- 
ings, was  a  fashionable  shop,  with  en- 
trances from  two  streets  ;  that  the  best 
Indian  scarfs  and  shawls  were  sold 
there,  and  that  ladies  kept  their  car- 
riages waiting  an  immense  time  in 
the  principal  street,  whilst  they  were 
supposed  to  be  in  the  shop,  or  the 
show  -  room.  He  then  went  on  to 
say  that  he  had  only  this  morning 
heard  that  the  intimacy  between  Mrs. 
Woffington  and  a  Colonel  Murtli- 
waite,  although  publicly  broken  off  for 
prudential  reasons,  was  still  clandes- 
tinely carried  on.  She  had,  doubtless, 
slipped  away  to  meet  the  Colonel. 
Mr.  Vane  turned  pale. 
"  No  !  I  will  not  suspect.     I  will 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


47 


not  dog  her  like  a  bloodhound,"  cried 
he. 

"  I  will !  "  said  Pomander. 

"  You  !     By  what  right  1  " 

"  The  right  of  curiosity.  I  will 
know  whether  it  is  you  who  are  im- 
posed on  ;  or  whether  you  are  right, 
and  all  the  world  is  deceived  in  this 
woman." 

He  ran  out ;  but,  for  all  his  speed, 
when  he  got  into  the  street  there  was 
the  jealous  lover  at  his  elbow.  They 
darted  with  all  speed  into  the  Strand; 
got  a  coach.  Sir  Charles,  on  the  box, 
gave  Jehu  a  guinea,  and  took  the 
reins, — and  by  a  Niagara  of  whip- 
cord they  attained  Lambeth ;  and  at 
length,  to  his  delight,  Pomander  saw 
another  coach  before  him  with  a  gold- 
laced  black  slave  behind  it.  The 
coach  stopped  ;  and  the  slave  came  to 
the  door.  The  shop  in  question  was 
a  few  hundred  yards  distant.  The 
adroit  Sir  Charles  not  only  stopped 
but  turned  his  coach,  and  let  the 
horses  crawl  back  towards  London  ; 
he  also  flogged  the  side  panels  to 
draw  the  attention  of  Mr.  Vane. 
That  gentleman  looked  through  the 
little  circular  window  at  the  back  of 
the  vehicle,  and  saw  a  lady  paying  the 
coachman.  There  was  no  mistaking 
her  figure.  This  lady,  then,  followed 
at  a  distance  by  her  slave,  walked  on 
towards  Hercules  Buildings;  and  it 
was  bis  miserable  fate  to  see  her  look 
uneasily  round,  and  at  last  glide  in  at 
a  side  door,  close  to  the  silk-mercer's 
shop. 

The  carriage  stopped.  Sir  Charles 
came  himself' to  the  door. 

"  Now,  Vane,"  said  he;  "before  I 
consent  to  go  any  further  in  this  busi- 
ness, you  must  promise  me  to  be  cool 
and  reasonable!  I  abhor  absurdity  ; 
and  there  must  be  no  swords  drawn 
for  this  little  hypocrite." 

"  I  submit  to  no  dictation,"  said 
Vane,  white  as  a  sheet. 

"You  have  benefited  so  far  by  my 
knowledge,"  said  the  other,  politely  ; 
•"'  let  me,  who  am  gelf-posBessed,  claim 
Borae  influence  with  you." 

"Forgive  mel"   said  poor    Vane. 


"  Mv  ang —  mv  sorrow  that  such  ah 
angel  should  be  a  monster  of  deceit. 
He  could  say  no  more. 

They  walked  to  the  shop. 

"  How  she  p.eeped,  this  way  and 
that,"  said  Pomander,  "  sly  little 
Wofty! 

"  No !  on  second  thoughts,"  said 
he,  "it  is  the  other  street  we  must 
reconnoitre ;  and,  if  we  don't  see  her 
there,  we  will  enter  the  shop,  and  by 
dint  of  this  purse  we  shall  soon  untie 
the  knot  of  the  Woffington  riddle." 

Vane  leaned  heavily  on  his  tor 
mentor. 

"  I  am  faint,"  said  he. 

"  Lean  on  me,  my  dear  friend," 
said  Sir  Charles.  "  Your  weakness 
will  leave  you  in  the  next  street." 

In  the  next  street  they  discovered 

—  nothing.     In  the  shop,  they  found 

—  no  Mrs.  Woffington.  They  re- 
turned to  the  principal  street.  Vane 
began  to  hope  there  was  no  positive 
evidence.  Suddenly  three  stories  up 
a  fiddle  was  heard.  Pomander  took 
no  notice,  but  Vane  turned  red ;  this 
put  Sir  Charles  upon  the  scent. 

"  Stay  !  "  said  he.  "  Is  not  that 
an  Irish  tune  ?  " 

Vane  groaned.  He  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  and  hissed 
out :  — 

"  It  is  her  favorite  tune." 

"  Aha  !  "  said  Pomander.  "  Fol- 
low me  ! " 

They  crept  up  the  stairs.  Pomander 
in  advance  ;  they  heard  the  Bigns  of 
an  Irish  orgie,  — a  rattling  jig  played 
and  danced  with  the  inspiriting  in- 
terjections of  that  frolicsome  nation. 
These  sounds  ceased  after  awhile,  and 
Pomander  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's 
shoulder. 

"I  prepare  you,"  said  he,  "for 
what,  you  are  sure  to  see.  This  wo- 
man was  an  Irish  bricklayer's  daugh- 
ter, and  '  what  is  bred  in  the  bone 
never  comes  out  of  the  flesh';  you 
will  find  her  sitting  on  some  Irish- 
man's knee,  whose  limbs  are  ever  so 
much  stouter  than  yours.  You  are 
the  man  of  her  head,  and  this  is  the 
man    of   her    heart        These    things 


48 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


■would  l>e  monstrous,  if  they  were  not 
common  ;  incredible,  if  we  did  not 
see  them  every  day.  But  tins  poor 
fellow,  whom  probably  she  deceives 
as  well  as  you,  is  not  to  be  sacrificed 
like  a  dog  to  your  unjust  wrath  ;  he 
is  as  superior  to  her  as  you  are  to 
him." 

"  I  will  commit  no  violence,"  said 
Vane.  "  I  still  hope  she  is  inno- 
cent." 

Pomander  smiled,  and  said  he 
hoped  so  too. 

"  And  if  she  is  what  you  think,  I 
■will  but  show  her  she  is  known,  and, 
blaming  myself  as  much  as  her,  —  O 
yes  !  more  than  her  !  —  I  will  go 
down  this  night  to  Shropshhe,  and 
never  speak  word  to  her  again  in  this 
■world  or  the  next." 

"  Good,"  said  Sir  Charles. 

•« '  Le  bruit  est  pour  le  fat,  la  plainte  est  pour 
le  sot, 
L'honnfjte  homme  trompe  s'eloigne  et  ne 
dit  mot.' 

Are  von  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  follow  me." 

Turning  the  handle  gently,  he 
opened  the  door  like  lightning,  and 
was  in  the  room.  Vane's  head  peered 
over  his  shoulder.  She  was  actually 
there ! 

For  once  in  her  life,  the  cautious, 
artful  woman  was  taken  by  surprise. 
She  gave  a  little  scream,  and  turned 
as  red  as  tire.  But  Sir  Charles  sur- 
prised somebody  else  even  more  than 
he  did  poor  Mrs.  Woffington. 

It  would  be  impertinent  to  tanta- 
lize my  reader,  but  I  flatter  myself 
this  history  is  not  written  ■with  power 
enough  to  do  that,  and  I  may  venture 
to  leave  him  to  guess  whom  Sir 
Charles  Pomander  surprised  more 
than  he  did  the  actress,  while  I  go 
back  for  the  lagging  sheep. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

James  Triplet,  water  in  his  eye, 
but  fire  in  his  heart,  went  home  on 


wings.  Arrived  there,  he  anticipated 
curiosity  by  informing  all  hands,  he 
should  answer  no  questions.  Only 
in  the  intervals  of  a  work,  which  was 
to  take  the  family  out  of  all  its  trou- 
bles, he  should  gradually  unfold  a 
tale,  verging  on  the  marvellous,  —  a 
tale  whose  only  fault  was,  that  fiction, 
by  which  alone  the  family  could  hope 
to  be  great,  paled  beside  it.  He  then 
seized  some  sheets  of  paper,  fished  out 
some  old  dramatic  sketches,  and  a 
list  of  dramatis  persomv,  prepared  years 
ago,  and  plunged  into  a  comedy.  As 
he  wrote,  time  to  his  promise,  he 
painted,  Triplet-wise,  that  story  which 
we  have  coldly  related,  and  made  it 
appear,  to  all  but  Mrs.  Triplet,  that 
he  was  under  the  tutela,  or  express 
protection  of  Mrs.  Woffington,  who 
would  push  his  fortunes  until  the 
only  difficulty  would  be  to  keep  arro- 
gance out  of  the  family  heart. 

Mrs.  Triplet  groaned  aloud.  "  You 
have  brought  the  picture  home,  I 
see,"  said  she. 

"Of  course  I  have.  She  is  going 
to  give  me  a  sitting." 

"At  what  hour,  of  what  day?" 
said  Mrs.  Triplet,  with  a  world  of 
meaning. 

"  She  did  not  say,"  replied  Triplet, 
avoiding  his  wife's  eye. 

"  I  know  she  did  not,"  was  the 
answer.  "  I  would  rather  you  had 
brought  me  the  ten  shillings  than 
this  fine  storv,"  said  she. 

"  Wife  ! "  "said  Triplet,  "  don't  put 
me  into  a  frame  of  mind  in  which 
successful  comedies  are  not  written." 
He  scribbled  away ;  but  his  wife's  de- 
spondency told  upon  the  man  of  dis- 
appointments. Then  he  stuck  fast; 
then  he  became  fidgety. 

"  Do  keep  those  children  quiet !  " 
said  the  father. 

"  Hush,  my  dears,"  said  the  moth- 
er ;  "  let  your  father  write.  Comedy 
seems  to  give  you  more  trouble  than 
tragedy,  James,"  added  she,  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  Yes,"  was  his  answer.  "  Sorrovr 
comes  somehow  more  natural  to  me  ; 
but  for  all  that  I  have  got  a  bright 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


49 


thought,  Mrs.  Triplet.  Listen,  all  of 
you.  You  .see,  Jane,  they  are  all  at 
a  sumptuous  banquet,  all  the  drama- 
tis personae,  except  the  poet." 

Triplet  went  on  writing,  and  read- 
ing his  work  out :  "  Music,  sparkling 
wine,  massive  plate,  rose-water  in  the 
hand-glasses,  soup,  fish,  —  shall  I 
have  three  sorts  of  fish  1  I  will ;  they 
are  cheap  in  this  market.  Ah  !  For- 
tune, you  wretch,  here  at  least  I  am 
your  master,  and  I'll  make  you  know 
it,  —  venison,"  wrote  Triplet,  with  a 
malicious  grin,  "  game,  pickles,  and 
provocatives  in  the  centre  of  the  ta- 
ble ;  then  up  jumps  one  of  the  guests, 
and  says  he —  " 

"  O  dear,  I  am  so  hungry." 

This  was  not  from  the  comedy,  but 
from  one'  of  the  hoys. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  cried  a  girl. 

"  That  is  an  absurd  remark,  Ly- 
simachus,"  said  Triplet,  with  a  suspi- 
cious calmness. 

"  How  can  a  boy  be  hungry  three 
hours  after  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Hut,  father,  there  was  no  break- 
fast for  breakfast." 

"  Now  I  ask  you,  Mrs.  Triplet.,"  ap- 
pealed the  author,  "  how  I  am  to  write 
comic  seines  if  you  let  Lvsiniachus 
and  Roxalana  here  put  the  heavy 
business  in  every  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  Forgive  them  ;  the  poor  things 
arc  hungry." 

"  Then  let  them  be  hungry  in  an- 
other room,"  said  the  irritated  scribe. 
"They  aha' n't  cling  round  my  pen, 
and  paralyze  it,  just  when  it  is  going 
to  make  all  our  fortunes;  but  you 
women,"  snapped  Triplet  the  Just, 
"  have  no  consideration  for  people's 
feelings.  Send  them  all  to  bed; 
every  man  Jack  of  them  !  " 

Finding  the  conversation  taking 
this  turn,  the  brats  raised  an  unani- 
mous howl. 

Triplet  darted  a  fierce  glance  at 
them.  "  Hungry,  hungry,"  cried  he  ; 
"  is  that  a  proper  expression  to  use 
before  a  lather  who  is  sitting  down 
here,  all  gayety  "  (scratching  wildly 
with  bis  pen j "and hilarity  "(scratch) 
"  to  write  w.  coin — com —  "  he  choked 
3 


a  moment ;  then  in  a  very  different 
voice,  all  sadness  and  tenderness,  he 
said  :  "  Where  's  the  youngest,  — 
where  's  Lucy  7  As  if  I  did  n't  know 
you  are  hungry." 

Lucy  came  to  him  directly.  He 
took  her  on  his  knee,  pressed  her 
gently  to  his  side,  and  wrote  silently. 
The  others  were  still. 

"  Father,"  said  Lucy,  aged  five,  the 
germ  of  a  woman,  "I  am  not  tho 
very  hungry." 

"And  I  am  not  hungry  at  all," 
said  bluff  Lysimachus,  taking  his  sis- 
ter's cue ;  then  going  upon  his  own 
tact  he  added,  "  I  had  a  great  piece  of 
bread  and  butter  yesterday  !  " 

"  Wife,  they  will  drive  me  mad  ! " 
and  he  dashed  at  the  paper. 

The  second  boy  explained  to  his 
mother,  sotto  voce :  "  Mother,  he  made 
us  hungry  out  of  his  book." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  book,"  said  Lucy. 
"  Is  it  a  cookery  book  ?  " 

Triplet  roared :  "  Do  you  hear 
that?  inquired  he,  all  trace  of  ill- 
humor  gone.  "  Wife,"  he  resumed, 
after  a  gallant  scribble,  "  I  took  that 
sermon  I  wrote." 

"  And  beautiful  it  was,  James. 
I  'm  sure  it  quite  cheered  me  up  with 
thinking  that  we  shall  all  be  dead  be- 
fore so  very  long." 

"  Well,  the  reverend  gentleman 
would  not  have  it.  He  said  it  was  too 
hard  upon  sin.  '  You  run  at  the 
Devil  like  a  mad  bull,'  said  he.  '  Sell 
it  in  Lambeth,  sir;  here  calmness  and 
decency  are  before  everything,'  says 
he.  '  My  congregation  expect  to  go 
to  heaven  down  hill.  Perhaps  the 
chaplain  of  Newgate  might  give  you 
a  crown  for  it,'  said  he,"  and  Triplet 
dashed  viciously  at  the.  paper.  "Ah!  " 
sighed  he,  "if  my  friend  Mrs.  Wbffing- 
ton  would  but  drop  these  stupid  come- 
dies and  take  to  tragedy,  this  house 
would  soon  he  all  smiles." 

"O  James!  "  replied  Mrs.  Triplet, 
almost  peevishly,"  how  can  you  expect 
anything  but  tine  words  from  that 
woman  '  You  won't  believe  what  all 
the  world  says.  You  will  trust  to 
your  own  good  heart." 

D 


50 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


"  I  have  n't  a  good  heart,"  said  the 
poor,  honest  fellow.  "  I  spoke  like  a 
brute  to  you  just  now." 

"  Never  mind,  James,"  said  the  wo- 
man :  "  I  wonder  how  you  put  up 
with  me  at  all,  —  a  sick,  useless  crea- 
ture. I  often  wish  to  die,  for  your 
sake.  I  know  you  would  do  better. 
I  am  such  a  weight  round  your 
neck." 

The  man  made  no  answer,  but  he 
put  Lucy  gently  down,  and  went  to 
the  woman,  and  took  her  forehead  to 
his  bosom,  and  held  it  there ;  and  af- 
ter a  while  returned  with  silent  ener- 
gy to  his  comedy. 

"  Play  us  a  tune  on  the  fiddle,  fa- 
ther." 

"Ay,  do,  husband.  That  helps 
you  often  in  your  writing." 

Lysimachus  brought  him  the  fiddle, 
and  Triplet  essayed  a  merry  tune ; 
but  it  came  out  so  doleful,  that  he 
shook  his  head,  and  laid  the  instru- 
ment down.  Music  must  be  in  the 
heart,  or  it  will  come  out  of  the  fin- 
gers —  notes,  not  music. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  let  us  be  serious 
and  finish  this  comedy  slap  off.  Per- 
haps it  hitches  because  I  forgot  to 
invoke  the  comic  muse.  She  must 
be  a  black-hearted  jade,  if  she  does  n't 
come  with  merry  notions  to  a  poor 
devil,  starving  in  the  midst  of  his 
hungry  little  ones." 

"  We  are  past  help  from  heathen 
goddesses,"  said  the  woman.  "  We 
must  pray  to  Heaven  to  look  down 
upon  us  .and  our  children." 

The  man  looked  up  with  a  very 
bad  expression  on  his  countenance. 

"  You  forget,"  said  he,  sullenly, 
"  our  street  is  very  narrow,  and  the 
opposite  houses  are  very  high." 

"James!" 

"  How  can  Heaven  be  expected  to 
see  what  honest  folk  endure  in  so 
dark  a  hole  as  this  1 "  cried  the  man, 
fiercely. 

"James,"  said  the  woman,  with 
fear  and  sorrow,  "what  words  arc 
these  '  " 

The  man  rose,  and  flung  his  pen 
upon  the  floor. 


"  Have  we  given  honesty  a  fair 
trial,  — yes  or  no  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  the  woman,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation  ;  "  not  till  we  die, 
as  we  have  lived.  Heaven  is  higher 
than  the  sky;  children,"  said  she, 
lest  perchance  her  husband's  words 
should  have  banned  theiryoung  souls, 
"  the  sky  is  above  the  earth,  and 
heaven  is  higher  than  the  sky;  and 
Heaven  is  just." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  so,"  said  the  man, 
a  little  cowed  by  her.  "Everybody 
says  so.  I  think  so,  at  bottom,  my- 
self; but  I  can't  see  it.  I  want  to  see 
it,  but  I  can't!"  cried  he,  fiercely. 
"  Have  my  children  offended  Heaven  ? 
They  will  starve,  —  they  will  die  !  If 
I  was  Heaven,  I  'd  be  just,  and  send 
an  angel-  to  take  these  children's 
part.  They  cried  to  me  for  bread,  — 
I  had  no  bread ;  so  I  gave  them 
hard  words.  The  moment  I  had  done 
that,  I  knew  it  was  all  over.  God 
knows  it  took  a  long  while  to  break 
my  heart;  but  it  is  broken  at  last; 
(mite,  quite  broken !  broken  !  bro- 
ken ! " 

And  the  poor  thing  laid  his  head 
upon  the  table,  and  sobbed,  bejTond 
all  power  of  restraint.  The  children 
cried  round  him,  scarce  knowing 
why ;  and  Mrs.  Triplet  could  only 
say,  "  My  poor  husband ! "  and 
prayed  and  wept  upon  the  couch 
where  she  lay. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  a  lady, 
who  had  knocked  gently  and  un- 
heard, opened  the  door,  and  with  a 
light  step  entered  the  apartment ; 
but  no  sooner  had  she  caught  sight  of 
Triplet's  anguish,  than  saying  has- 
tily, "  Stay,  I  forgot  something,"  she 
made  as  hasty  an  exit. 

This  gave  Triplet  a  moment  to  re- 
cover himself ;  and  Mrs.  Woffington, 
whose  lynx  eye  had  comprehended 
all  at  a  glance,  and  who  had  de- 
termined at  once  what  line  to  take, 
came  flying  in  again,  saying  :  — 

"  Was  n't  somebody  inquiring  for 
an  angel  1  Here  I  am.  See,  Mr. 
Triplet "  ;  and  she  showed  him  a  note, 
which  said  :    "  Madam,  you   are  an 


TEG   WOFFINGTON. 


51 


angel.  From  a  perfect  stranger,"  ex- 
plained she  ;  "  so  it  must  be  true." 

"  Mrs.  Woffington,"  said  Mr.  Trip- 
let to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Woffington  planted  herself  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  with  a 
comical  glance,  setting  her  arms 
akimbo,  uttered  a  shrill  whistle. 

"  Now  you  will  see  another  angel, 

—  there  are  two  sorts  of  them." 
Pompey  came  in   with  a  basket ; 

she  took  it  from  him. 

"  Lucifer,  a  vaunt !  "  cried  she,  in  a 
terrible  tone,  that  drove  him  to  the 
wall ;  "  and  wait  outside  the  door," 
added  she,  conversationally. 

"I  heard  you  were  ill,  ma'am,  and 
I  have  brought  you  some  physic,  — 
black  draughts  from  Burgundy " ; 
and  she  smiled.  And,  recovered  from 
their  first  surprise,  young  and  old 
began  to  thaw  beneath  that  witching, 
irresistible  smile.  "  Mrs.  Triplet,  I 
have  come  to  give  your  husband  a 
sitting  ;  will  you  allow  me  to  eat  my 
little  luncheon  with  you  f  I  am  so 
hungry."  Then  she  clapped  her 
hands,  and  in  ran  Pompey.  She  sent 
him  for  a  pie  she  professed  to  have 
fallen  in  love  with  at  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

"  Mother,"  said  Alcibiades,  "  will 
the  lady  give  me  a  bit  of  her  pie  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  you  rude  boy !  "  cried  the 
mother. 

"  She  is  not  much  of  a  lady  if  she 
does  not,"  cried  Mrs.  Woffington. 
"  Now,  children,  first  let  us   look   at 

—  ahem  —  a  comedy.  Nineteen  dra- 
)ii<i!in  personal!  What  do  you  say, 
children,  shall  we  cut  out  seven,  or 
nine  '.  that  is  the  question.  You 
can't  bring  your  armies  into  our 
drawing-rooms,  Mr.  Dagger  -  and- 
bowl.  Are  you  the  Marlborough  of 
comedy?  Can  you  marshal  battal- 
ions on  a  turkey  carpet,  and  make 
gentlefolks  witty 'in  platoons  !  What 
is  this  in  the  first  act?  A  duel,  and 
both  wounded  !     You  butcher  !  " 

"  They  are    not    to    die,    ma'am  !" 

cried  Triplet,  deprecatingly ;  "upon 
my  honor,"  said  lie,  rolemnly,  spread- 
ing his  hands  on  his  bosom. 


"Do  you  think  I'll  trust  their 
lives  with  you  ?  No  !  Give  me  a 
pen  ;  this  is  the  way  we  run  people 
through  the  body."  Then  she  wrote 
("  business."  Araminta  looks  out 
of  the  garret  window.  Combatants 
drop  their  swords,  put  their  hands  to 
their  hearts,  and  stagger  off  O.  P.  and 
P.  S.)  "  Now,  children,  who  helps 
me  to  lay  the  cloth  ?  " 

"I ! " 

"  And  I !  "  (The  children  run  to 
the  cupboard  ) 

Mrs.  Triplet  (half  rising).  "  Mad- 
am, I  —  can't  think  of  allowing 
you." 

Mrs.  Woffington  replied  :  "  Sit 
down,  madam,  or  I  must  use  brute 
force.  If  you  are  ill,  be  ill  —  till  I 
make  you  well.  Twelve  plates,  quick  ! 
Twenty-four  knives,  quicker  !  Forty- 
eight  forks  quickest !  "  She  met  the 
children  with  the  cloth  and  laid  it; 
then  she  met  them  again  and  laid 
knives  and  forks,  all  at  full  gallop, 
which  mightily  excited  the  bairns. 
Pompey  came  in  with  the  pic,  Mrs. 
Woffington  took  it  and  set  it  before 
Triplet. 

Mrs:  Woffinrjton.  "Your  coat,  Mr. 
Triplet,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Triplet.  "  My  coat,  madam  !  " 

Mrs.  Woffington.  "  Yes,  off  with  it, 
—  there  's  a  hole  in  it,  —  and  carve." 
Then  she  whipped  to  the  other  end 
of  the  table  and  stitched  like  wild- 
fire. "  Be  pleased  to  cast  your  eyes 
on  that,  Mrs.  Triplet.  Pass  it  to  the 
lady,  young  gentleman.  Fire  away, 
Mr.  Triplet,  never  mind  us  women. 
Woffinirton's  housewife,  ma'am,  fear- 
ful to  the  eye,  only  it  holds  everything 
in  the  world,  and  there  is  a  small 
space  for  everything  else,  —  to  be  re- 
turned by  the  bearer.  Thank  you, 
sir."  (Stitches  away  like  lightning 
at  the  coat.)  "  Fat  away,  children  ! 
now  is  your  time  ;  when  once  I  be- 
gin, the  pie  will  soon  end  ;  1  do  every- 
thing so  quick." 

Roxalana.  "  The  lady  sews  quicker 
than  you,  mother." 

Woffington.  "  Plcss  the  child,  don't 
come    so    near  my   sword-arm ;    the 


52 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


needle  will  go  into  your  eye,  and  out 
at  the  back  of  your  head." 

This  nonsense  made  the  children 
giggle. 

"The  needle  will  be  lost, — the 
child  no  more,  —  enter  undertaker,  — 
house  turned  topsy-turvy,  —  father 
shows  Woffington  to  the  door,  —  off 
she  goes  with  a  face  as  long  and  dis- 
mal as  some  people's  comedies,  —  no 
names,  —  crying  fine  cha-ney  oran- 
ges." 

The  children,  all  but  Lucy,  screeched 
with  laughter. 

Lucy  said  gravely  :  — 

"  Mother,  the  lady  is  very  fun- 
ny." 

"  You  will  be  as  funny  when  you 
are  as  well  paid  for  it." 

This  just  hit  poor  Trip's  notion  of 
humor,  and  he  began  to  choke,  with 
his  mouth  full  of  pie. 

"  James,  take  care,"  said  Mrs. 
Triplet,  sad  and  solemn. 

James  looked  up. 
"  My    wife    is    a    good    woman, 
madam,"  said  he;  "but  deficient  in 
an  important  particular." 

"  O  James  !  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I  regret  to  say 
you  have  no  sense  of  humor ;  num- 
more  than  a  cat,  Jane." 

"  What !  because  the  poor  thing 
can't  laugh  at  your  comedy1 " 

"  No,    ma'am 
nothing." 

"  Try  her  with  one  of  your  trage- 
dies, my  lad." 

"  I  am  sure,  James,"  said  the  poor, 
good,  lackadaisical  woman,  "  if  I 
don't  laugh,  it  is  not  for  want  of  the 
will.  I  used  to  be  a  very  hearty 
laugher,"  whined  she  ;  "  but  I  have  n't 
laughed  this  two  years." 

"  O,  indeed  !  "  said  the  Woffington. 
*'  Then  the  next  two  years  you  shall 
do  nothing  else." 

"  Ah,  madam ! "  said  Triplet. 
"  That  passes  the  art,  even  of  the 
great  comedian." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  the  actress,  coolly. 

Laicy.  —  "She  is  not  a  comedy 
lady.  You  don't  ever  cry,  pretty 
lady  ?  " 


but  she   laughs  at 


Woffinrjton  (ironically).  —  "O,  of 
course  not." 

Lucy  (confidentially).  —  "  Comedy 
is  crying.  Father  cried  all  the  time 
he  was  writing  his  one." 

Triplet  turned  red  as  fire. 

" Hold  your  tongue,"  said  he :  "I 
was  bursting  with  merriment.  Wife, 
our  children  talk  too  much ;  they  put 
their  noses  into  everything,  and  criti- 
cise their  own  father." 

"  Unnatural  offspring  !  "  laughed 
the  visitor. 

"  And  when  they  tnke  up  a  notion, 
Socrates  could  n't  convince  them  to 
the  contrary.  For  instance,  madam, 
all  this  morning  they  thought  fit  to 
assume  that  they  were  starving. 

"  So  we  were,"  said  Lysimachus, 
"  until  the  angel  came ;  and  the  devil 
went  for  the  pie." 

"  There  —  there  —  there  !  Now, 
you  mark  my  words  ;  we  shall  never 
get  that  idea  out  of  their  heads  —  " 

"  Until,"  said  Mrs.  Woffington, 
lumping  a  huge  cut  of  pie  into  Roxa- 
lana's  plate,  "  we  put  a  very  different 
idea  into  their  stomachs."  This  and 
the  look  she  cast  on  Mrs.  Triplet 
fairly  caught  that  good,  though  som- 
bre personage.  She  giggled ;  put  her 
hand  to  her  face,  and  said  :  "  I  'm 
sure  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma'am  " 

It  was  no  use ;  the  comedian  had 
determined  they  should  all  laugh, 
and  they  were  made  to  laugh.  Then 
she  rose,  and  showed  them  how  to 
drink  healths  a  la  Frahgaise';  and  keen 
were  her  little  admirers  to  touch  her 
glass  with  theirs.  And  the  pnre 
wine  she  had  brought  did  Mrs.  Trip- 
let much  good,  too;  though  not  so 
much  as  the  music  and  sunshine  of 
her  face  and  voice.  Then,  when 
their  stomachs  were  full  of  good  food, 
and  the  soul  of  the  grape  tingled  in 
their  veins,  and  their  souls  glowed 
under  her  great  magnetic  power,  she 
suddenly  seized  the  fiddle,  and  showed 
them  another  of  her  enchantments. 
She  put  it  on  her  knee,  and  played  a 
tunc  that  would  have  made  gout, 
cholic,  and  phthisic  dance  upon  their 
last  legs.     She  played  to  the  eye  as 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


53 


we'll  as  to  the  car,  with  such  a  smart 
gesture  of  the  bow,  and  such  a  radi- 
ance of  face  as  she  looked  at  them, 
that  whether  the  music  came  out  of 
her  wooden  shell,  or  her  horse-hair 
wand,  or  her  bright  self,  seemed  doubt- 
ful. They  pranced  on  their  chairs ; 
they  could  not.  keep  still.  She 
jumped  up ;  so  did  they.  She  gave  a 
wild  Irish  horroo.  She  put  the  riddle 
in  Triplet's  hand. 

"  The  wind  that  shakes  the  barley, 
ye  divil !  "  cried  she. 

Triplet  went  hors  de  lui ;  he  played 
like  Pagan ini,  or  an  intoxicated  de- 
mon. Woffington  covered  the  buckle 
in  gallant  style  ;  she  danced,  the  chil- 
dren danced.  Triplet  fiddled  and 
danced,  and  Bung  his  limbs  in  wild 
dislocation;  the  wineglasses  danced; 
and  last,  airs.  Triplet  was  observed 
to  be  bobbing  about  on  her  sofa,  in  a 
monstrous  absurd  way,  droning  out 
the  tune,  and  playing  her  hands  with 
mild  enjoyment,  all  to  herself.  Wof- 
fington pointed  out  this  pantomim- 
ic soliloquy  to  the  two  boys,  with  a 
glance  full  of  fiery  meaning.  This 
was  enough  :  with  a  fiendish  yell,  they 
fell  upon  her,  and  tore  her,  shriek- 
ing,  off  the  sola.  And  lo  !  when  she 
was  once  launched,  she  danced  up  to 
her  husband,  and  set  to  him  with  a 
meek  deliberation  that  was  as  fun- 
ny as  any  part  of  the  scene.  So  then 
the  mover  of  all  this  slipped  on  one 
side,  and  let  the  stone  of  merriment 
roll,  —  and  roll  it  did;  there  was 
no  swimming,  sprawling,  or  irrel- 
evant frisking;  their  feet  struck  the 
ground  tor  every  note  of  the  fiddle, 
pat  as  its  echo,  their  faces  shone, 
their  hearts  leaped,  and  their  poor 
frozen  natures  came  out,  and  warmed 
themselves  at  the  glowing  melody  ;  a 
great  sunbeam  had  come  into  their 
abode,  and  these  human  motes  danced 
in  it.  The  elder  ones  recovered  their 
gravity  first,  they  sat  down  breath- 
less, and  put  their  hands  to  their 
hearts;  they  looked  at  one  another, 
and  then  at  the  goddess  who  had  re- 
vived them.      Their  first  feeling  was 

wonder;     were    they    the  same,    who, 


ten  minutes  ago,  were  weeping  to- 
gether? Yes!  ten  minutes  ago  they 
were  rayless,  joyless,  hopeless.  Now 
the  sun  was  in  their  hearts,  and  sor- 
row  and  sighing  were  fled,  as  fogs 
disperse  before  the  god  of  day.  It 
was  magical ;  could  a  mortal  play 
upon  the  soul  of  man,  woman,  and 
child  like  this  ?  Happy  Woffington  ! 
and  suppose  this  was  more  than  half 
acting,  but  such  acting  as  Triplet 
never  dreamed  of;  and  to  tell  the 
honest,  simple  truth,  I  myself  should 
not  have  suspected  it ;  but  children 
are  sharper  than  one  would  think, 
and  Aleibiades  Triplet  told,  in  after 
years,  that,  when  they  were  all  dan- 
cing except  the  lady,  he  caught  sight 
of  her  face,  —  and  it  was  quite,  quite 
grave,  and  even  sad ;  but,  as  often  as 
she  saw  him  look  at  her,  she  smiled 
at  him  so  gayly, — he  couldn't  be-- 
lieve  it  was  the  same  face. 

If  it  was  art.  jxlory  be  to  such  art 
so  worthily  applied !  and  honor  to 
such  creatures  as  this,  that  come  like 
sunshine  into  poor  men's  houses,  and 
tunc  drooping  hearts  to  daylight  and 
hope ! 

The  wonder  of  these  worthy  people 
soon  changed  to  gratitude.  Mrs. 
Woffington  stopped  their  mouths  at 
once. 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  she ;  "  if  you  real- 
ly love  me,  no  scenes:  I  hate  them. 
Tell  these  brats  to  kiss  me,  and  let 
me  go.  I  must  sit  for  my  picture 
after  dinner;  it  is  a  long  way  to 
Bloomsbury  Square." 

The  children  needed  no  bidding; 
they  clustered  round  her,  and  poured 
out  their  innocent  hearts  as  children 
only  do. 

"  I  shall  pray  for  you  after  father 
and  mother,"  said  one. 

"I  shall  pray  for  you  after  daily 
bread,"  said  Lucy,  "  because  we  were 
tlto  hungry  till  you  came!" 

"My  "poor  children!"  cried  Wof- 
fington, and  hard  to  grown-up  actors, 

as  -he  called    us,  but  sensitive  to  chil 
dren,    she    fairly  melted    as    she   cm- 
braced  them. 

It  "a-  at  this  precise  juncture  that 


54 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


the  door  was  unceremoniously  opened, 
and  the  two  gentlemen  burst  upon 
the  scene  ! 

My  reader  now  guesses  whom  Sir 
Charles  Pomander  surprised  more 
than  he  did  Mrs.  Woffington.  He 
could  not  tor  the  life  of  him  compre- 
hend what  she  was  doinf,r,  and  what 
was  her  ulterior  object.  The  nil  admi- 
rari  of  the  line  gentleman  deserted 
him,  and  he  gazed  open-mouthed,  like 
the  veriest  chaw-bacon. 

The  actress,  unable  to  extricate 
herself  in  a  moment  from  the  children, 
stood  there  like  Charity,  in  New  Col- 
lege Chapel,  whilst  the  mother  kissed 
her  hand,  and  the  father  quietly 
dropped  tears,  like  some  leaden  water 
god  in  the  middle  of  a  fountain. 

Vane  turned  hot  and  cold  by  turns, 
with  joy   and    shame.      Pomander's 
.  genius  came  to  the  aid  of  their  embar- 
rassment. 

"  Follow  my  lead,"  whispered  he. 
"What!  Mrs.  Woffington  here!" 
cried  he ;  then  he  advanced  business- 
like to  Triplet.  "  We  are  aware,  sir, 
of  your  various  talents,  and  are  come 
to  make  a  demand  on  them.  I,  sir, 
am  the  unfortunate  possessor  of  fres- 
cos ;  time  has  impaired  their  indeli- 
cacy, no  man  can  restore  it  as  you 
can." 

"  Augh !  sir !  sir  ! "  said  the  grati- 
fied goose. 

"  My  Cupid's  bows  are  walking- 
sticks,  and  my  Venus's  noses  are 
snubbed.  You  must  set  all  that 
straight,  on  your  own  terms,  Mr. 
Triplet." 

"  In  a  single  morning  all  shall 
bloom  again,  sir  !  Whom  would  you 
wish  them  to  resemble  in  feature  7  I 
have  lately  been  praised  for  my  skill 
in  portraiture."  (Glancing  at  Mrs. 
Woffington.) 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Pomander,  carelessly, 
"you  need  not  go  far  for  Venuses 
and  Cupids,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  see,  sir  :  my  wife  and  children. 
Thank  you,  sir  ;  thank  you." 

Pomander  stared ;  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton laughed. 

Now  it  was  Vane's  turn. 


"Let  me  have  a  copy  of  verses 
from  your  pen.  I  shall  have  five 
pounds  at  your  disposal  for  them." 

"  The  world  has  found  me  out !  " 
thought  Triplet,  blinded  by  his  vani- 
ty.    "  The  subject,  sir  3 " 

"  No  matter,"  said  Vane,  —  "  no 
matter." 

"  <),  of  course,  it  does  not  matter 
to  me,"  said  Triplet,  with  some 
hauteur,  and  assuming  poetic  omnipo- 
tence. "  Only,  when  one  knows  the 
subject,  one  can  sometimes  make  the 
verses  apply  better." 

"  Write  then,  since  you  are  so  con- 
fident, upon  Mrs.  Woffington." 

"Ah!  that  is  a  subject!  They 
shall  be  ready  in  an  hour ! "  cried 
Trip,  in  whose  imagination  Parnassus 
was  a  raised  counter.  He  had  in  a 
teacup  some  lines  on  Venus  and  Mars, 
which  he  could  not  but  feel  would  fit 
Thalia  and  Croesus,  or  Genius  and 
Envy,  equally  well.  "In  one  hour, 
sir,"  said  Triplet,  "  the  article  shall 
be  executed,  and  delivered  at  your 
house." 

Mrs.  Woffington  called  Vane  to 
her,  with  an  engaging  smile.  A 
month  a<;o  he  would  have  hoped  she 
would  not  have  penetrated  him  and 
Sir  Charles  ;  but  he  knew  her  better 
now.     He  came  trembling. 

"  Look  mc  in  the  face,  Mr.  Vane," 
said  she,  gently,  but  firmly. 

"  I  cannot !  "  said  he.  "  How 
can  I  ever  look  you  in  the  face 
again  1 " 

"  Ah !  you  disarm  me  !  But  I 
must  strike  you,  or  this  will  never 
end.  Did  I  not  promise  that, 
when  you  had  earned  my  esteem,  I 
would  tell  you,  —  what  no  mortal 
knows,  —  Ernest,  my  whole  story  ? 
I  delay  the  confession  :  it  will  cost 
me  so  many  blushes,  so  many  tears  ! 
Anil  yet  I  hope,  if  you  knew  all,  you 
would  pity  and  forgive  me.  Mean- 
time, did  I  ever  tell  you  a  false- 
hood 1  " 

"  0  no  !  " 

"  Why  doubt  me  then,  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  hold  all  your  sex  cheap 
but  you  ?     Why  suspect  me  of  Heav 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


55 


en  knows  what,  at  the  dictation  of  a 
heartless,  brainless  fop,  —  on  the 
word  of  a  known  liar,  like  the 
world  1  " 

Black  lightning  flashed  from  her 
glorious  eyes,  as  she  administered  this 
royal  relmke.  Vane  felt  what  a  poor 
creature  he  was,  and  his  face  showed 
such  burning  shame  and  contrition, 
that  he  obtained  his  pardon  without 
speaking. 

"  There,"  said  she,  kindly,  "  do  not 
let  us  torment  one  another.  I  forgive 
you.  Let  me  make  you  happy,  Er- 
nest. Is  that  a  great  favor  to  ask-? 
I  can  make  you  happier  than  your 
brightest  dream  of  happiness,  if  you 
will  let  yourself  be  happy." 

They  rejoined  the  others  ;  but 
Vane  turned  his  back  on  Pomander, 
and  would  not  look  at  him. 

"  Sir  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton,  gayly  ;  for  she  scorned  to  admit 
the  line  gentleman  to  the  rank  of  a 
permanent  enemy,  "  you  will  be  of 
our  party,  I  trust,  at  dinner  %  " 

<;  Why,  no,  madam  ;  I  fear  I  can- 
not give  myself  that  pleasure  to-day." 
Sir  Charles  did  not  choose  to  swell 
the  triumph.  "  Mr.  Vane,  good 
day!"  said  he,  rather  dryly.  "Mr. 
Triplet  —  madam  —  your  most  obe- 
dient !  "  and,  self  possessed  at  top,  but 
at  bottom  crestfallen,  he  bowed  him- 
self away. 

Sir  Charles,  however,  on  descending 
the  stair  and  gaining  the  street,  caught 
sight  of  a  horseman,  riding  uncertain- 
ly about,  and  making  his  horse  cur- 
vet, to  attract  attention. 

He  soon  recognized  one  of  his  own 
horses,  and  upon  it  the  servant  he 
had  left  behind  to  dog  that  poor  in- 
nocent country  lady.  The  servant 
sprang  off  his  horse  and  touched  his 
hat.  lie  informed  his  master  that 
he  had  kept  with  the  carriage  until 
ten  o'clock  tins  morning,  when  he 
had  ridden  away  from  it  at  Harncf, 
having  duly  pumped  the  servants  as 
opportunity  offered. 

"  Who  i's  she  '  "  cried   Sir  Charles. 

"  Wife  of  a  Cheshire  squire,  Sir 
Charles,"  was  the  reply. 


"  His  name  1  Whither  goes  she 
in  town  7  " 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Vane,  Sir 
Charles.  She  is  going  to  her  hus- 
band." 

"  Curious !  "  cried  Sir  Charles.  "  I 
wish  she  had  no  husband.  No  !  I 
wish  she  came  from  Shropshire,"  and 
he  chuckled  at  the  notion. 

"  If  you  please,  Sir  Charles,"  said 
the  man,  "is  not  Willoughby  in 
Cheshire  ?  " 

"  No,"  cried  his  master ;  "  it  is  in 
Shropshire.  What!  eh!  Five  guin- 
eas for  you  if  that  lady  comes  from 
Willoughby  in  Shropshire." 

"  That  is  where  she  comes  from 
then,  Sir  Charles,  and  she  is  going 
to  Bloomsbury  Square." 

"  How  long  have  they  been  mar- 
ried ! " 

"  Not  more  than  twelve  months, 
Sir  Charles." 

Pomander  gave  the  man  ten  guin- 
eas instead  of  five  on  the  spot. 

Reader,  it  was  too  true  !  Mr.  Vane 
—  the  good,  the  decent,  the  church- 
goer—  Mr.  Vane,  whom  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington  had  selected  to  improve  her 
morals  —  Mr  Vane  was  a  married 
man  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

As  soon  as  Pomander  had  drawn 
his  breath  and  realized  this  discovery, 
he  darted  tip  stairs,  and,  with  all  the 
demure  calmness  he  could  assume, 
told  Mr.  Vane,  whom  he  met  descend- 
ing, that  he  was  happy  to  find  his  en- 
gagements permitted  him  to  join  the 
party  in  Bloomsbury  Square,  lie  then 
Bung  himself  upon  his  servant's  horse. 

Like  Iago,  he  saw  the  indistinct 
outline  of  a  glorious  and  a  most  ma- 
licious plot;  it  lay  crude  in  his  head 
and  heart  at  present  ;  thus  much  he 
saw  clearly,  that,  if  he  could  tone  .Mrs. 
Vane's  arrival  so  that  she  should 
pounce  upon  the  WoffingtOH  at  her 
husband's  table,  he   might    be   present 

at  ami  enjoy  the  public  discomfiture 

of  a  man  and  woman  u  bo  had  wound- 


56 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


ed  his  vanity.  Bidding  his  servant 
make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Blooms- 
bury  Square,  Sir  Charles  galloped  in 
that  direction  himself,  intending  first 
to  inquire  whether  Mrs.  Vane  was 
arrived,  and,  if  not,  to  ride  towards 
Islington  and  meet  her.  His  plan 
was  frustrated  by  an  accident ;  gal- 
loping round  a  corner,  his  horse  did 
not  change  his  leg  cleverly,  and,  the 
pavement  being  also  loose,  slipped 
and  fell  on  his  side,  throwing  his  rider 
upon  the  trottm'r.  The  horse  got  up 
and  trembled  violently,  but  was  un- 
hurt. The  rider  lay  motionless,  ex- 
cept that  his  legs  quivered  on  the 
pavement.  They  took  him  up  and 
conveyed  him  into  a  druggist's  shop, 
the  master  of  which  practised  chirur- 
gery.  He  had  to  be  sent  for;  and, 
before  he  could  be  found,  Sir  Charles 
recovered  his  reason,  so  much  so, 
that  when  the  chirurgeon  approached 
with  his  fleam  to  bleed  him,  according 
to  the  practice  of  the  day,  the  patient 
drew  his  sword,  and  assured  the  other 
he  would  let  out  every  drop  of  blood 
in  his  body  if  he  touched  him. 

He  of  the  shorter  but  more  lethal 
weapon  hastily  retreated.  Sir  Charles 
flung  a  guinea  on  the  counter,  and 
mounting  his  horse  rode  him  off  rath- 
er faster  than  before  this  accident. 

There  was  a  dead  silence  ! 

"  I  believe  that  gentleman  to  be  the 
Devil !  "  said  a  thoughtful  by-stander. 
The  crowd  (it  was  a  century  ago)  as- 
sented nem.  con. 

Sir  Charles,  arrived  in  Bloomsbury 
Square,  found  that  the  whole  party 
Mas  assembled.  He  therefore  ordered 
his  servant  to  parade  before  the  door, 
and,  if  he  saw  Mrs.  Vane's  carriage 
enter  the  Square,  to  let  him  know,  if 
possible,  before  she  should  reach  the 
house.  On  entering  he  learned  that 
Mr.  Vane  and  his  guests  were  in  the 
garden  (a  very  fine  one),  and  joined 
them  there. 

Mrs.  Vane  demands  another  chap- 
ter, in  which  I  will  tell  the  reader 
who  she  was,  and  what  excuse  her 
husband  had  for  his  liaison  with  Mar- 
garet Woffington. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Mabel  Chester  was  the  beauty 
and  toast  of  South  Shropshire.  She 
had  refused  the  hand  of  half  the 
country  squires  in  a  circle  of  some  doz- 
en miles,  till  at  last  Mr.  Vane  became 
her  suitor.  Besides  a  handsome  face 
and  person,  Mr.  Vane  had  accom- 
plishments his  rivals  did  not  possess. 
He  read  poetry  to  her  on  mossy 
banks  an  hour  before  sunset,  and 
awakened  sensibilities  which  her  oth- 
er suitors  shocked,  and  they  them. 

The  lovely  Mabel  had  a  taste  for 
beautiful  things,  without  any  excess 
of  that  severe  quality  called  judg- 
ment. 

I  will  explain.  If  you  or  I,  reader, 
had  read  to  her  in  the  afternoon, 
amidst  the  smell  of  roses  and  eglan- 
tine, the  chirp  of  the  mavis,  the  hum 
of  bees,  the  twinkling  of  butterflies, 
and  the  tinkle  of  distant  sheep,  some- 
thing that  combined  all  these  sights, 
and  sounds,  and  smells,  —  say  Mil- 
ton's musical  picture  of  Eden,  p.  l., 
lib.  3,  and  after  that  "  Triplet  on 
Kew,"  she  would  have  instantly  pro- 
nounced in  favor  of  "  Eden  "  ;  but  if 
ice  had  read  her  "  Milton,"  and  Mr. 
Vane  had  read  her  "  Triplet,"  she 
would  have,  as  unhesitatingly  pre- 
ferred "  Kew  "  to  "  Paradise." 

She  was  a  true  daughter  of  Eve; 
the  lady,  who,  when  an  angel  was 
telling  her  and  her  husband  the  truths 
of  heaven  in  heaven's  own  music, 
slipped  away  into  the  kitchen,  because 
she  preferred  hearing  the  story  at  sec- 
ond-hand, encumbered  with  digres- 
sions, and  in  mortal  but  marital 
accents. 

When  her  mother,  who  guarded 
Mabel  like  a  dragon,  told  her  Mr. 
Vane  was  not  rich  enough,  and  she 
really  must  not  give  him  so  many  op- 
portunities, Mabel  cried  and  embraced 
the  dragon,  and  said,  "  0  mother  !  " 
The  dragon,  finding  her  ferocity  dis- 
solving, tried  to  shake  her  off,  but  the 
goose  would  cry  and  embrace  the 
dragon  till  it  melted. 

By  and  by  Mr.  Vane's  uncle  died 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


57 


suddenly  and  left  him  the  great  Sto-  j 
ken  Church  estate,  and  a  trunk  full 
of  Jacobuses  and  Queen  Anne's  guin- 
eas, —  his  own  hoard  and  his  father's, 
—  then  the  dragon  spake  comfortably 
and  said :  — 

"  My  child,  he  is  now  the  richest 
man  in  Shropshire.  He  will  not 
think  of  you  now ;  so  steel  your 
heart." 

Then  Mabel,  contrary  to  all  expec- 
tations, did  not  cry;  but,  with  flush- 
ing cheek,  pledged  her  life  upon  Er- 
nest's love  and  honor.  And  Ernest, 
as  soon  as  the  funeral,  &c,  left  him 
free,  galloped  to  Mabel,  to  talk  of  our 
good  fortune.  The  dragon  had  done 
him  injustice;  that  was  not  his  weak 
point.  So  they  were  married !  and 
they  were  very,  very  happy.  But,  one 
month  after,  the  dragon  died,  and  that 
was  their  first  grief;  but  they  bore  it 
together. 

And  Vane  was  not  like  the  other 
Shropshire  squires.  His  idea  of  pleas- 
fire  was  something  his  wife  could 
Eihore.  He  still  rode,  walked,  and  sat 
with  her,  and  read  to  her,  and  com- 
posed songs  for  her,  and  about  her, 
which  she  played  and  sang  prettily 
enough,  in  her  quiet,  lady-like  way, 
and  in  a  voice  of  honey  dropping  from 
the  comb.  Then  she  kept  a  keen  eye 
upon  him  ;  and,  when  she  discovered 
what  dishes  he  liked,  she  superintend- 
ed those  herself;  and,  observing  that 
he  never  failed  to  cat  of  a  certain  lem- 
on-pudding the  dragon  had  originated, 
she  always  made  this  pudding  herself, 
and  she  never  told  her  husband  she 
made  it. 

The  first  seven  months  of  their 
marriage  was  more  like  blue  sky  than 
brown  earth  ;  and  if  anyone  had  told 
Mabel  that  her  husband  was  a  mortal, 
and  not  an  angel,  sent  to  her, 
that  her  <\;\y<  and  nights  might  be 
unmixed,  uninterrupted  heaven,  she 
could  hardly  have  realized  the  infor- 
mation. 

When  a  vexatious  litigant  began  to 
Contest  the  will  by  which  Mr.  Vane 
wis  Lord  of  Stoken  Church,  and  Mr. 
Vane  went  up  to  London  to  concert 


the  proper  means  of  defeating  this  at- 
tack, Mrs.  Vane  would  gladly  have 
compounded  by  giving  the  man  two 
or  three  thousand  acres,  or  the  whole 
estate,  if  he  would  n't  take  less,  not  to 
rob  her  of  her  husband  for  a  month  ; 
but  she  was  docile,  as  she  was  amo- 
rous ;  so  she  cried  (out  of  sight)  a 
week ;  and  let  her  darling  go,  with 
every  misgiving  a  loving  heart  could 
have  ;  but  one  !  and  that  one  her  own 
heart  told  her  was  impossible. 

The  month  rolled  away,  —  no  symp- 
tom of  a  return.  For  this,  Mr.  Vane 
was  not,  in  fact,  to  blame ;  but,  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  next  month, 
business  became  a  convenient  excuse. 
When  three  months  had  passed,  Mrs. 
Vane  became  unhappy.  She  thought 
he  too  must  feel  the  separation.  She 
offered  to  come  to  him.  He  answered 
uncandidly.  He  urged  the  length,  the 
fatigue  of  the  journey.  She  was  si- 
lenced ;  but  some  time  later  she  be- 
gan to  take  a  new  view  of  his  objec- 
tions. "  He  is  so  self-denying,"  said 
she.  "  Dear  Ernest,  he  longs  for  me : 
but  he  thinks  it  selfish  to  let  me  trav- 
el so  far  alone  to  see  him." 

Full  of  this  idea,  she  yielded  to  her 
love.  She  made  her  preparations,  and 
wrote  to  him,  that,  if  he  did  not  forbid 
her  peremptorily,  he  must  expect  to 
see  her  at  his  breakfast-table  in  a  very 
few  days. 

Mr.  Vane  concluded  this  was  a  jest, 
and  ilid  not  answer  this  letter  at  all. 

Mrs.  Vane  started.  She  travelled 
with  all  speed  ;  but,  coming  to  a  halt 

at  ,  she   wrote   to    her    husband 

that  she  counted  on  being  with  him  at 
four  of  the  clock  on  Thursday. 

This  letter  preceded  her  arrival  by 
a  few  hours.  It  was  put  into  bis 
hand  at  the  same  time  with  a  note 
from  Mrs.  Woffingtori,  telling  him 
she  should  beat  a  rehearsal  at  Covent 
Garden.  Thinking  his  wife's  letter 
would  keep,  lie  threw  it  on  one  side 
into  8  sort  of  a  tray  ;  and,  after  B  hur- 
ried breakfast,  went  out  of  bis  bouse 
to  the  theatre,     lie  returned,  as  wo 

are  aware,  with  Mrs.  Woffington  ;  and 
also,  at  her  request,  with  Mr.  Cibber, 


58 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


for  whom  they  called  on  their  way. 
He  had  forgotten  his  wife's  letter, 
and  was  entirely  occupied  with  his 
guests. 

Sir  Charles  Pomander  joined  them, 
and  found  Mr.  Colander,  the  head 
domestic  of  the  London  establish- 
ment, cutting  with  a  pair  of  scissors 
every  flower  Mrs.  Woffington  fan- 
cied, that  lady  having  a  passion  for 
flowers. 

Colander,  during  his  temporary  ab- 
sence from  the  interior,  had  appointed 
James  Burdock  to  keep  the  house,  and 
receive  the  two  remaining  guests, 
should   they   arrive. 

This  James  Burdock  was  a  faithful 
old  country  servant,  who  had  come  up 
with  Mr.  Vane,  but  left  his  heart  at 
Willoughby.  James  Burdock  had 
for  some  time  been  ruminating,  and 
his  conclusion  was,  that  his  mistress, 
Miss  Mabel  (as  by  force  of  habit  he 
called  her),  was  not  treated  as  she  de- 
served. 

Burdock  had  been  imported  into 
Mr.  Vane's  family,  by  Mabel ;  he  had 
carried  her  in  his  arms  when  she  was 
a  child ;  he  had  held  her  upon  a  don- 
key when  she  was  a  little  girl ;  and 
when  she  became  a  woman,  it  was  he 
who  taught  her  to  stand  close  to  her 
horse,  and  give  him  her  foot  and 
spring  while  he  lifted  her  steadily  but 
strongly  into  her  saddle,  and,  when 
there,  it  was  he  who  had  instructed 
her  that  a  horse  was  not  a  machine, 
that  galloping  tires  it  in  time,  and 
that  galloping  it  on  the  hard  road 
hammers  it  to  pieces.  "  I  taught  the 
girl,"  thought  James  within  himself. 

This  honest  silver-haired  old  fellow 
seemed  so  ridiculous  to  Colander,  the 
smooth,  supercilious  Londoner,  that 
he  deigned  sometimes  to  converse 
with  James,  in  order  to  quiz  him. 
This  very  morning  they  had  had  a 
conversation. 

"  Poor  Miss  Mabel !  dear  heart.  A 
twelvemonth  married,  and  nigh  six 
months  of  it  a  widow,  or  next  door." 

"  We  write  to  her,  James,  and  en- 
tertain her  replies,  which  are  at  con- 
siderable length." 


"  Ay,  but  we  don't  read  'cm  ! " 
said  James,  with  an  uneasy  glance  at 
the  tray. 

"  Invariably,  at  our  leisure ;  mean- 
time we  make  ourselves  happy 
amongst  the  wits  and  the  sirens." 

"And  she  do  make  others  happy 
among  the  poor  and  the  ailing." 

"Which  shows,"  said  Colander, 
superciliously,  "  the  difference  of 
tastes." 

Burdock,  whose  eye  had  never  been 
off  his  mistress's  handwriting,  at  last 
took  it  up  and  said  :  "  Master  Colan- 
der, do  if  ye  please,  sir,  take  this  into 
master's  dressing-room,  do  now  ?  " 

Colander  looked  down  on  the  mis- 
sive with  dilating  eye.  "  Not  a  bill, 
James  Burdock,"  said  he,  reproach- 
fully. 

"  A  bill !  bless  ye,  no.  A  letter 
from  missus." 

No,  the  dog  would  not  take  it  in  to 
his  master ;  and  poor  James,  with  a 
sigh,  replaced  it  in  the  tray. 

This  James  Burdock,  then,  was 
left  in  charge  of  the  hall  by  Colan- 
der, and  it  so  happened  that  the 
change  was  hardly  effected,  before  a 
hurried  knocking  came  to  the  street 
door. 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  grumbled  Burdock,  "  I 
thought  it  would  not  be  long.  Lon- 
don for  knocking  and  ringing  all  day, 
and  ringing  and  knocking  all  night." 
He  opened  the  door  reluctantly  and 
suspiciously,  and  in  darted  a  lady, 
whose  features  were  concealed  by  a 
hood.  She  glided  across  the  hall,  as  if 
she  was  making  for  some  point,  and 
old  James  shuffled  after  her,  crying : 
"  Stop,  stop  !  young  woman.  What 
is  your  name,  young  woman?  " 

"  Why,  James  Burdock,"  cried  the 
lady,  removing  her  hood,  "  have  you 
forgotten  your  mistress  ?  " 

"  Mistress  !  Why,  Miss  Mabel,  I 
ask  your  pardon,  madam,  —  here, 
John,  Margery  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  Mrs.  "Vane. 

"  But  where  are  your  trunks, 
miss  ?  And  where 's  the  coach,  and 
Darby  and  Joan  <  To  think  of  their 
drawing  you  all  the  way  here  !     I  'U 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


59 


have  'cm  into  your  room  directly, 
ma'am.  Miss,  you've  come  just  in 
time." 

"  What  a  dear,  good,  stupid,  old 
tiling  you  are,  James.  Where  is 
Ernest, —  Mr.  Vane?  James,  is  he 
well  and  happy  ?  I  want  to  surprise 
him." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  James,  look- 
ing down. 

"  J  left  the  old  stupid  coach  at 
Islington,  James.  The  something  — 
pin  was  loose,  or  I  don't  know  what. 
Could  I  wait  two  hours  there  ?  So  I 
came  on  by  myself;  you  wicked  old 
man,  you  let  me  talk,  and  don't  tell 
me  how  he  is." 

"  Master  is  main  well,  ma'am,  and 
thank  you,"  said  old  Burdock,  con- 
fused and  uneasy. 

"  Bat  is  he  happy  ?  Of  course  he 
is.  Are  we  not  to  meet  to-day  after 
six  months  i  Ah !  but  never  mind, 
they  ore  gone  by." 

"  Lord  bless  her !  "  thought  the 
faithful  old  fellow.  "  If  sitting  down 
ami  crying  could  help  her,  I  would  n't 
be  long." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  the  ban- 
queting-roora,  and  at  the  preparations 
there  Mabel  gave  a  start ;  she  then 
colored.  "  O,  he  has  invited  his 
friends  to  make  acquaintance.  I  had 
rather  we  had  been  alone  all  this  day 
and  to-morrow.  But  be  must  not 
know  that.  No  ;  hia  friends  arc  my 
friends,  and  shall  be  too,"  thought 
the  country  wife.  She  then  glanced 
with  some  misgiving  at  her  travelling 
attire,  and  wished  she  had  brought 
me  trunk  with  her. 

"James,"  said  she,  "where  is  my 
room?  And,  mind,  I  forbid  you  to 
jell  a  soul  I  am  come." 

"  Your  room,  Miss  Mabel?" 

"  Well,  any  room  where  there  is 
looking-glass  and  water." 

She  t Inn  went  to  a  door  which 
opened  in  fact  on  a  short  passage 
leading  to  a  room  occupied  by  Mr. 
Vane  himself. 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  James.  "  That 
is  master's  room." 

"  Well,  is  not  master's  room  mis- 


tress's room,  old  man  1  But  stay  ; 
is  he  there  ?  " 

"  No  ma'am  ;  he  is  in  the  garden, 
with  a  power  of  fine  folks." 

"  They  shall  not  see  me  till  I  have 
made  myself  a  little  more  decent," 
said  the  young  beauty,  who  knew  at 
bottom  how  little  comparatively  the 
color  of  her  dress  could  affect  her  ap- 
pearance, and  she  opened  Mr.  Vane's 
door  and  glided  in. 

Burdock's  first  determination  was, 
in  spite  of  her  injunction,  to  tell  Co- 
lander ;  but  on  reflection  he  argued : 
"  And  then  what  will  they  do  ?  They 
will  put  their  heads  together,  and  de- 
ceive us  some  other  way.  No  !  " 
thought  James,  with  a  touch  of  spite, 
"  we  shall  see  how  they  will  all  look." 
He  argued  also,  th;it,  at  sight  of  his 
beautiful  wife,  his  master  must  come 
to  his  senses,  and  the  Colander  fac- 
tion be  defeated  ;  and  perhaps,  by  the 
mercy  of  Providence,  Colander  him- 
self turned  off. 

Whilst  thus  ruminating,  a  thunder- 
ing knock  at  the  door  almost  knocked 
him  off  his  legs.  "  There  ye  go 
again,"  said  he,  and  went  angrily  to 
the  door.  This  time  it  was  Ilunsdon, 
who  was  in  a  desperate  hurry  to  see 
his  master. 

"  Where  is  Sir  Charles  Pomander, 
my  honest  fellow  ?  "  said  he. 

"  In  the  garden,  my  Jack-a-dandy ! " 
said  Burdock,  furiously. 

("  Honest  fellow,"  among  servants, 
implies  some  moral  inferiority.) 

In  the  garden  went  Ilunsdon.  His 
master  —  all  whose  senses  were  pay- 
ing sentinel —  saw  him,  and  left  the 
company  to  meet  him. 

"  She  is  in  the  bouse,  sir." 

"Good!    Go,  — vanish!" 

Sir  Charles  looked  into  the  ban- 
quet-room ;  the  haunch  was  being 
placed  on  the  table.  He  returned 
with  the  information.  lie  burned  to 
bring  husband  and  wife  together  ;  he 

counted  eaeh  second  lost  that  post- 
poned this  (to  him)  thrilling  joy.  O, 
now  happy  he  was!  —  happier  than 
the  serpent,  when  he  saw  Eve's  white 
teeth  really  strike  into  the  apple  ! 


60 


PEG  WOFFIXGTON. 


"  Shall  we  pay  respect  to  this 
haunch,  Mr.  Quia  ? "  said  Vane, 
gayly. 

"  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  Quin, 
gravely. 

Colander  ran  down  a  by-path  with 
an  immense  bouquet,  which  he  ar- 
ranged for  Mrs.  Wellington  in  a  vase 
at  Mr.  Vane's  left  hand.  He  then 
threw  open  the  windows,  which  were 
on  the  French  plan,  and  shut  within 
a  foot  of  the  lawn. 

The  musicians  in  the  arbor  struck 
up,  and  the  company,  led  by  Mr. 
Vane  and  Mrs.  Woffiugton,  entered 
the  room.  And  a  charming  room  it 
was  !  —  light,  lofty,  and  large,  — 
adorned  in  the  French  way  with  white 
and  gold.  The  table  was  an  exact 
oval,  and  at  it  everybody  could  hear 
what  any  one  said  ;  an  excellent  ar- 
rangement where  ideaed  guests  only 
are  admitted,  —  which  is  anoiher  ex- 
cellent arrangement,  though  I  see 
people  don't  think  so. 

The  repast  was  luxurious  and  ele- 
gant. There  was  no  profusion  of 
unmeaning  dishes  ;  each  was  a  bonne- 
bouche,  —  an  undeniable  delicacy. 
The  glass  was  beautiful,  the  plates 
silver :  the  flowers  rose  like  walls 
from  the  table  ;  the  plate  massive  and 
glorious ;  rose-water  in  the  hand- 
glasses ;  music  crept  in  from  the  gar- 
den, deliriously  subdued  into  what 
seemed  a  natural  sound.  A  broad 
stream  of  southern  sun  gushed  in 
fiery  gold  through  the  open  window, 
and,  like  a  red-hot  rainbow,  danced 
through  the  stained  glass  above  it. 
Existence  was  a  thing  to  bask  in, — 
in  such  a  place,  and  so  happy  an 
hour ! 

The  guests  were  Quin,  Mrs.  Clive, 
Mr.  Cibber,  Sir  Charles  Pomander, 
Mrs.  Woffin^ton,  and  Messrs.  Soaper 
and  Snarl,  critics  of  the  day.  This 
pair,  with  wonderful  sagacity,  had  ar- 
rived from  the  street  as  the  haunch 
came  from  the  kitchen.  Good-humor 
reigned ;  some  cuts  passed,  but,  as  the 
parties  professed  wit,  they  gave  and 
took. 

Quin  carved  the  haunch,  and  was 


happy  ;  Soaper  and  Snarl  eating  the 
same,  and  drinking  Toquay,  were 
mellowed  and  mitigated  into  human 
flesh.  Mr.  Vane  and  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton  were  happy ;  he,  because  his  con- 
science was  asleep  ;  and  she,  because 
she  felt  nothing  now  could  shake  her 
hold  of  him.  Sir  Charles  was  in  a 
sort  of  mental  chuckle.  His  head 
burned,  his  bones  ached  ;  but  he  was 
in  a  sort  of  nervous  delight. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  thought  he. 
"  What  will  she  do  ?  Will  slic  send 
her  maid  with  a  note  ?  How  blue  he 
will  look  !  Or  will  she  come  herself? 
She  is  a  country  wife  ;  there  must  be 
a  scene.  O,  why  doesn't  she  come 
into  this  room  ?  She  must  know  we 
are  here  !  is  she  watching  some- 
where ?  "  His  brain  became  puzzled, 
and  his  senses  were  sharpened  to  a 
point ;  he  was  all  eye,  ear,  and  expec- 
tation ;  and  this  was  why  he  was  the 
only  one  to  hear  a  very  slight  sound 
behind  the  door  we  have  mentioned, 
and  next  to  perceive  a  lady's  glove 
lying  close  to  that  door.  Mabel  had 
dropped  it  in  her  retreat.  Putting 
this  and  that  together,  he  was  led  to 
hope  and  believe  she  was  there,  mak- 
ing her  toilet,  perhaps,  and  her  ar- 
rival at  present  unknown. 

"  Do  you  expect  no  one  else  ?  " 
said  he,  with  feigned  carelessness,  to 
Mr.  Vane. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Vane,  with  real 
carelessness. 

"  It  must  be  so !  What  fortune  ! " 
thought  Pomander. 

Soaper.  "  Mr.  Cibber  looks  no  older 
than  he  did  five  years  ago." 

Snarl.  "  There  was  no  room  on  his 
face  for  a  fresh  wrinkle." 

Soaper.  "  He!  he !  Nay,  Mr.  Snarl : 
Mr.  Cibber  is  like  old  port ;  the  more 
ancient  he  grows,  the  more  delicious 
his  perfume." 

Snarl.    "  And  the  crustier  he  gets." 

Clive.  "  Mr.  Vane,  you  should  al- 
ways separate  those  two.  Snarl,  by 
himself,  is  just  supportable ;  but,  when 
Soaper  paves  the  way  with  his  hypo- 
critical praise,  the  pair  are  too  much; 
they  are  a  two-edged  sword." 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


Gl 


Wofflnr/ton.  "Wanting  nothing  but 
polish  and  point." 

I  'am'.  "  Gentlemen,  we  abandon 
your  neighbor,  Mr,  Quin,  to  you." 

Quin.  "  They  know  better.  If  they 
don't  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  their 
heads,  no  fat  goes  from  here  to  them." 

Gibber.  "  Ah,  Mr.  Vane  ;  this  room 
is  delightful  ;  but  it  makes  me  sad. 
I  knew  this  house  in  Lord  Longue- 
ville's  time ;  an  unrivalled  gallant, 
Peggy.  You  may  just  remember 
him,  Sir  Charles  ?  " 

Pomander  (with  his  eye  on  a  cer- 
tain door).  "  Yes,  yes;  a  gouty  old 
fellow." 

Gibber  fired  up.  "  I  wish  you  may 
ever  be  like  him.  0  the  beauty,  the 
wit,  the  petitssoupers  that  used  to  be 
here !  Longueville  was  a  great  crea- 
ture, Mr.  Vane.  I  have  known  him 
entertain  a  line  lady  in  this  room, 
while  her  rival  was  fretting  and 
fuming  on  the  other  side  of  that 
door." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  said  Sir  Charles. 

"  More  shame  for  him,"  said  Mr. 
Vane. 

Here  was  luck !  Pomander  seized 
this  opportunity  of  turning  the  con- 
versation to  his  object.  With  a  mali- 
cious twinkle  in  his  eye,  he  inquired 
of  Mr.  Cibber  what  made  him  fancy 
the  house  had  lost  its  virtue  in  Mr. 
Vane's  bands. 

"  Because,"  said  Cibber,  peevishly, 
"  you  all  want  the  true  suvoir  faire 
nowadays,  because  there  is  no  juste 
milieu,  young  gentlemen.  The  young 
dogs  of  tli"  day  are  all  either  un- 
principled heathen,  like  yourself,  or 
Amadi-ses,  like  our  worihy  host." 
The  old  gentleman's  face  and  man- 
ners were  like  those  of  a  patriarch, 
regretting  the  general  decay  of  virtue, 
not  the  imaginary  diminution  of  a 
single  vice.  He  concluded  with  a 
sign,  that,  "  The  true  preua  dee  dames 
went  out  with  the  full  periwig;  stop 
mv  vitals ! " 

"A  bit  of  fat,  Mr.  Cibber?"  said 

Quin,  whose  jokes  were  not  polished. 
"Jemmy,  thou  art  a  brute,"   was 
the  reply. 


"  You  refuse,  sir  1 "  said  Quin, 
sternly. 

"No,  sir!"  said  Cibber,  with  dig- 
nity :  "  I  accept." 

Pomander's  eye  was  ever  on  the 
door. 

"  The  old  are  so  unjust  to  the 
young,"  said  he.  "  You  pretend  that 
the  Deluge  washed  away  iniquity, 
and  that  a  rake  is  a  fossil.  What," 
said  he,  leaning  as  it  were  on  every 
word,  "if  I  bet  you  a  cool  hundred, 
that  Vane  has  a  petticoat  in  that 
room,  and  that  Mrs.  Woffington  shall 
unearth  her  1 " 

The  malicious  dog  thought  this  was 
the  surest  way  to  effect  a  dramatic  ex- 
posure .  because,  if  Peggy  found  Ma- 
bel to  all  appearances  concealed,  Peg- 
gy would  scold  her,  and  betray  her- 
self. 

"  Pomander  !  "  cried  Vane,  in 
great  heat ;  then,  checking  himself,  he 
said  coolly:  "but  you  all  know  Po- 
mander." 

"  None  of  you,"  replied  that  gentle- 
man. "  Bring  a  chair,  sir,"  said  he, 
authoritatively,  to  a  servant;  who,  of 
course,  obeyed. 

Mrs.  Clive  looked  at  him,  and 
thought :  "  There  is  something  in 
this  !  " 

"  It  is  for  the  lady,"  said  he,  coolly. 
Then,  leaning  over  the  table,  he  said 
to  Mrs.  Woffington,  with  an  impu- 
dent affectation  of  friendly  understand- 
ing :  "  I  ran  her  to  earth  in  this  house 
not  tea  minutes  ago.  Of  course  I 
don't  know  who  she  is  !  But,"  smack- 
ing his  lips,  "  a  rustic  Amaryllis, 
breathing  all  May-buds  and  -Meadow 

sweet." 

"Have  her  out,  Peggy!"  shouted 
Cibber.  "  I  know  the  run,  —  there  \s 
the  covert !  Hark,  forward  !  Ila,  ha, 
ha!" 

Mr.  Vane  rose,  and,  with  a  stern- 
ness that  brought  the  old  beau  up  with 
a  run.  he  said  :  "  Mr.  Cibber,  age  and 
infirmity  are  privileged  ;  but  for  you, 
Sir  Charles  —  " 

"  Don't  be  angry,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Worhngton,  whose  terror  was  lest  ho 
should    (piarrel    with    so    practised    a 


62 


PEG   WOFFIXGTON. 


swordsman.  "  Don't  you  see  it  is  a 
jest !  and,  as  might  be  expected  from 
poor  Sir  Charles,  a  very  sorry  one." 

"  A  jest !  "  said  Vane,  white  with 
rage.  "  Let  it  go  no  further,  or  it 
will  be  earnest! " 

Mrs.  VVoffington  placed  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  and  at  that  touch  he 
instantly  yielded,  and  sat  down. 

It  was  at  this  moment,  when  Sir 
Charles  found  himself  for  the  present 
baffled,  —  for  he  could  no  longer  press 
his  point,  and  search  that  room  ; 
when  the  attention  of  all  was  drawn 
to  a  dispute,  which,  for  a  moment,  had 
looked  like  a  quarrel  ;  whilst  Mrs. 
Woffington's  hand  still  lingered,  as 
only  a  woman's  hand  can  linger  in  leav- 
ing the  shoulder  of  the  man  she  loves  ; 
it  was  at  this  moment  the  door  opened 
of  its  own  accord,  and  a  most  beauti- 
ful woman  stood,  with  a  light  step, 
upon  the  threshold ! 

Kobody's  back  was  to  her,  except 
Mr.  Vane's.  Every  eye,  but  his,  was 
spell-bound  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Woffington  withdrew  her 
hand,  as  if  a  scorpion  had  touched 
her. 

A  stupor  of  astonishment  fell  on 
them  all. 

Mr.  Vane,  seeing  the  direction  of 
all  their  eyes,  slewed  himself  round  in 
his  chair  into  a  most  awkward  posi- 
tion, and  when  he  saw  the  lady,  he 
Mas  utterly  dumfounded  !  But  she, 
ns  soon  as  he  turned  his  face  her  way, 
glided  up  to  him,  with  a  little  half- 
sigh,  half-cry  of  joy,  and,  taking  him 
round  the  neck,  kissed  him  deheious- 
ly,  while  every  eye  at  the  table  met 
every  other  eye  in  turn.  One  or  two 
of  the  men  rose;  for  the  lady's  beauty 
was  as  worthy  of  homage  as  her  ap- 
pearing was  marvellous. 

Mrs.  Woffington,  too  astonished  for 
emotion  to  take  any  definite  shape, 
said,  in  what  seemed  an  ordinary 
tone  :  "  Who  is  this  lady  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  wife,  madam,"  said 
Mabel,  in  the  voice  of  a  skylark,  and 
smiling  friendly  on  the  questioner. 

"  It  is  my  wife  !  "  said  Vane,  like  a 
speaking-machine ;  he  was  scarcely  in 


a  conscious  state.     "  It  is  my  wife ! '' 
he  repeated,  mechanically. 

The  words  were  no  sooner  out  of 
Mabel's  mouth  than  two  servants, 
who  had  never  heard  of  Mrs.  Vane 
before,  hastened  to  place  on  Mr. 
Vane's  right  hand  the  chair  Poman- 
der had  provided,  a  plate  and  napkin 
were  there  in  a  twinkling,  and  tho 
wife  modestly,  but  as  a  matter  of 
course,  courtesicd  low,  with  an  air  of 
welcome  to  all  her  guests,  and  then 
glided  into  the  scat  her  servants  obse- 
quiously placed  for  her. 

The  whole  thing  did  not  take  half 
a  minute  ! 


CHAPTER  XL 

Mr.  Vane,  besides  being  a  rich, 
was  a  magnificent  man ;  when  his 
features  were  in  repose  their  beau- 
ty had  a  wise  and  stately  character. 
Spaper  and  Snarl  had  admired  and 
bitterly  envied  him.  At  the  present 
moment  no  one  of  his  guests  envied 
him,  —  they  began  to  realize  his  posi- 
tion. And  he,  a  huge  wheel  of  shame 
and  remorse,  began  to  turn  and  whir 
before  his  eyes.  He  sat  between  two 
European  beauties,  and,  pale  and 
red  by  turns,  shunned  the  eyes  of 
both,  and  looked  down  at  his  plate  in 
a  cold  sweat  of  humiliation,  mortifica- 
tion, and  shame. 

The  iron  passed  through  Mrs. 
Woffington's  soul.  So !  this  was  a 
villain  too,  the  greatest  villain  of  all, 
—  a  hypocrite !  She  turned  very 
faint,  but  she  was  under  an  enemy's 
eye,  and  under  a  rival's  ;  the  thought 
drove  the  blood  back  from  her  heart, 
and  with  a  mighty  effort  she  was 
Woffington  again.  Hitherto  her  liai- 
son with  Mr.  Vane  had  called  up  the 
better  part  of  her  nature,  and  perhaps 
our  reader  has  been  taking  her  for  a 
good  woman  ;  but  now  all  her  dregs 
were  stirred  to  the  surface.  The  mor- 
tified actress  gulled  by  a  novice,  the 
wronged  and  insulted  woman,  had  but 
two  thoughts;  to  defeat  her  rival,— 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


63 


to  be  reversed  on  her  false  lover. 
More  than  one  sharp  spasm  passed 
over  her  features  before  she  could 
muster  them,  and  then  she  became 
smiles  above,  wormwood  and  red-hot 
steel  below,  —  all  in  less  than  half  a 
minute. 

As  for  the  others,  looks  of  keen  in- 
telligence passed  between  them,  and 
they  watched  with  burning  interest 
for  the  denouement.  That  interest  was 
stronger  than  their  sense  of  the  comi- 
cality of  all  this  (for  the  humorous 
view  of  what  passes  before  our  eyes 
comes  upon  cool  reflection,  not  often 
at  the  time). 

Sir  Charles,  indeed,  who  had  fore- 
seen some  of  this,  wore  a  demure 
look,  belied  by  his  glittering  eye. 
He  offered  Cibber  snuff,  and  the  two 
satirical  animals  grinned  over  the 
snuff-box,  like  a  malicious  old  ape 
and  a  mischievous  young  monkey. 

The  new-comer  was  charming  ;  she 
was  above  the  middle  height,  of  a  full, 
though  graceful  figure,  her  abundant, 
glossy,  bright  brown  hair  glittered 
here  and  there  like  gold  in  the  light ; 
she  had  a  snowy  brow,  eves  of  the 
piofoundest  blue,  a  cheek  like  a 
peach,  and  a  face  beaming  candor  and 
goodness  ;  the  character  of  her  coun- 
tenance resembled  "  the  Queen  of  the 
May,"  in  Mr.  Leslie's  famous  picture, 
more  than  any  face  of  our  day  I  can 
call  to  mind. 

"  You  are  not  angry  with  me  for 
this  silly  trick  !  "  said  she,  with  some 
misgiving.  "  After  all  I  am  only  two 
hours  before  my  time;  you  know, 
dearest,  I  said  four  in  my  letter,  — did 
I  not  .'  " 

Vane  stammered.  What  could  he 
say  ' 

"  And  you  have  had  three  days  to 
prepare  you,  for  I  wrote,  like  a 
good  wife,  to  ask  leave  before  start- 
ing ;  but  he  never  so  much  as  an- 
swered my  letter,  madam."  (This 
she  addressed  to  Mrs.  Wellington, 
who  smiled  by  main  force.) 

■•  Win,"  stammered  Vane,  "could 
you  doubt  ?     1  —  I  —  " 

"  No  !     Silence  was  consent,  was  it 


not  ?  But  I  beg  your  pardon,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  I  hope  you  will  for- 
give me.  It  is  six  months  since  X 
saw  him  —  so  you  understand  —  I 
warrant  ine  you  did  not  look  for  me 
so  soon,  ladies  ?  " 

"  Some  of  us  did  not  look  for  you 
at  all,  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Woiring- 
ton. 

"  What,  Ernest  did  not  tell  you  ho 
expected  me  ?  " 

"  No  !  He  told  us  this  banquet  was 
in  honor  of  a  lady's  first  visit  to  his 
house,  but  none  of  us  imagined  that 
lady  to  be  his  wife." 

Vane  began  to  writhe  under  that 
terrible  tongue,  whose  point  hitherto 
had  ever  been  turned  away  from  him. 

"  He  intended  to  steal  a  march  on 
us,"  said  Pomander,  dryly;  "and, 
with  your  help,  we  steal  one  on 
him  "  ;  and  he  smiled  maliciously  ou 
Mrs.  Wotrington. 

"  But,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Quin, 
"  the  moment  you  did  arrive,  I  kept 
sacred  for  you  a  bit  of  the  fat;  for 
which,  I  am  sure,  you  must  be  ready. 
Pass  her  plate  !  " 

"  Not  at  present,  Mr.  Quin,"  said 
Mr.  Vane,  hastily.  "  She  is  about 
to  retire  and  change  her  travelling- 
dress." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but,  you  forget,  I  am 
a  stranger  to  your  friends.  Will  you 
not  introduce  me  to  them  first?  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Vane,  in  trepida- 
tion. "It is  not  usual  to  introduce 
in  the  becai  monde." 

"  We  always  introduce  ourselves," 
rejoined  Mrs.  Woffington ;  and  she 
rose  slowly,  with  her  eye  on  Vane. 
He  east  a  look  of  abject  entreaty  on 
her  ;  but  there  was  no  pity  in  that 
curling  lip  and  awful  eye.  He  closed 
his  own  eyes,  and  waited  for  the  blow. 
Sir  Charles  threw  himself  back  in  his 
chair,  and,  chuckling,  prepared  for  the 
explosion.  Mrs.  Woffington  saw  him, 
and  cast  on  him  a  look  of  ineffable 
scorn;  and  then  she  held  the  whole 
company  fluttering  a  long  while.  At 
length  :  "  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Quick- 
ly, madam,"  said  she,  indicating  Mrs. 
Olive. 


64 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


This  turn  took  them  all  by  surprise. 
Pomander  bit  his  lip. 

"Sir  John  Brute  —  " 

"  Falstatf,"  cried  Quin  ;  "  hang  it." 

"  Sir  Jolin  Brute  Falstaff,"  resumed 
Mrs.  Worfington.  "  We  call  him, 
for  brevity,  Brute." 

Vane  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Your 
neighbor  is  Lord  Foppington  ;  a  but- 
terfly of  some  standing,  and  a  little 
gouty. 

"  Sir  Charles  Pomander.' 

"  O,"  cried  Mrs.  Vane.  "  It  is  the 
good  gentleman  who  helped  us  out 
of  the  slough,  near  Huntingdon.  Er- 
nest, if  it  had  not  been  for  this  gen- 
tleman, I  should  not  have  had  the 
pleasure  of  being  here  now."  And 
she  beamed  on  the  good  Pomander. 

Mr.  Vane  did  not  rise  and  embrace 
Sir  Charles. 

"  All  the  company  thanks  the 
good  Sir  Charles,"  said  Cibber,  bow- 
ing. 

"  I  see  it  in  all  their  faces,"  said 
the  good  Sir  Charles,  dryly. 

Mrs.  Woffington  continued  :  "  Mr. 
Soaper,  Mr.  Snarl ;  gentlemen  who 
would  butter  and  slice  up  their  own 
lathers  ! " 

"  Bless  me  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Vane, 
faintly. 

"  Critics  !  "  And  she  dropped,  as 
it  were,  the  word  dryly,  with  a  sweet 
smile,  into  Mabel's  plate. 

Mrs.  Vane  was  relieved;  she  had 
apprehended  cannibals.  London  they 
had  told  her  was  full  of  curiosi- 
ties. 

"  But  yourself,  madam  1 " 

"  I  am*  the  Lady  Betty  Modish  ;  at 
your  service." 

A  four-inch  grin  went  round  the 
table.  The  dramatical  old  rascal, 
Cibber,  began  now  to  look  at  it  as  a 
bit  of  genteel  comedy  ;  and  slipped 
out  his  note-book  under  the  table. 
Pomander  cursed  her  ready  wit, 
which  had  disappointed  him  of  his 
catastrophe.  Vane  wrote  on  a  slip  of 
paper:  "Pity  and  respect  the  inno- 
cent! "and  passed  it  to  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington. He  could  not  have  done  a 
more  superfluous  or  injudicious  thing. 


"  And  now,  Ernest,"  cried  Mabel, 
"  for  the  news  from  Willoughby." 

Vane  stopped  her  in  dismay.  He 
felt  how  many  satirical  eyes  and  ears 
were  upon  him  and  his  wife.  "  Pray 
go  and  change  your  dress  first,  Ma- 
bel," cried  he,  fully  determined  that 
on  her  return  she  should  not  find  the 
present  party  there. 

Mrs.  Vane  cast  an  imploring  look 
on  Mrs.  Woffington.  "My  things 
are  not  come,"  said  she.  "And, 
Lady  Betty,  I  had  so  much  to  tell 
him,  and  to  be  sent  away  "  ;  and  the 
deep  blue  eyes  began  to  fill. 

Now  Mrs.  Woffington  was  de- 
termined that  this  lady,  who  she  saw 
was  simple,  should  disgust  her  hus- 
band, by  talking  twaddle  before  a 
band  of  satirists.  So  she  said  warm- 
ly :  "  It  is  not  fair  on  us.  Pray, 
madam,  your  budget  of  country 
news.  Clouted  cream  so  seldom 
comes  to  London  quite  fresh." 

"  There,  you  see,  Ernest,"  said 
the  unsuspicious  soul.  "  First,  you 
must  know  that  Gray  Gillian  is 
turned  out  for  a  brood  mare,  so  old 
Gcroge  won't  let  me  ride  her  ;  old 
servants  are  such  tyrants,  my  lady. 
And  my  Barbary  hen  has  laid  two 
eggs  ;  Heaven  knows  the  trouble  we 
had  to  bring  her  to  it.  And  Dame 
Best,  that  is  my  husband's  old  nurse, 
Mrs.  Quickly,  has  had  soup  and  pud- 
ding from  the  Hall  every  day ;  and 
once  she  went  so  far  as  to  say  it  was 
n't  altogether  a  bad  pudding.  She 
is  not  a  very  grateful  woman,  in  a 
general  way,  poor  thing  !  I  made  it 
with  these  hands." 

Vane  writhed. 

"  Happy  pudding  ! "  observed  Mr. 
Cibber. 

"  Is  this  mockery,  sir  ?  "  cried  Vane, 
with  a  sudden  burst  of  irritation. 

"  No,  sir  ;  it  is  gallantry,"  replied 
Cibber,  with  perfect  coolness. 

"  Will  you  hear  a  little  music  in 
the  garden  ? "  said  Vane  to  Mrs. 
Woffington,  pooh-poohing  his  wife's 
news. 

"  Not  till  I  hear  the  end  of  Dame 
Bess." 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


G5 


"Best,  my  lady." 

"Dame  Best  interests  me,  Mr. 
Vane." 

"Ay,  and  Ernest  is  very  fond  of 
her,  too,  when  he  is  at  home.  She  is 
in  her  nice  new  cottage,  dear ;  but 
she  misses  the  draughts  that  were  in 
her  old  one,  —  they  were  like  old 
friends.  '  The  only  ones  I  have,  I  'm 
thinking,'  said  the  dear  cross  old 
thing ;  and  there  stood  I,  on  her 
floor,  with  a  flannel  petticoat  in  both 
hands,  that  I  had  made  for  her,  and 
ruined  my  finger.  Look  else,  my 
Lord  Foppington  ?  "  She  extended 
a  hand  the  color  of  cream. 

"  Permit  me,  madam  ?  "  taking 
out  his  glasses,  with  which  he  in- 
spected her  finger ;  and  gravely  an- 
nounced to  the  company :  "  The 
laceration  is,  in  fact,  discernible.  May 
I  be  permitted,  madam,"  added  he, 
"  to  kiss  this  fair  hand,  which  I 
should  never  have  suspected  of  hav- 
ing ever  made  itself  half  so  use- 
ful 1  " 

"  Ay,  my  lord !  "  said  she,  coloring 
slightly,  "you  shall,  because  you  are 
so  old  ;  but  I  don't  say  for  a  young 
gentleman,  unless  it  was  the  one 
that  belongs  to  me;  and  he  docs  not 
ask  nie." 

"  My  dear  Mabel  ;  pray  remember 
we  arc  not  at  Willougnby." 

"  I  see  we  arc  not,  Ernest."  And 
the  dovelike  eyes  tilled  brimful ;  and 
all  her  innocent  prattle  was  put  an 
end  to. 

"  What  brntes  men  are,"  thought 
Mrs.  Woffington.  "They  arc  not 
worthy  even  of  a  fool  like  this." 

Mr.  Vane  once  more  pressed  her 
to  hear  a  little  music  in  the  garden  ; 
and  this  time  she  consented.  Mr. 
Vane  was  far  from  being  unmoved 
by  his  wile's  arrival,  and  her  true  af- 
fection. Bat  she  worried  him  ;  he 
was  anxious,  above  all  things,  to  es- 
cape from  his  present  position,  and 
separate  the  rival  queens  ;  and  this 

wns  the  only  way  he  could    see    to  do 

it.      lie  whispered  Mabel,  ami  bade 

her   somewhat    peremptoril J    rest    h'T- 
sclf  for  an  hoar  after  her  journey,  and 


he  entered  the  garden  with  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington. 

Now  the  other  gentlemen  admired 
Mrs.  Vane  the  most.  She  was  new. 
She  was  as  lovely,  in  her  way,  as  Peg- 
gy ;  and  it  was  the  young  May-morn 
beauty  of  the  country.  They  forgave 
her  simplicity,  and  even  her  goodness, 
on  account  of  her  beauty ;  men  are 
not  severe  judges  of  beautiful  women. 
They  all  solicited  her  to  come  with 
them,  and  be  the  queen  of  the  garden. 
But  the  good  wife  was  obedient. 
Her  lord  had  told  her  she  was  fa- 
tigued ;  so  site  said  she  was  tired. 

"  Mr.  Vane's  garden  will  lack  its 
sweetest  and  fairest  flower,  madam," 
cried  Cibber,  "  if  we  leave  you 
here. " 

"  Nay,  my  lord,  there  are  fairer 
than  I." 

"  Poor  Quin  !  "  cried  Kitty  Clive; 
"  to  have  to  leave  the  alderman's  walk 
for  the  garden-walk." 

"  All  I  regret,"  said  the  honest 
glutton,  stoutly,  "  is  that  I  go  with- 
out carving  for  Mrs.  Vane." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Sir  John ;  I 
will  be  more  troublesome  to  you  at 
supper-time." 

When  they  were  all  gone,  she 
could  n't  help  sighing.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  everybody  was  kinder  to 
her  than  he  whose  kindness  alone  she 
valued.  "  And  he  must  take  Lady 
Betty's  hand  instead  of  mine,"  thought 
she.  "  But  that  is  good  breeding,  I 
suppose.  I  wish  there  was  no  such 
thing;  we  are  very  happy  without  it 
in  Shropshire."  Then  this  poor  lit- 
tle soul  was  ashamed  of  herself,  and 
took  herself  to  task.  "  Poor  Ernest," 
said  she,  pitying  the  wrong-doer,  like 
a  woman,  "  he  was  not  pleased  to  be 
so  taken  by  surprise.  No  wonder  ; 
they  are  so  ceremonious  in  London. 
How  good  of  him  not  to  be  angry  !  " 
Then  she  sighed  ;  her  heart  had  re- 
ceived a  damp.  His  voice  seemed 
changed,  and  he  did  not  meet  her  eyes 

with  the  look  he  wore  at  Willoughby. 

She  looked  timidly  into  the  gurden. 
She  saw  the  gay  colors  of  beaux,  as 
well  as  of  belles,  —  lor  in    these  days 


CG 


PEG   W0FF1NGT0N. 


broadcloth  had  not  displaced  silk  and 
velvet,  — glancing  and  .shining  among 
the  trees ;  and  she  sighed,  hut,  pres- 
ently brightening  up  a  little,  she  said  : 
"  I  will  go  and  sec  that  the  coffee  is 
hot  and  clear,  and  the  chocolate  well 
mixed  for  them."  The  poor  child 
wanted  to  do  something  to  please  her 
husband.  Before  she  could  carry  out 
this  act  of  domestic  virtue,  her  atten- 
tion was  drawn  to  a  strife  of  tongues 
in  the  hall.  She  opened  the  folding- 
doors,  and  there  was  a  fine  gentleman 
obstructing  the  entrance  ot  a  sombre, 
rusty  figure,  with  a  portfolio  and  a 
manuscript  under  each  arm. 

The  fine  gentleman  was  Colander. 
The  seedy  personage  was  the  eternal 
Triplet,  come  to  make  hay  with  his 
five-foot  rule  while  the  sun  shone. 
Colander  had  opened  the  door  to  him, 
and  he  had  shot  into  the  hall.  The 
major-domo  obstructed  the  farther 
entrance  of  such  a  coat. 

"  I  tell  you  my  master  is  not 
at  home,"  remonstrated  the  major- 
domo. 

"  How  can  you  say  so,"  cried  Mrs. 
Vane,  in  surprise,  "  when  you  know 
he  is  in  the  garden  1  " 

"  Simpleton  !  "  thought  Colander. 
"  Show  the  gentleman  in." 
"  Gentleman ! "    muttered     Colan- 
der. 

Triplet  thanked  her  for  her  conde- 
scension ;  he  would  wait  for  Mr. 
Vane  in  the  hall.  "  I  came  by  ap- 
pointment, madam ;  this  is  the  only 
excuse  for  the  importunity  you  have 
just  witnessed." 

Hearing  this,  Mrs.  Vane  dismissed 
Colander  to  inform  his  master.  Co- 
lander bowed  loftily,  and  walked  into 
the  servants'  hall  without  deigning  to 
take  the  last  proposition  into  consid- 
eration. 

"  Conic  in  here,  sir,"  said  Mabel ; 
"  Mr.  Vane  will  come  as  soon  as  he 
can  leave  his  company."  Triplet  en- 
tered in  a  series  of  obsequious  jerks. 
"  Sit  down  and  rest  you,  sir."  And 
Mrs.  Vane  seated  herself  at  the  table, 
and  motioned  with  her  white  hand  to 
Triplet  to  sit  beside  her. 


Triplet  bowed,  and  sat  on  the  edgo 
of  a  chair,  and  smirked  and  dropped 
his  portfolio,  and  instantly  begged 
Mrs.  Vane's  pardon  ;  in  taking  it  up, 
he  let  fall  his  manuscript,  and  was 
again  confused  ;  but  in  the  middle  of 
some  superfluous  and  absurd  excuse 
his  eye  fell  on  the  haunch ;  it  straight- 
way dilated  to  an  enormous  size,  and 
he  became  suddenly  silent  and  ab- 
sorbed in  contemplation. 
"  You  look  sadly  tired,  sir." 
"  Why,  yes,  madam.  It  is  a  long 
way  from  "Lambeth  Walk,  and  it  is 
passing  hot,  madam."  He  took  his 
handkerchief  out,  and  was  about  to 
wipe  his  brow,  but  returned  it  hastily 
to  his  pocket.  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
madam,"  said  Triplet,  whose  ideas  of 
breeding,  though  speculative,  were 
severe,  "  I  forgot  myself." 

Mabel  looked  at  "him,  and  colored, 
and  slightly  hesitated.  At  last  she 
said  :  "  I  '11  be  bound  you  came  in 
such  a  hurry  you  forgot  —  you  must 
n't  be  angry  with  me  —  to  have  your 
dinner  first !  " 

For  Triplet  looked  like  an  absurd 
wolf,  —  all  benevolence  and  starva- 
tion ! 

"  What  divine  intelligence  !  " 
thought  Trip.  "  How  strange,  mad- 
am," cried  he,  "  you  have  hit  it ! 
This  accounts,  at  once,  for  a  craving 
I  feel.  Now  you  remind  me,  I  recol- 
lect carving  for  others,  I  did  forget  to 
remember  myself.  Not  thatl  need 
have  forgot  it  to-day,  madam ;  but, 
being  used  to  forget  "it,  I  did  not  re- 
member not  to  forget  it  to-day,  mad- 
am, that  was  all."  And  the  author 
of  this  intelligent  account  smiled  very, 
very,  very  absurdly. 

She  poured  him  out  a  glass  of  wine. 
He  rose  and  bowed  ;  but  peremptorily 
refused  it,  with  his  tongue, — his  eye 
drank  it. 

"  But  you  must,"  persisted  this 
hospitable  lady. 

"  But,  madam,  consider  I  am  not 
entitled    to  —     Nectar,    as    1   am    a 


man 


The  white  hand  was  filling  his  plate 
with  partridge  pie  :    "  But,   madam, 


PEG   WOFFIXGTON. 


67 


you  don't  consider  how  you  overwhelm 
me  with  your  —  Ambrosia,  as  1  am 
a  poet !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Vane  should 
keep  you  waiting." 

"  By  no  means,  madam  ;  it  is  fortu- 
nate, —  I  mean  it  procures  me  the 
pleasure  of  "  (here  articulation  became 
obstructed)  "your  society,  madam 
Besides,  the  servants  of  the  Muse  are 
used  to  waiting.  What  we  are  not 
used  to  is  "  (here  the  white  hand  filled 
his  glass)  "  being  waited  upon  by 
Hebe  and  the  Twelve  Graces,  whose 
health  I  have  the  honor  " —  (Degluti- 
tion.) 

"  A  poet !  "  cried  Mabel ;  "  oh  !  I 
am  so  glad  !  Little  did  I  think  ever  to 
see  a  living  poet !  Dear  heart !  I 
should  not  have  known,  if  you  had 
not  told  me.     Sir,  I  love  poetry  !  " 

"  It  is  in  your  face,  madam."  Trip- 
let instantly  whipped  out  his  manu- 
script, put  a  plate  on  one  corner  of  it, 
and  a  decanter  on  the  other,  and 
begged  her  opinion  of  this  trifle,  com- 

Sosed,  said  he,  "in  honor  of  a  lady 
r  Ir.  Vane  entertains  to-day." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Mrs.  Vane,  and  col- 
ored with  pleasure.  How  ungrateful 
she  had  been !  Here  was  an  atten- 
tion !  —  For,  of  course,  she  never 
doubted  that  the  verses  were  in  honor 
of  her  arrival. 

"'Bright  being— '" 

sang  out  Triplet. 

"  N'av,  sir,  said  Mabel ;  "  I  think 
I  know  the  lady,  and  it  would  be 
hardly  proper  of  me  —  " 

"O  madam  1 "  said  Triplet,  sol- 
emnly; "strictly  correct,  madam!" 
And  he  spread  his  hand  out  over  his 
liu-oin.  "  Strictly  !  — '  Blunderbuss' 
(my  poetical  name,  madam)  never 
stooped  to  the  taste  of  the  town. 

'  Bright  being,  thou  — '  >* 

"But  you  must  have  another  p-lass 
of  wine  first,  and  a  slice  of  the 
haunch." 

"  "With  alacrity,  madam."  He  laid 
in  a  fresh  stock  of  provisions. 

Strange  it  was  to  sec  them  side  by 


side !  Iip,  a  Don  Quixote,  with  cord- 
age instead  of  lines  in  his  mahogany 
face,  and  clothes  hanging  upon  him  ; 
she,  smooth,  duck-like,  delicious,  and 
bright  as  an  opening  rose  fresh  with 
dew ! 

She  watched  him  kindly,  archly, 
and  demurely ;  and  still  plied  him, 
country-wise,  with  every  mortal  thing 
on  the  table. 

But  the  poet  was  not  a  boa-con- 
strictor, and  even  a  boa-constrictor 
has  an  end.  Hunger  satisfied,  his 
next  strongest  feeling,  simple  vanity, 
remained  to  be  contented.  As  the 
last  morsel  went  in  out  came  :  — 

"  '  Bright  being,  thou  whose  ra — ' " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  said  she,  who  fancied 
herself  (and  not  without  reason)  the 
bright  being.  "  Mr.  Vane  intended 
them  for  a  surprise." 

"  As  you  please,  madam  "  ;  and  the 
disappointed  bore  sighed.  "  But  you 
would  have  liked  them,  for  the  theme 
inspired  me.  The  kindest,  the  most 
generous  of  women !  Don't  you 
agree  with  me,  madam  1 " 

Mabel  Vane  opened  her  eyes. 
"  Hardly,  sir,"  laughed  she. 

"  If  you  knew  her  as  I  do." 

"  I  ought  to  know  her  better,  sir." 

"  Ay,  indeed  !  Well,  madam,  now 
her  kindness  to  me,  for  instance,  —  a 
poor  devil  like  me.  The  expression, 
I  trust,  is  not  disagreeable  to  you, 
madam  ?  If  so,  forgive  me,  and  con- 
sider it  withdrawn." 

"  La,  sir  !  civility  is  so  cheap,  if  you 
go  to  that." 

"  Civility,  ma'am  ?  Why,  she  has 
saved  me  from  despair,  —  from  starva- 
tion, perhaps." 

"Poor  thing!  Well,  indeed,  sir, 
you  looked  —  you  looked  —  what  a 
shame  !    and  you  a  poet." 

"  From  an  epitaph  to  an  epic,  mad- 
am. 

At  this  moment  a  figuro  looked  in 
upon  them  from  the  garden,  but 
retreated  unobserved.  It  was  Sir 
Charles  Pomander,  who  had  Blipped 
away,  with  the  heartless  ami  malicious 
intention  of  exposing  the  husband  to 


68 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


the  wife,  and  profiting  by  her  indig- 
nation and  despair.  Seeing  Triplet, 
he  made  an  extemporaneous  calcula- 
tion that  so  infernal  a  chatterbox 
could  not  be  ten  minutes  in  her  com- 
pany without  telling  her  everything, 
and  this  would  serve  his  turn  very 
well.  He  therefore  postponed  his  pur- 
pose, and  strolled  away  to  a  short  dis- 
tance. 

Triplet  justified  the  Baronet's  opin- 
ion. Without  any  sort  of  sequeney 
he  now  informed  Mrs.  Vane  that  the 
benevolent  lady  was  to  sit  to  him  for 
her  portrait. 

Here  was  a  new  attention  of  Er- 
nest's. How  good  he  was,  and  how 
wicked  and  ungrateful  she ! 

"  What !  are  you  a  painter  too  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

"  From  a  house  front  to  an  histor- 
ical composition,  madam." 

"  O,  what  a  clever  man !  And  so 
Ernest  commissioned  you  to  paint  a 
portrait  ?  " 

"  No,  madam ;  for  that  I  am  in- 
debted to  the  lady  herself." 

"The  lady  herself?" 

"  Yes,  madam  ;  and  I  expected  to 
find  her  here.  Will  you  add  to  your 
kindness  by  informing  me  whether 
she  lias  arrived  ?     Or  she  is  gone  —  " 

"  Who,  sir  ?  ( 0  dear  !  not  my 
portrait!     O  Ernest !)  " 

"  Who,  madam  !  "  cried  Triplet ; 
"  why,  Mrs.  Woffington  !  " 

"  She  is  not  here,"  said  Mrs.  Vane, 
who  remembered  all  the  names  per- 
fectly well.  "  There  is  one  charm- 
ing lady  among  our  guests,  her  face 
took  me  in  a  moment ;  but  she  is  a 
titled  lady  :  there  is  no  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton amongst  them." 

"  Strange  !  "  replied  Triplet ;  "  she 
was  to  be  here ;  and  in  fact  that  is 
why  I  expedited  these  lines  in  her 
honor." 

"  In  her  honor,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam.     Allow  me  :  — 

'  Bright  being,  thou  whose  radiant  brow  — '  " 

"  No  !  no !  I  don't  care  to  hear 
them  now,  for  I  don't  know  the 
lady." 


"Well,  madam,  but  ?t  least  you 
have  seen  her  act?  " 

"  Act !  you  don't  mean  all  this  is 
for  an  actress  ?  " 

"  An  actress  ?  The  actress  '.  And 
you  have  never  seen  her  act  1  What 
a  pleasure  you  have  to  come  !  To 
see  her  act  is  a  privilege  ;  but  to  ac*. 
with  her,  as  1  once  did  !  Bi?t  shl 
does  not  remember  that,  nor  shall  i 
remind  her,  madam,"  said  Tripleti 
sternly.  "  On  that  occasion  I  waf 
hissed,  owing  to  circumstances  which, 
for  the  credit  of  our  common  nature, 
I  suppress." 

"  What !  are  you  an  actor  too  T 
You  are  everything." 

"  And  it  was  in  a  farce  of  my  own, 
madam,  which,  by  the  strangest  com- 
bination of  accidents,  was  damned  ! " 

"A  play-writer?  0,  what  clever 
men  there  are  in  the  world  —  in  Lon- 
don, at  least !  He  is  a  play-writer, 
too.  I  wonder  my  husband  comes 
not.  Does  Mr.  Vane  —  does  Mr. 
Vane  admire  this  actress  ?  "  said  she, 
suddenly. 

"  Mr.  Vane,  madam,  is  a  gentle 
man  of  taste,"  said  he,  pompously. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  languid- 
ly, "she  is  not  here."  Triplet  took 
tlie  hint  and  rose.  "  Good  by,"  said 
she,  sweetly  ;  "  and  thank  you  kind' 
ly  for  your  company,  Mr.  —  Mr.  —  " 

"  Triplet,  madam, — James  Triplet, 
of  10,  Hercules  Buildings,  Lambeth. 
Occasional  verses,  odes,  epithalamia, 
elegies,  dedications,  squibs,  impromp. 
tus,  and  hymns  executed  with  spirit, 
punctuality,  and  secrecy.  Portraits 
painted,  and  instruction  in  declama- 
tion, sacred,  profane,  and  dramatic. 
The  card,  madam  "  (and  he  drew  it 
as  doth  a  theatrical  fop  his  rapier) 
"  of  him  who,  to  all  these  qualifica- 
tions, adds  a  prouder  still  —  that  of 
being, 

"  Madam, 
"  Your  humble,  devoted,  and  grateful 
servant, 

"James  Triplet." 

He  bowed  in  a  line  from  his 
right   shoulder  to   his   left   toe,   and 


TEG   WOFFINGTON. 


69 


moved  off.  "But  Triplet  could  not  go 
all  at  one  time  out  of  such  company  ; 
he  was  given  to  return  in  real  life,  he 
had  played  this  trick  so  often  on  the 
stage.  He  came  back,  exuberant 
with  gratitude. 

"  The  fact  is,  madam,"  said  he, 
"  strange  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  a 
kind  hand  has  not  so  often  been  held 
out  to  me,  that  I  should  forget  it, 
especially  when  that  hand  is  so  fair 
and  gracious.  May  I  be  permitted, 
madam  —  you  will  impute  it  to  grati- 
tude rather  than  audacity  —  I  — 
I — "  (whimper),  "  madam"  (with 
sudden  severity),  "  I  am  gone  !  " 

These  last  words  he  pronounced 
with  the  right  arm  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  degrees,  and  the  fingers 
pointing  horizontally.  The  stage  had 
taught  him  this  grace  also.  In  his 
day,  an  actor  who  had  three  words 
to  say,  such  as,  "  My  lord's  carriage 
is  waiting,"  came  on  the  stage  with 
the  right  arm  thus  elevated,  delivered 
his  message  in  the  tones  of  a  falling 
dynasty,  wheeled  like  a  soldier,  and 
retired  with  the  left  arm  pointing  to 
the  sky,  and  the  right  hand  extended 
behind  him  like  a  setter's  tail. 

Left  to  herself,  Mabel  was  uneasy. 
"  Ernest  is  so  warm-hearted."  This 
was  the  way  she  put  it  even  to  her- 
self. He  admired  her  acting,  and 
wished  to  p:iy  her  a  compliment. 
"  What  if  I  carried  him  the  verses  ?  " 
She  thought  she  should  surely  please 
hiin  by  showing  she  was  not  the  least 
jealous  or  doubtful  of  him.  The 
poor  child  wanted  so  to  win  a  kind 
took  from  her  husband;  but,  ere  she 
could  reach  the  window,  Sir  Charles 
Pomander  bad  enteral  it. 

Now  Sir  Charles  was  naturally 
welcome  to  Mrs.  Vane;  for  all  she 
knew  of  him  was,  that  be  had  helped 
her  on  the  road  to  her  husband. 

Pomander.    "  What,    madam !    all 
alone  here  as  in  Shropshire  <  " 
Mabel.    "  For  the  moment,  sir." 
Pomander.    "  Force  of   habit.      .A 
husband  with  a  wife  in  Shropshire  n 
so  like  a  bachelor." 
Mabd.    "Sir!" 


Pomander.  "  And  our  excellent 
Ernest  is  such  a  favorite  ! " 

Mabel.   "  No  wonder,  sir." 

Pomander.  "  Few  can  so  pass  from 
the  larva  state  of  country  squire  to 
the  butterf!  v  nature  of  beau." 

Mabd.  ""Yes  "  (sadly),  "  I  find  him 
changed." 

Pomander.  "  Changed  !  Trans- 
formed. He  is  now  the  prop  of  tho 
'  Cocoa-Tree,'  the  star  of  Ranelagh, 
the  Lauzun  of  the  green-room." 

Mabd.  "  The  green-room !  Where 
is  that  ?  You  mean  kindly,  sir  ;  but 
you  make  me  unhappy." 

Pomander.  "  The  green-room,  my 
dear  madam,  is  the  bower  where 
houris  put  off  their  wings,  and  god- 
desses become  dowdies  ;  where  Lady 
Macbeth  weeps  over  her  lap-dog,  dead 
from  repletion ;  and  Belvidera  soothes 
her  broken  heart  with  a  dozen  of  oys- 
ters :  in  a  word,  it  is  the  place  where 
actors  and  actresses  become  men  and 
women,  and  act  their  own  parts  with 
skill,  instead  of  a  poet's  clumsily." 

Mabd.  "Actors!  actresses!  Does 
Mr.  Vane  frequent  such  —  " 

Pomandei:  "  He  has  earned  in  six 
months  a  reputation  many  a  fine  gen- 
tleman would  give  his  ears  for.  Not 
a  scandalous  journal  his  initials  have 
not  figured  in ;  not  an  actress  of  rep- 
utation gossip  has  not  given  him  for 
a  conquest." 

"  How  dare  you  say  this  to  me  ?  " 
cried  Mrs.  Vane,  with  a  sudden  Hash 
of  indignation,  and  then  the  tears 
streamed  over  her  lovely  cheeks ;  and 
even  a  Pomander  might  have  for- 
borne to  torture  her  so ;  but  Sir 
Charles  had  no  mercy. 

"  You  would  be  sure  to  learn  it," 
said  he  ;  "  and  with  malicious  addi- 
tions. It  is  better  to  hear  the  truth 
from  a  friend." 

"  A  friend  !  He  is  no  friend  to  a 
house  who  calumniates  the  husband 
to  the  wife.  Is  it  the  part  of  a  friend 
to  distort  dear  Ernest's  kindliness 
and  gayety  into  ill  morals;  to  pervert 
his  love  of  poetry  and  plays  into  an 
unworthy  attachment  t<>  actors  anil  — 

oh  !  "  and  the  tear-  woidd  come.    But 


70 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


she  dried  them,  for  now  she  hated 
this  man  ;  with  all  the  little  power  of 
hatred  she  had,  she  detested  him. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  did  not  know 
Mrs.  Woffington  was  to  come  to  us 
to-day  1  "  cried  she,  struggling  pas- 
sionately against  her  own  fears  and 
Sir  Charles's  innuendoes. 

"  What !  "  cried  he  ;  "  you  recog- 
nized her?  You  detected  the  actress 
of  all  work  under  the  airs  of  Lady 
Betty  Modish  ?  " 

"  Lady  Betty  Modish !  "  cried  Ma- 
bel :  "  that  good,  beautiful  face  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Sir  Charles,  "  I  see 
you  did  not.  Well,  Lady  Betty  was 
Mrs.  Woffington !  " 

"  Whom  my  husband,  I  know,  had 
invited  here  to  present  her  with  these 
verses,  which  I  shall  take  him  for 
her  "  ;  and  her  poor  little  lip  trem- 
bled. "  Had  the  visit  been  in  any 
other  character,  as  you  are  so  base, 
so  cruel  as  to  insinuate,  (what  have  I 
done  to  you  that  you  kill  me  so,  you 
wicked  gentleman'?)  would  he  have 
chosen  the  day  of  my  arrival  1 " 

"  Not  if  he  knew  you  were  coming," 
was  the  cool  reply. 

"  And  he  did  "know,  —  I  wrote  to 
him." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Pomander,  fairly 
"puzzled. 

Mrs.  Vane  caught  sight  of  her 
handwriting  on  the  tray,  and  darted 
to  it,  and  seized  her  letter,  and  said, 
triumphantly  :  — 

"  My  last  letter,  written  upon  the 
road,  —  see  !  " 

Sir  Charles  took  it  with  surprise, 
but,  turning  it  in  his  hand,  a  cool,  sa- 
tirical smile  came  to  his  face.  He 
handed  it  back,  and  said,  coldly  :  — 

"  Read  me  the  passage,  madam,  on 
which  you  argue." 

Poor  Mrs.  Vane  turned  the  letter 
in  her  hand,  and  her  eye  became  in- 
stantly glazed ;  the  seal  was  unbro- 
ken !  She  gave  a  sharp  cry  of  a<jony, 
like  a  wounded  deer.  She  saw  Po- 
mander no  longer ;  she  was  alone 
with  her  great  anguish.  "  I  had  but 
my  husband  and  my  God  in  the 
world,"  cried   she.     "  My   mother  is 


gone.    My  God,  have  pity  on  me !  my 
husband  does  not  love  me." 

The  cold  villain  was  startled  at  the 
mighty  storm  his  mean  hand  had 
raised.  This  creature  had  not  only 
more  feeling,  but  more  passion,  than 
a  hundred  libertines.  He  muttered 
some  villain's  commonplaces  ;  while 
this  unhappy  young  lady  raised  her 
hands  to  heaven,  and  sobbed  in  a  way 
very  terrible  to  any  manly  heart. 

"He  is  unworthy  you,"  muttered 
Pomander.  "  He  has  forfeited  your 
love :  he  has  left  you  nothing  but 
revenge.  Be  comforted.  Let  me, 
who  have  learned  already  to  adore 
you-" 

"  So,"  cried  she,  turning  on  him  in 
a  moment  (for,  on  some  points,  wo- 
man's instinct  is  the  lightning  of  wis. 
dom),  "this,  sir,  was  your  object? 
I  may  no  longer  hold  a  place  in  my 
husband's  heart;  but  I  am  mistress 
of  his  house.  Leave  it,  sir !  and  never 
return  to  it  whilst  I  live." 

Sir  Charles,  again  discomfited, 
bowed  reverentially.  "  Your  wish 
shall  ever  be  respected  by  me,  mad- 
am !  But  here  they  come.  Use  the 
right  of  a  wife.  Conceal  yourself  in 
that  high  chair.  Sec,  I  turn  it;  so 
that  they  cannot  see  you.  At  least 
you  will* find  I  have  but  told  you  the 
truth." 

"  No !  "  cried  Mabel,  violently.  "  I 
will  not  spy  upon  my  husband  at  the 
dictation  of  his  treacherous  friend." 

Sir  Charles  vanished.  He  was 
no  sooner  gone  than  Mrs.  Vane 
crouched,  trembling,  and  writhing 
with  jealousy,  in  the  large,  high- 
backed  chair.  She  heard  her  husband 
and  the  soi-disant  Lady  Betty  Modish 
enter.  During  their  absence,  Mrs. 
Woffington  had  doubtless  been  play- 
ing her  cards  with  art ;  for  it  ap- 
peared that  a  reconciliation  was  now 
taking  place.  The  lady,  however, 
was  still  cool  and  distant.  It  was 
poor  Mabel's  fate  to  hear  these 
words  :  "  You  must  permit  me  to  go 
alone,  Mr.  Vane.  I  insist  upon  leav- 
ing this  house  alone." 

On  this,  he  whispered  to  her. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


71 


She  answered:  "  Yoti  are  not  jus- 
tified." 

"  I  can  explain  all,"  was  his  reply. 
"  I  am  ready  to  renounce  credit,  char- 
acter, all  the  world  for  you." 

They  passed  out  of  the  room  before 
the  unhappy  listener  could  recover 
the  numbing  influence  of  these  deadly 
words. 

But  the  next  moment  she  started 
■wildly  up,  and  cried  as  one  drowning 
cries  vaguely  for  help :  "  Ernest !  oh, 
no  —  no!  you  cannot  use  me  so! 
Ernest  —  husband  !  O  mother  !  moth- 
er ! " 

She  rose,  and  would  have  made  for 
the  door,  but  nature  had  been  too 
cruelly  tried.  At  the  first  step  she 
could  no  longer  see  anything;  and 
the  next  moment,  swooning  dead 
away,  she  fell  back  insensible,  with 
her  head  and  shoulders  resting  on  the 
chair. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Mr. Vane  was  putting  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington into  her  chair,  when  he 
thought  he  heard  his  name  cried.  He 
bade  that  lady  a  mournful  farewell, 
and  stepped  back  into  his  own  hall. 
He  had  no  sooner  done  so,  than  he 
heard  a  voice,  the  accent  of  which 
alarmed  him,  though  he  distinguished 
no  word.  He  hastily  crossed  the  hall, 
and  Hew  into  the  banquet-room. 
Coming  rapidly  in  at  the  folding- 
doors  he  almost  fell  over  his  wife,  ly- 
1 1 1 i_r  insensible,  half  upon  the  floor, 
and  half  upon  the  chair.  When  he 
saw  her  pale  and  motionless,  a  terri- 
ble misgiving  seized  him ;  he  fell  on 
his   knees. 

"  Mabel,  Mabel!"  cried  he,  "my 
love!  my  innocent  wife  I  <>  (iod"! 
what  have  I  done?  Perhaps  it  is  the 
fatigue,  —  perhaps  she  has  tainted." 

"  No,  it  is  not  the  fatigue  I  " 
screamed  a  voice  near  him.  It  was 
old  Janus  Burdock,  who,  with  his 
white    hair     Streaming,    and    his    eve 

gleaming  with  fire,  shook  his  li-t  in 
his  master's  lace,  —  "  no,  il  is  not  tin' 


fatigue,  you  villain !  It  is  you  who 
have  killed  her,  with  your  jezebels 
and  harlots,  you  scoundrel !  " 

"  Send  the  women  here,  James,  for 
God's  sake ! "  cried  Mr.  Vane,  not 
even  noticing  the  insult  he  had  re- 
ceived from  a  servant.  He  stamped 
furiously,  and  cried  for  help.  The 
whole  household  was  round  her  in  a 
moment.     They  carried  her  to  bed. 

The  remorse-stricken  man,  his  own 
knees  trembling  under  him,  flew,  in 
an  agony  of  fear  and  self-reproach, 
for  a  doctor ! 

A  doctor  ? 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

During  the  garden  scene,  Mr. 
Vane  had  begged  Mrs.  Woffington  to 
let  him  accompany  her.  She  peremp- 
torily refused,  and  said  in  the  same 
breath  she  was  going  to  Triplet,  in 
Hercules  Buildings,  to  have  her  por- 
trait finished. 

Had  Mr.  Vane  understood  the  sex, 
he  would  not  have  interpreted  her  re- 
fusal to  the  letter  ;  when  there  was  a 
postscript,  the  meaning  of  which  was 
so  little  enigmatical. 

Some  three  hours  after  the  scene 
we  have  described,  Mrs.  Woffington 
sat  in  Triplet's  apartment ;  and  Trip- 
let, palette  in  baud,  painted  away  up- 
on her  portrait. 

Mrs.  Woffington  was  in  that  lan- 
guid state  which  comes  to  women 
after  their  hearts  have  received  a 
blow.  She  felt  as  if  life  was  ended, 
and  hut  the  dregs  of  existence  re- 
mained ;  but  at  times  a  flood  of  bit- 
terness rolled  over  her,  and  she  re- 
signed all  hope  of  perfect  happiness 
in  this  world,  — all  hope  ofloving  and 
respecting  the  same  creature ;  and  at 
these  moments  she  had  but  one  idea, 
—  to  use  her  own  power,  and  hind 
her  lover  to  her  by  chains  never  to  he, 
broken  ;  and  to  close  her  eyes,  and 
glide  down  the  precipice  of  the  fu- 
ture. 

"  I  think  vow   are  master  of  this 


72 


TEG  WOFFINGTON. 


art,"  said  she,  very  languidly,  to  Trip- 
let, "you  paint  so  rapidly." 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  Triplet,  gloom- 
ily ;  and  painted  on.  "  Confound  this 
shadow  !  "  added  he  ;  and  painted  on. 

His  soul,  too,  was  clouded.  Mi-s. 
Woffington,  yawning  in  his  face,  had 
told  him  she  had  invited  all  Mr. 
Vane's  company  to  come  and  praise 
his  work ;  and  ever  since  that  he  had 
been  morne  et  silencieux. 

"  You  are  fortunate,"  continued 
Mrs.  Woffington,  not  caring  what 
she  said  ;  "  it  is  so  difficult  to  make 
execution  keep  pace  with  concep- 
tion." 

"  Yes,  ma'am " ;  and  he  painted 
on. 

"You  are  satisfied  with  it?  " 

"Anything  but,  ma'am";  and  he 
painted  on. 

"  Cheerful  soul !  —  then  I  presume 
it  is  like  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  ma'am  " ;  and  he  paint- 
ed on. 

Mrs.  "Woflington  stretched. 

"You  can't  yawn,  ma'am,  —  you 
can't  yawn." 

"  0  yes,  I  can.  You  are  such 
good  company " ;  and  she  stretched 
again. 

"  I  was  just  about  to  catch  the  turn 
of  the  lip,"  remonstrated  Triplet. 

"Well,  catch  it,  —  it  won't  run 
away." 

"  I  'II  try,"ma'am.  A  pleasant  half- 
hour  it  will  bo  for  me,  when  they  all 
come  here  like  cits  at  a  shilling  ordi- 
nary,—  each  for  his  cut." 

"  At  a  sensitive  goose !  " 

"  That  is  as  may  be,  madam.  Those 
critics  flay  us  alive  !  " 

"  You  should  not    hold    so 
doors  open  to  censure." 

"  No,  ma'am.  Head  a  little  more 
that  way;  I  suppose  you  can't  sit 
ffoiet,  ma'am  1  —  then  never  mind !  " 
(This  resignation  was  intended  as 
a  stinging  reproach.)  "Mr.  Cibber, 
with  his  sneering  snuff-box !  Mr. 
Quin,  with  his  humorous  bludgeon ! 
Mrs.  Give,  with  her  tongue!  Mr. 
Snarl,  with  his  abuse !  And  Mr. 
Soaper,  with  his  praise !  —  arsenic  in 


many 


treacle  I  call  it !  But  there,  I  deserve 
it  all !  For  look  on  this  picture,  and 
on  this !  " 

"  Meaning,  I  am  painted  as  well  as 
my  picture ! " 

"  0  no,  no,  no  !  But  to  turn  from 
your  face,  madam,  —  on  which  the 
lightning  of  expression  plays  contin- 
ually, —  to  this  stony,  detestable,  dead 
daub  !  —  I  could  —  And  I  will,  too  ! 
Imposture !  dead  caricature  of  life  and 
beauty,  take  that ! "  and  he  dashed 
his  palette-knife  through  the  canvas. 
"  Libellous  lie  against  nature  and 
Mrs.  Woffington,  take  that ! "  and  he 
stabbed  the  canvas  again  ;  then,  with 
sudden  humility :  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don, ma'am,"  said  he,  "  for  this  ap- 
parent outrage,  which  I  trust  you  will 
set  down  to  the  excitement  attendant 
upon  failure.  The  fact  is,  I  am  an 
incapable  ass,  and  no  painter  !  Oth- 
ers have  often  hinted  as  much;  but 
I  never  observed  it  myself  till 
now ! " 

"  Right!  through  my  pet  dimple ! " 
said  Mrs.  Woffington,  with  perfect 
nonchalance.  "  Well,  now  I  suppose 
I  may  yawn,  or  do  what  I  like  1 ' 

"  You  may,  madam,"  said  Triplet, 
gravely.  "  I  have  forfeited  what  lit- 
tle control  I  had  over  you,  madam." 

So  they  sat  opposite  each  other,  in 
mournful  silence.  At  length  the  ac- 
tress suddenly  rose.  She  struggled 
fiercely  against  her  depression,  and 
vowed  that  melancholy  should  not  be- 
numb her  spirits  and  her  power. 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  here  by 
this  time,"  said  she  to  herself. 
"Well,  I  will  not  mope  for  him:  I 
must  do  something.  Triplet,"  said 
she. 

"  Madam." 

"Nothing." 

"No,  madam." 

She  sat  gently  down  again,  and 
leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and 
thought.  She  was  beautiful  as  she 
thought!  —  her  body  seemed  bristling 
with  mind!  At  last,  her  thoughtful 
gravity  was  illumined  by  a  smile :  she 
had  thought  out  something  excoyilave- 
rat. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


73 


"Triplet,  the  picture  is  quite  ru- 
ined !  " 

"  Yes,  madam.  And  a  coach-load 
of  criticism  coming  !  " 

"  Triplet,  we  actors  and  actresses 
have  often  bright  ideas." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  When  we  take  other  people's  !  " 

"  He,  he !  "  went  Triplet.  "  Those 
are  our  best,  madam  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  got  a  bright 
idea." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  ma'am !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  brute,  dear !  "  said  the 
lady,  gravely. 

Triplet  stared ! 

"  When  I  was  in  France,  taking 
lessons  of  Dumesnil,  one  of  the  actors 
of  the  Theatre  Francais  had  his  por- 
trait painted  by  a  rising  artist.  The 
others  were  to  come  and  sec  it. 
They  determined,  beforehand,  to  mor- 
tify the  painter  and  the  sitter,  by 
abusing  the  work  in  good  set  terms. 
But  somehow  this  got  wind,  and  the 
patients  resolved  to  be  the  physicians. 
They  put  their  heads  together,  and 
contrived  that  the  living  face  should 
be  in  the  canvas,  surrounded  by  the 
accessories :  these,  of  course,  were 
painted.  Enter  the  actors,  who 
played  their  little  prearranged  farce  ; 
and,  when  they  had  each  given  the 
picture  a  slap,  the  picture  rose  and 
laughed  in  their  faces,  and  discom- 
fited them!  By  the  by,  the  painter 
diil  not  stop  there  :  he  was  not  con- 
tent with  a  short  laugh, he  laughed  at 
them  rive  hundred  years!  " 

"  Good  gracious,  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton  !" 

"  lie  painted  a  picture  of  the  whole 
thing;  and  as  his  work  is  immortal, 
ours  an  April  snow-flake,  he  has  got 
tremendously  the  better  of4hose  rash 
little  satirists.  Well,  Trip,  what  is 
sauce  for  the  gander  is  sauce  for  the 
goose  ;  so  give  me  the  sharpest  knife 
in  the,  house." 

Triplet  gave  her  a  knife,  and 
looked  confused,  while,  she  cut   away 

the  face  of  the  picture,  and  by  dint  of 

Beraping,  cutting,  and  measuring,  got 
her  face  two  parts   through   the  can- 


vas. She  then  made  him  take  his 
brush  and  paint  all  round  her  face, 
so  that  the  transition  might  not  be 
too  abrupt.  Several  yards  of  green 
baize  were  also  produced.  This  was 
to  be  disposed  behind  the  easel,  so  as 
to  conceal  her. 

Triplet  painted  here,  and  touched 
and  retouched  there.  Whilst  thus 
occupied,  he  said,  in  his  calm,  resigned 
way  :  "  It  won't  do,  madam.  I  sup- 
pose you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  know  nothing,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Life  is  a  guess.  I  don't  think  we 
could  deceive  Roxalana  and  Lucy 
this  way,  because  their  eves  are  with- 
out colored  spectacles  ;  but,  when  peo- 
ple have  once  begun  to  see  by  preju- 
dices and  judge  by  jargon,  what  can't 
be  done  with  them  I  Who  knows  1 
do  you  ?     I  don't ;  so  let  us  try." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam  ;  my 
brush  touched  your  face." 

"  No  offence,  sir ;  I  am  used  to 
that.  And  I  beg,  if  you  can't  tone 
the  rest  of  the  picture  up  to  me,  that 
you  will  instantly  tone  me  down  to 
the  rest.  Let  us  be  in  tune,  whatever 
it  costs,  sir." 

"  I  will  avail  myself  of  the  privi- 
lege, madam,  but  sparingly.  Failure, 
which  is  certain,  madam,  will  cover 
us  with  disgrace." 

"  Nothing  is  certain  in  this  life,  sir, 
except  that  you  are  a  goose.  It  suc- 
ceeded in  France ;  and  England  can 
match  all  Europe  for  fools.  Besides, 
it  will  be  well  done.  They  say  Davy 
Garrick  can  turn  his  eyes  into  bottled 
gooseberries.  Well,  Fe«j  Woffington 
will  turn  hers  into  black  currants. 
Haven't  you  done?  I  wonder  they 
have  not  come.     Make  haste  !  " 

"  They  will  know  by  its  beauty  I 
never  did  it." 

"  That  is  a  sensible  remark,  Trip. 
But  I  think  they  will  rather  argue 
backwards  ;  that,  as  you  did  it,  it  ean- 
nol  lie  beautiful, and  so  cannot  he  me. 
Your  reputation  will  he  our  shield. 

"  Well,  madam,  now  you  mention 
it,  they  are  like  enough  to  take  that 
ground.  They  despise  all  I  do ;  if 
they  did  not—"" 


74 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


"  You  would  despise  them." 

At  this  moment  the  pair  were  star- 
tled hy  the  sound  of  a  coach.  Trip- 
let turned  as  pale  as  ashes.  Mrs. 
AVoffington  had  her  misgivings  ;  hut, 
not  choosing  to  increase  the  difficulty, 
she  would  not  let  Triplet,  whose  self- 
possession  she  doubted,  see  any  sign 
of  emotion  in  her. 

"  Lock  the  door,"  said  she,  firmly, 
"and  don't  he  silly.  Now  hold  up 
my  green  baize  petticoat,  and  let  me 
be  in  a  half-light.  Now  put  that 
table  and  those  chairs  before  me,  so 
that  they  can't  come  right  up  to  me  ; 
and,  Triplet,  don't  let  them  come 
within  six  yards,  if  you  can  help  it. 
Say  it  is  unfinished,  and  so  must  be 
seen  from  a  focus." 

"  A  focus  !  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean." 

"  No  more  do  I ;  no  more  will  they, 
perhaps ;  and,  if  they  don't,  they  will 
swallow  it  directly.  Unlock  the 
door :  are  they  coming  1 " 

"  They  are  only  at  the  first  stair." 

"  Mr.  Triplet,  your  face  is  a  book, 
where  one  may  read  strange  matters. 
Tor  Heaven's  sake,  compose  your- 
self: let  all  the  risk  He  in  one  counte- 
nance. Look  at  me,  sir.  Make 
your  face  like  the  Book  of  Daniel  in 
a  Jew's  hack  parlor.  Volto  Sciolto 
is  your  cue." 

"  Madam,  madam,  how  your  tongue 
goes !  I  hear  them  on  the  stairs : 
pray  don't  speak !  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  we  are  going 
to  do  ? "  continued  the  tormenting 
Peggy.  "  We  arc  going  to  weigh 
goose's  feathers !  to  criticise  criticism, 
Trip  —  " 

"  Hush !  hush ! " 

A  grampus  was  heard  outside  the 
door,  and  Triplet  opened  it.  There 
was  Quin  leading  the  band. 

"  Have  a  care,  sir,"  cried  Triplet ; 
"  there  is  a  hiatus  the  third  step  from 
the  door." 

"  A  gradus  ad  Parnasswn  a  want- 
ing," said  Mr.   Cibber. 

Triplet's  heart  sank.  The  hole  had 
been  there  six  months,  and  he  had 
found  nothing  witty  to  say  about  it, 


and  at  first  sight  Mr.  Cibber  had 
done  its  business.  And  on  such  men 
he  and  his  portrait  were  to  attempt  a 
preposterous  delusion.  Then  there 
was  Snarl,  who  wrote  critiques  on 
painting,  and  guided  the  national 
taste.  The  unlucky  exhibitor  was  in 
a  cold  sweat.  He  led  the  way  like  a 
thief  going  to  the  gallows. 

"  The  picture  being  unfinished, 
gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  must,  if  you 
would  do  me  justice,  be  seen  from  a 
—  a  focus  :  must  be  judged  from  here, 
I  mean." 

"Where,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Cibber. 

"  About  here,  sir,  if  you  please," 
said  poor  Triplet,  faintly. 

"  It  looks  like  a  finished  picture 
from  here,"  said  Mrs.  Clive. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  groaned  Triplet. 

They  all  took  up  a  position,  and 
Triplet  timidly  raised  his  eyes  along 
with  the  rest :  he  was  a  little  sur- 
prised. The  actress  had  flattened  her 
lace!  She  had  done  all  that  could 
be  done,  and  more  than  he  had  con- 
ceived possible,  in  the  way  of  extract- 
ing life  and  the  atmosphere  of  expres- 
sion from  her  countenance.  She  was 
"  dead  still !  " 

There  was  a  pause. 

Triplet  fluttered.  At  last  some  of 
them  spoke  as  follows :  — 

Soaper.     "  Ah  !  " 

Quin.     "  Ho  !  " 

Clive.     "  Eh  !  " 

Cibber.     ".  Humph ! " 

These  interjections  are  small  on 
paper,  but  as  the  good  creatures 
uttered  them  they  were  eloquent ; 
there  was  a  cheerful  variety  of  dis- 
praise skilfully  thrown  into  each  of 
them. 

"  Well,"  continued  Soaper,  with  his 
everlasting  smile. 

Then  the  fun  began. 

"  May  I  be  permitted  to  ask  whose 
portrait  this  is  ?  "  said  Mr.  Cibber, 
slyly. 

"  I  distinctly  told  you,  it  was  to  be 
Peg  Woffington's,"  "said  Mrs.  Clive. 
"  I  think  you  might  take  my  word." 

"Do  you  act  as  truly  as  you  paint  1 " 
said  Quin. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


75 


"  Your  fame  runs  no  risk  from  me, 
sir  !  "  replied  Triplet. 

"  It  is  not  like  Peggy's  beauty ! 
Eh  ?  "  rejoined  Quin. 

"  I  can't  agree  with  you,"  cried 
Kitty  Clive.  "  I  think  it  a  very 
pretty  face;  and  not  at  all  like  Peg 
Woffington's." 

"  Compare  paint  with  paint,"  said 
Quin.  "  Are  you  sure  you  ever  saw 
down  to  Peggy^s  real  face  ?  " 

Triplet  had  seen  with  alarm  that 
Mr.  Snarl  spoke  not;  many  satirical 
expressions  crossed  his  face,  but  he 
said  nothing.  Triplet  gathered  from 
this  that  he  had  at  once  detected  the 
trick.  "  Ah  !  "  thought  Triplet,  "  he 
means  to  quiz  them,  as  well  as  expose 
me.  He  is  hanging  back  ;  and,  in 
point  of  fact,  a  mighty  satirist  like 
Snarl  would  naturally  choose  to  quiz 
six  people  rather  than  two." 

"  Now  I  call  it  beautiful  !  "  said 
the  traitor  Soaper.  "  So  calm  and 
reposeful ;  no  particular  expression." 

"None  whatever,"  said  Snarl. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Triplet,  "does 
it  never  occur  to  you  that  the  fine 
arts  are  tender  violets,  and  cannot 
blow  when  tlic  north  winds  —  " 

"Blow  !"  inserted  Quin. 

"  Arc  so  cursed  cutting  ? "  continued 
Triplet. 

"  My  trood  sir,  I  am  never  cutting  !  " 
smirked  Soaper.  "  My  dear  Snarl," 
whined  he,  "  e.ive  us  the  benefit  of 
your  practised  judgment.  Do  jus- 
tice to  this  ad-mirable  work  of  art," 
drawled  the  traitor. 

"  I  will  !  "  said  Mr.  Snarl ;  and 
placed  himself  before  the  picture. 

"  What  on  earrli  will  he  say?" 
thought  Triplet.  "  I  can  see  by  his 
face,  he  has  found  us  out." 

M  r.  Snarl  delivered  a  short  critique. 
Mr.  Snarl's  intelligence  was  not  con- 
fined to  his  phrases  ;  all  critics  use  in- 
telligent phrases  anil  philosophical 
truths.     Hut,  this  gentleman's  manner 

was  very  intelligent;    it  was  pleasant, 

quiet,   assured,  and  very  convincing. 

Had  the  reader  or  I  liecn  there,  he 
WOuld  have  carried  us  with  him,  as 
he  did  his  hearers ;   and   as  his  suc- 


cessors carry  the  public  with  them 
now. 

"  Your  brush  is  by  no  means  desti- 
tute of  talent,  Mr.  Triplet,"  said 
Mr.  Snarl.  "  But  you  are  somewhat 
deficient,  at  present,  in  the  great 
principles  of  your  art ;  the  first  of 
which  is  a  loyal  adherence  to  truth. 
Beauty  itself  is  but  one  of  the  forms 
of  truth,  and  nature  is  our  finite  ex- 
ponent of  infinite  truth." 

His  auditors  gave  him  a  marked 
attention.  They  could  not  but  ac- 
knowledge, that  men  who  go  to  the 
bottom  of  things  like  this  should  be 
the  best  instructors. 

"  Now,  in  nature,  a  woman's  face 
at  this  distance  —  ay,  even  at  this 
short  distance  —  melts  into  the  air. 
There  is  none  of  that  sharpness ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  a  softness  of  outline." 
He  made  a  lorgnette  of  his  two  hands  ; 
the  others  did  so  too,  and  found  they 
saw  much  better  — oh,  ever  so  much 
better  !  "  Whereas  yours,"  resinned 
Snarl,  "is  hard;  and,  forgive  me, 
rather  tea-board  like.  Then  your 
chiaro  scum,  my  good  sir,  is  very  defec- 
tive ;  for  instance,  in  nature,  the  nose, 
intercepting  the  light  on  one  side  the 
face,  throws,  of  necessity,  a  shadow 
under  the  eye.  Caravaggio,  Vene- 
tians generally,  and  the  Boloe;nese 
masters,  do  particular  justice  to  this. 
No  such  shade  appears  in  this  por- 
trait." 

"  'T  is  so,  stop  my  vitals  !  "  ob- 
served Colley  Cibber.  And  they  all 
looked,  and,  having  looked,  wagged 
their  heads  in  assent, — as  the  fat, 
white  lords  at  Christie's  waggle  fifty 
pounds  more  out  for  a  copy  of  Rem- 
brandt, a  brown  levitical  Dutchman, 
visible  in  the  pitch-dark  by  some 
sleight  of  sun  Newton  had  not  wit  to 
discover, 

Soaper  dissented  from  the  mass. 

"  Hut,  my  dear  Snarl,  if  there  are 
no  shades,  there  are  lights,  loads  of 
lights." 

'•  There  are,"  replied  Snarl  ;  "only 
they  are  impossible,  that  is  all.     You 

have,  however,"  concluded  he,  with  a 
manner    slightly  supercilious,  "  sue' 


76 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


ceedcd  in  the  mechanical  parts ;  the 
hair  and  the  dress  are  well,  Mr.  Trip- 
let ;  but  yowr  WofBngton  is  not  a  wo- 
man, nor  nature." 

They  all  nodded  and  waggled  as- 
sent ;  but  this  sagacious  motion  was 
arrested  as  by  an  earthquake. 

The  picture  rang  out,  in  the  voice 
of  a  clarion,  an  answer  that  outlived 
the  speaker  :  "  She 's  a  woman  !  for 
she  has  taken  four  men  in  !  She  's 
nature!  for  a  fluent  dunce  doesn't 
know  her  when  he  sees  her  ! " 

Imagine  the  tableau !  It  was 
charming!  Such  opening  of  eyes 
and  mouths  !  Cibber  fell  by  second 
nature  into  an  attitude  of  the  old 
comedy.  And  all  were  rooted  where 
they  stood,  witli  surprise  and  incip- 
ient mortification,  except  Quin,  who 
slapped  his  knee,  and  took  the  trick 
at  its  value. 

Peg  Woffington  slipped  out  of  the 
green  baize,  and,  coming  round  from 
the  hack  of  the  late  picture,  stood  in 
person  before  them  ;  while  they  looked 
alternately  at  her  and  at  the  hole  in 
the  canvas.  She  then  came  at  each 
of  them  in  turn,  more  dramatico. 

"  A  pretty  face,  and  not  like  Wof- 
fington. I  owe  you  two,  Kate 
Clive." 

"  Who  ever  saw  Peggy's  real  face  ? 
Look  at  it  now  if  you  can  without 
blushing,  Mr.  Quin." 

Quin~  a  good-hnmorcd  fellow,  took 
the  wisest  view  of  his  predicament,  and 
burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"For  all  this,"  said  Mr  Snarl, 
peevishly,  "  I  maintain,  upon  the  un- 
alterable principles  of  art  —  "  At 
this  they  all  burst  into  a  roar,  not 
sorry  to  shift  the  ridicule.  "  Goths  !  " 
cried  Snarl,  fiercely.  "  Good  morn- 
ing, ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried  Mr. 
Snarl,  avec  intention,  "  I  have  a  criti- 
cism to  write  of  last  night's  perform- 
ance" The  laugh  died  away  to  a 
quaver.  "  I  shall  sit  on  your  pictures 
one  day,  Mr.  Brush." 

"  Don't  sit  on  them  with  your  head 
downwards,  or  you  '11  addle  them," 
said  Mr.  Brush,  fiercely.  This  was 
the  first  time  Triplet  had  ever    an- 


swered a  foe.  Mrs.  Woffington  gave 
him  an  eloquent  glance  of  encourage- 
ment. He  nodded  his  head  in  in- 
fantine exultation  at  what  he  had 
done. 

"  Come,  Soaper,"  said  Mr.  Snarl. 

Mr.  Soaper  lingered  one  moment 
to  say  :  "  You  shall  always  have  my 
good  word,  Mr.  Triplet." 

"  I  will  try  —  and  not  deserve  it, 
Mr.  Soaper,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Serve  'em  right,"  said  Mr.  Cib- 
ber, as  soon  as  the  door  had  closed 
upon  them ;  "  for  a  couple  of  serpents, 
or  rather  one  boa-constrictor.  Soaper 
slavers,  for  Snarl  to  crush.  But  we 
were  all  a  little  too  hard  on  Triplet 
here  ;  and,  if  he  will  accept  my  apol- 
ogy—" 

.  "  Why,  sir,"  said  Triplet,  half 
trembling,  but  driven  on  by  looks 
from  Mrs.  Woffington,  "  '  Gibber's 
Apology  '  is  found  to  be  a  trifle  weari- 
some." 

"  Confound  his  impertinence  ! " 
cried  the  astounded  laureate.  "  Come 
along,  Jemmy." 

"  O  sir,"  said  Quin,  good-humored- 
ly,  "we  must  give  a  joke  and  take  a 
joke.  And  when  he  paints  my  por- 
trait, —  which  he  shall  do  —  " 

"  The  bear  from  Hockley  Hole  shall 
sit  for  the  head !  " 

"  Curse  his  impudence  !  "  roared 
Quin.  "  I'm  at  your  service,  Mr. 
Cibber,"  added  he,  in  huge  dudgeon. 

Away  went  the  two  old  boys. 

"  Mighty  well !  "  said  waspish  Mrs. 
Clive.  "  I  "did  intend  you  should  have 
painted  Mrs.  Clive.  But  after  this 
impertinence  —  " 

"  You  will  continue  to  do  it  your- 
self, ma'am  ! " 

This  was  Triplet's  hour  of  triumph. 
His  exultation  was  undignified,  and 
such  as  is  said  to  precede  a  fall.  He 
inquired  gravely  of  Mrs.  Woffington, 
whether  he  had  or  had  not  shown  a 
spirit.  Whether  he  had  or  had  not 
fired  into  each  a  parting  shot,  as  they 
sheered  off.  To  repair  which,  it  might 
be  advisable  for  them  to  put  into 
friendly  ports. 

"  Tremendous  !  "  was    the    reply. 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


77 


"  And  when  Snarl  and  Soaper  sit 
on  your  next  play,  they  won't  for- 
get the  lesson  you  have  given  them." 

"  I  '11  be  sworn  they  won't  !  " 
chuckled  Triplet.  But,  reconsidering 
her  words,  he  looked  blank,  and 
muttered  :  "  Then  perhaps  it  would 
have  been  more  prudent  to  let  them 
alone !  " 

"  Incalculably  more  prudent ! "  was 
the  reply. 

"  Then  why  did  you  set  me  on, 
madam  ?  "  said  Triplet,  reproachful- 

"  Because  I  wanted  amusement, 
and  my  head  ached,"  was  the  cool  an- 
swer, somewhat  languidly  given. 

"  I  defy  the  coxcombs  !  "  cried 
Triplet,  with  reviving  spirit.  "But 
real  criticism  1  respect,  honor,  and 
bow  to.  Such  as  yours,  madam;  or 
such  as  that  sweet  lady's  at  Mr.  Vane's 
would  have  been  ;  or,  in  fact,  any- 
body's who  appreciates  me.  O  mad- 
am, 1  wanted  to  ask  you,  was  it  not 
strange  your  not  being  at  Mr. Vane's, 
alter  all,"  to-day  !  " 

"  I  was  at  Mr.  Vane's,  Triplet." 

"  You  were  '.  Why,  1  came  with  my 
verses,  and  she  said  you  were  not 
there  !  I  Will  v;o  fetch  the  verses." 

"No,  no!  Who  said  I  was  not 
there  ?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  ?  The  charm- 
ing young  lady  who  helped  me  with 
her  own  hand  to  everything  on  the 
table.       What  wine  that    gentleman 

]Kl<SeS-C"i  !  " 

"  Was  it  a  young  lady,  Triplet?  " 

"  Not  more  than  two-and-twenty, 
I  should  say." 

"  In  a  travelling-dress  ?  " 

"I  could  not  see  her  dress,  madam, 
for   her    beauty,  —  brown    hair,    blue 
eyes,  charming  in  conversation  —  " 
*  "Ah  !    What  did  she  tell  you?" 

"  She  told  me,  madam —  Ahem  ! 

"  Well,  what. lid  you  tell  her'  And 
what  did  she  answer  ?  " 

"  1  told  her  that  1  came  \\  i t li  verses 
for  you,  ordered  by  Mr.  Vane. 
That  he  admired  you.     1  descanted, 

madam,  on   your  vinucs,    which   had 

made  hiin  j  our  slave." 


"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Woffington,  en- 
couraging him  with  a  deceitful  smile. 
"  Tell  me  all  you  told  her." 

"  That  you  were  sitting  to  me  for 
your  portrait,  the  destination  of  which 
was  not  doubtful.  That  I  lived  at  10, 
Hercules  Buildings." 

"  You  told  that  lady  all  this  T  " 

"  I  give  my  honor.  She  was  so 
kind,  I  opened  my  heart  to  her.  But 
tell  me  now,  madam,"  said  Triplet, 
joyously  dancing  round  the  Woffing- 
ton volcano,  "  do  you  know  this 
charming  lady  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  madam.  An 
acquaintance  worthy  even  of  you  ;  and 
there  arc  not  many  such.  Who  is  she, 
madam  ?  "  continued  Triplet,  lively 
with  curiosity. 

"  Mrs.  Vane,"  was  the  quiet,  grim 
answer. 

"Mrs.  Vane?  His  mother?  No- 
am I  mad  ?  His  sister !  O,  I  sec, 
his  —  " 

"  His  wife  !  " 

"  His  wife  !  Why,  then  Mr.  Vane  's 
married  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"O,  look  there! — O,  look  here  now! 
Well,  but,  good  Heavens  !  she  was  n't 
to  know  von  were  there,  perhaps  '.  " 

"  No." 

"  But  then  I  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But,  good  gracious  !  there  will  be 
some  serious  mischief!  " 

"No  doubt  of  it." 

"  And  it  is  all  my  fault  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  've  played  the  deuce  with  their 
married  happiness  ?" 

"  Probably" 

"  And  ten  to  one  if  you  are  not 
incensed  against  me  too  !  " 

Mrs.  Woffington  replied  by  looking 

him  in  the  fact",  and  turning  her  bark 
ti]H>n  him.  She  Walked  hastily  to  the 
window,  threw  it  open,  and  looked  Out 
of  it,  leaving  pom-  Triplet  to  very 
unpleasant  reflections.  She  was  so 
ail-TV  with  him  she  dared  not  trust 
herself  to  speak. 


rr  i*> 


PEG   WOFFINGTOX. 


"  Just  my  luck,"  thought  he.  "  I 
had  a  patron  and  a  benefactress;  I 
have  betrayed  them  both:"  Sudden- 
ly an  idea  struck  him.  "  Madam," 
said  he,  timorously,  "  see  what  these 
line  gentlemen  are  !  What  business 
had  he,  with  a  wife  at  home,  to  come 
and  fall  in  love  with  you  ?  I  do  it  for- 
ever in  ray  plays  —  I  am  obliged  — 
they  would  he  so  dull  else  ;  but  in  real 
life  to  do  it  is  abominable." 

"  You  forget,  sir,"  replied  Mrs* 
Wbffington,  without  moving,  "  that  I 
am  an  actress,  —  a  plaything  for  the 
impertinence  of  puppies  and  the 
treachery  of  hypocrites.  Fool  !  to 
think  there  was  an  honest  man  in  the 
world,  and  that  he  had  shone  on  me !  " 

With  these  words  she  turned,  and 
Triplet  was  shocked  to  sec  the  change 
in  her  face.  She  was  pale,  and  her 
black,  lowering  brows  were  gloomy 
and  terrible.  She  walked  like  a  ti- 
gress to  and  fro,  and  Triplet  dared 
not  speak  to  her  :  indeed  she  seemed 
but  half  conscious  of  his  presence.  lie 
went  for  nobody  with  her.  How  lit- 
tle we  know  the  people  we  cat  and 
go  to  church  and  flirt  with  !  Triplet 
had  imagined  this  creature  an  incar- 
nation of  gaycty,  a  sportive  being,  the 
daughter  of  smiles,  the  bride  of  mirth  ; 
needed  but  a  look  at  her  now  to  see 
that  her  heart  was  a  volcano,  her 
bosom  a  boiling  gulf  of  (iery  lava. 
She  walked  like  some  wild  creature  ; 
she  flung  her  hands  up  to  heaven  with 
a  passionate  despair,  before  which  the 
feeble  spirit  of  her  companion  shrank 
and  cowered  ;  and,  with  quivering  lips 
and  blazing  eyes,  she  burst  into  a  tor- 
rent of  passionate  bitterness. 

"  But  who  is  Margaret  Woffington," 
she  cried,  "  that  she  should  pretend 
to  honest  love,  or  feel  insulted  by  the 
proffer  of  a  stolen  regard  ?  And  what 
have  we  to  do  with  homes, or  hearts.or 
firesides  ?  Have  we  not  the  playhouse, 
its  paste  diamonds,  its  paste  feelings, 
and  the  loud  applause  of  fops  and 
sots  —  hearts  ?  —  beneath  loads  of 
tinsel  and  paint  ?  Nonsense !  The 
love  that  can  go  with  souls  to  heav- 
en, —  such  love  for  us  ?    Nonsense  ! 


These  men  applaud  us,  cajole  us> 
swear  to  us,  flai  tcr  us ;  and  yet,  for- 
sooth, we  would  have  them  respect  us 
too." 

"  My  dear  benefactress,"  said  Trip- 
let, "they  are  not  worthy  of  you." 

"  I  thought  this  man  was  not  all 
dross  ;  from  the  first  I  never  felt  his 
passion  an  insult.  O  Triplet!  I 
could  have  loved  this  man,  —  really 
loved  him !  and  I  longed  so  to  be 
good.     O  God  !  O  God  !  " 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  don't  love 
him  !  "  cried  Triplet,  hastily.  "  Thank 
Heaven  for  that  !  " 

"  Love  him  ?  Love  a  man  who 
comes  to  me  with  a  silly  second-hand 
affection  from  his  insipid  baby-face, 
and  offers  me  half,  or  two  thirds,  or  a 
third  of  his  worthless  heart?  I 
hate  him  !  —  and  her !  —  and  all  the 
world ! " 

"  That  is  what  I  call  a  very  proper 
feeling,"  said  poor  Triplet,  with  a 
weak  attempt  to  soothe  her.  "  Then 
break  with  him  at  once,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

"  Break  with  him  ?  Are  you  mad  1 
No  !  Since  he  plays  with  the  tools  of 
my  trade  I  shall  fool  him  worse  than 
he  has  me.  I  will  feed  his  passion 
full,  tempt  him,  torture  him,  play 
with  him,  as  the  angler  plays  a  fish 
upon  his  hook.  And,  when'his  very 
life  depends  on  me,  then  by  degrees 
he  shall  see  me  cool,  and  cool,  and 
freeze  into  bitter  aversion.  Then  he 
shall  rue  the  hour  he  fought  with  the 
Devil  against  my  soul,  and  played 
false  with  a  brain  and  heart  like 
mine  !  " 

"  But  his  poor  wife  ?  You  will 
have  pity  on  her?  " 

"  His  wife  !  Are  wives'  hearts  the 
only  hearts  that  throb,  and  burn,  and 
break  ?  His  wife  must  defend  her- 
self. It  is  not  from  me  that  mercy 
can  come  to  her,  nor  from  her  to  me. 
I  loathe  her,  and  I  shall  not  forget 
that  you  took  her  part.  Only,  if  you 
are  her  friend,  take  my  advice,  don't 
you  assist  her.  I  shall  defeat  her 
without  that.  Let  her  fight  her  battle, 
and  /  mine." 


TEG   WOFFINGTON 


70 


"Ah,  madam!  she  cannot  fight; 
she  is  a  dove." 

"  You  are  a  fool !  What  do  you 
know  altout  women  ?  You  were  with 
her  five  minutes,  and  she  turned  you 
inside  out.  My  life  on  it,  whilst  I 
have  been  fooling  my  time  here,  she 
is  in  the  field,  with  all  the  arts  of 
our  sex,  simplicity  at  the  head  of 
them." 

Triplet  was  making  a  futile  endeav- 
or to  convert  her  to  his  view  of  her 
rival,  when  a  knock  suddenly  came 
to  his  door.  A  slovenly  girl,  one  of 
his  own  neighbors,  brought  him  a  bit 
of  paper,  with  a  line  written  in  pen- 
cil. 

"  'T  is  from  a  lady,  who  waits  be- 
low," said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Woflington  went  again  to  the 
window,  and  there  she  saw  getting 
out  of  a  coach,  and  attended  by  James 
Burdock,  Mabel  Vane,  who  had  sent 
up  her  name  on  the  back  of  an  old 
letter. 

"  What  shall  I  do?"  said  Triplet, 
as  soon  as  he  recovered  the  first 
stunning  effects  of  this  contretemps. 
To  his  astonishment,  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton  bade  the  girl  show  the  lady  up 
stairs.  The  girl  went  down  on  this 
errand. 

"  But  yon  are  here,"  remonstrated 
Triplet.  "  0,  to  lie  sure,  you  can  go 
into  the  other  room.  There,  is  plenty 
of  time  to  avoid  her,"  said  Triplet, 
in  a  very  natural  tremor.  "  This 
way,  madam ! " 

Mrs.  YVoHiii'jton  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room  like  a  statue. 

"  What  does  site  come  here  for?  " 
said  she,  Bternly.  "You  have  not 
told  me  all." 

"  I  don't  know,"  cried  poor  Triplet, 
in  dismay;  "and  I  think  the  Devil 
brings  her  here  to  confound  me.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  retire!  What  will  be- 
come of  us  all?  There  will  he  mur- 
der, I  know  then;  Mill  !  " 

To  his  horror,  Mrs.  Wofflngton 
would  not  move.  "  You  arc  on  her 
side,"  said  she,  slowly,  with  a  .concen- 
tration of  s;.ite  and  suspicion.  She 
looked    frightful    at    this    moment 


"  All  the  better  for  me,"  added  she, 
with  a  world  of  female  malignity. 

Triplet  could  not  make  "  head 
against  this  blow;  he  gasped,  and 
pointed  piteously  to  the  inner  door. 
"  No  ;  I  will  know  two  things  :  the 
course  she  means  to  take,  and  the 
terms  you  two  are  upon." 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Vane's  light 
foot  was  heard  on  the  stair,  and  Trip- 
let sank  into  a  chair.  "  They  will 
tear  one  another  to  pieces,"  said 
he. 

A  tap  came  to  the  door. 

He  looked  fearfully  round  for  the 
woman  whom  jealousy  had  so  speedi- 
ly turned  from  an  angel  to  a  fiend  ; 
and  saw  with  dismay  that  she  had 
actually  had  the  hardihood  to  slip 
round  and  enter  the  picture  again. 
She  had  not  quite  arranged  herself 
when  her  rival  knocked. 

Triplet  dragged  himself  to  the  door. 
Before  he  opened  it,  he  looked  fear- 
fully over  his  shoulder,  and  received 
a  glance  of  cool,  bitter,  deadly  hostil- 
ity, that  boded  ill  both  for  him  and 
his  visitor.  Triplet's  apprehensions 
were  not  unreasonable.  His  benefac- 
tress and  this  sweet  lady  were  rivals ! 

Jealousy  is  a  dreadful  passion,  it 
makes  us  tigers.  The  jealous  always 
thirst  for  blood.  At  any  moment 
when  reason  is  a  little  weaker  than 
usual,  they  arc  ready  to  kill  the  thing 
they  hate,  or  the  thing  they  love. 

Any  open  collision  between  these 
ladies  would  scatter  ill  consequences 
all  round.  Under  such  circumstan- 
ces, wc  arc  pretty  sure  to  say  or  do 
something  Avicked,  silly,  or  unreason- 
able. But  what  tortured  Triplet 
more  than  anything  was  his  own 
particular  notion  that  fate  (loomed 
him  to  witness  a  formal  encounter 
between  these  two  women,  and  of 
course  an  encounter  of  such  a  nature 
as  we  in  our  day  illustrate  by  "  Kil- 
kenny cats." 

To  be  sure  Mrs.  Vane  had  appeared 
a  dove,  but  doves  can  peck  on  certain 
occasions,  and  no  doubt  she  had  a 
spirit  at  bottom.  Her  coming  to  him 
proved  it.     And  had    not    the    other 


80 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


been  a  dove  all  the  morning  and  after- 
noon ?  Yet  jealousy  had  turned  her 
to  a  fiend  before  his  eyes.  Then  if 
(which  was  not  probable)  no  collision 
took  place,  what  a  situation  was  his  ! 
Mrs.  Woffington,  (his  buckler  from 
starvation)  suspected  him,  and  would 
distort  every  word  that  came  from 
Mrs.  Vane's  lips. 

Triplet's  situation  was,  in  fact,  that 
of -(Eneas  in  the  storm. 

"  Olim  et  ha;c  meminisse  juvabit  —  " 
"  But,  while    present,   such    things   don't 
please  any  one  a  bit." 

It  was  the  sort  of  situation  we  can 
laugh  at,  and  see  the  fun  of  it  six 
months  after,  if  not  shipwrecked  on  it 
at  the  time. 

With  a  ghastly  smile  the  poor  quak- 
ing hypocrite  welcomed  Mrs.  Vane, 
and  professed  a  world  of  innocent  de- 
light that  she  had  so  honored  his 
humble  roof. 

She  interrupted  his  compliments, 
and  begged  him  to  sec  whether  she 
was  followed  by  a  gentleman  in  a 
cloak. 

Triplet  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  Sir  Charles  Pomander !  "  gasped 
he. 

Sir  Charles  was  at  the  very  door. 
If,  however,  he  had  intended  to  mount 
the  stairs  he  changed  his  mind,  for  he 
suddenly  went  off  round  the  corner 
with  a  business-like  air,  real  or  ficti- 
tious. 

"  He  is  gone,  madam,"  said  Trip- 
let. 

Mrs.  Vane,  the  better  to  escape  de- 
tection or  observation,  wore  a  thick 
mantle  and  a  hood,  that  concealed 
her  features.  Of  these  Triplet  debar- 
rassed  her. 

"Sit  down,  madam  "  ;  and  he  hastily 
drew  a  chair  so  that  her  back  was  to 
the  picture. 

She  was  pale,  and  trembled  a  little. 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  a  mo- 
ment, then,  recovering  her  courage, 
"  she  begged  Mr.  Triplet  to  pardon 
her  for  cominjj  to  him.  He  had  in- 
spired her  with  confidence,"  she  said  ; 
"  he  had  offered  her  his  services,  and 


so  she  had  come  to  him,  for  she  had 
no  other  friend  to  aid  her  in  her  sore 
distress."  She  might  have  added, 
that  with  the  tact  of  her  sex  she  had 
read  Triplet  to  the  bottom,  and  came 
to  him,  as  she  would  to  a  benevolent, 
muscular  old  woman. 

Triplet's  natural  impulse  was  to 
repeat  most  warmly  his  offers  of  ser- 
vice. He  did  so ;  and  then,  conscious 
of  the  picture,  had  a  misgiving. 

"Dear  Mr.  Triplet,"  began  Mrs. 
Vane,  "  vou  know  this  person,  Mrs. 
Woffington  ? " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  replied  Triplet; 
lowering  his  eyes,  "  I  am  honored  by 
her  acquaintance." 

"  You  will  take  me  to  the  theatre 
where  she  acts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam  :  to  the  boxes,  I  pre- 
sume ?  " 

"  No  !  O  no  !  How  could  I  bear 
that  (  To  the  place  where  the  actors 
and  actresses  are." 

Triplet  demurred.  This  Mould  be 
courting  that  very  collision,  the  dread 
of  which  even  now  oppressed  him. 

At  the  first  faint  sign  of  resistance 
she  began  to  supplicate  him,  as  if  he 
was  some  great,  stern  tyrant. 

"  O,  you  must  not,  you  cannot  re- 
fuse me.  You  do  not  know  what  I 
risk  to  obtain  this.  I  have  risen  from 
my  bed  to  come  to  you.  I  have  a  fire 
here !  '■  She  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
brow.     "  0,  take  me  to  her!  " 

"  Madam,  I  will  do  anything  for 
you.  But  be  advised  ;  trust  to  my 
knowledge  of  human  nature.  What 
you  require  is  madness.  Gracious 
Heavens !  you  two  are  rivals,  and 
when  rivals  meet  there 's  murder  or 
deadly  mischief." 

"  Ah  !  if  you  knew  my  sorrow,  you 
would  not  thwart  me.  O  Mr.  Trip- 
let !  little  did  I  think  you  were  as 
cruel  as  the  rest."  So  then  this  cruel 
monster  whimpered  out  that  he  should 
do  any  folly  she  insisted  upon. 
"  Good,  kind  Mr.  Triplet !  "  said  Mrs. 
Vane.  "  Let  me  look  in  your  face  1 
Yes,  I  see  you  are  honest  and  true. 
I  will  tell  you  all."  Then  she  poured 
in  his  car  her  simple  tale,  unadorned 


PEG   W0FF1NGT0N. 


8l 


and  touching  as  Judah's  speech  to 
Joseph.  She  told  him  how  she  loved 
her  husband  ;  how  he  had  loved  her ; 
how  happy  they  were  for  the  first  six 
months ;  how  her  heart  sank  when 
he  left  her ;  how  he  had  promised  she 
should  join  him,  and  on  that  hope 
she  lived.  "  But  for  two  months  he 
had  ceased  to  speak  of  this,  and  I 
grew  heart-sick  waiting  for  the  sum- 
mons that  never  came.  At  last  I  felt 
1  should  die  if  I  did  not  see  him ;  so  I 
plucked  up  courage  and  wrote  that  I 
must  come  to  him.  He  did  not  forbid 
me,  so  I  left  our  country  home.  O 
sir !  I  cannot  make  you  know  how 
my  heart  burned  to  be  by  his  side.  I 
counted  the  hours  of  the  journey  ;  I 
counted  the  miles.  At  last  I  reached 
his  house ;  I  found  a  gay  company 
there.  I  was  a  little  sorry,  but  1  said  : 
'  His  friends  shall  be  welcome,  right, 
welcome.  He  has  asked  them  to  wel- 
come his  wife.'  " 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  muttered  Triplet. 

"  O   Mr.  Triplet !  they  were  there 

to   do   honor   to ,   and   the  wife 

was  neither  expected  nor  desired. 
There  lay  my  letters  with  their  seals 
unbroken.  I  know  all  his  letters  by 
heart,  Mr.  Triplet.  The  seals  un- 
broken—  unbroken!     Mr.  Triplet." 

"  It  is  abominable  ! "  cried  Triplet, 
fiercely. 

"  And  she  who  sat  in  my  scat  —  in 
his  house,  and  in  his  heart  —  was  this 
lady,  the  actress  you  so  praised  to 
me?" 

"  That  lady,  ma'am,"  said  Trip- 
let, "  has  been  deceived  as  well  as 
you." 

"  I  am  convinced  of  it,"  said  Ma- 
bel. 

"And  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  tell 
you,  madam, that, with  all  her  talents 
and  sweetness,  she  has  a  fiery  temper  ; 
yes,  a  very  fiery  temper,"  continued 
Triplet,  stoutly,  though  with  an  un- 
easy glance  in  a  certain  direction  ; 
"  and  1  have  reason  to  believe  she  is 
angr^,  and  thinks  more  of  her  own 
ill-usage  than  yours.  Don't  you  go 
near   her.      Trust    to    my   knowledge 

of  the  sex,  madam  ;  I  am  a  dramatic 

4* 


writer.  Did  you  ever  read  the  '  Rival 
Queens  '  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  thought  not.  Well,  madam, 
one  stabs  the  other,  and  the  one  that 
is  stabbed  says  things  to  the  other 
that  are  more  biting  than  steel.  The 
prudent  course  for  you  is  to  keep 
apart,  and  be  always  cheerful,  and 
welcome  him  with  a  smile  —  and  — 
have  you  read  '  The  Way  to  keep 
him'?" 

"No,  Mr.  Triplet,"  said  Mabel, 
firmly,  "I  cannot  feign.  Were  I  to 
attempt  talent  and  deceit,  I  should 
be  weaker  than  I  am  now.  Honesty 
and  right  are  all  my  strength.  I  will 
cry  to  her  for  justice  and  mercy.  And 
if  I  cry  in  vain,  I  shall  die,  Mr.  Trip- 
let, that  is  all." 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  lady,"  said  Trip- 
let, in  a  broken  voice. 

"  It  is  impossible  !  "  cried  she,  sud- 
denly. "I  am  not  learned,  but  I  can 
read  faces.  I  always  could,  and  so 
could  my  Aunt  Deborah  before  me. 
I  read  you  right,  Mr.  Triplet,  and  I 
have  read  her  too.  Did  not  my  heart 
warm  to  her  amongst  them  all  ? 
There  is  a  heart  at  the  bottom  of  all 
her  acting,  and  that  heart  is  good  and 
noble." 

"  She  is,  madam !  she  is  !  and 
charitable  too.  I  know  a  family  she 
saved  from  starvation  and  despair. 
O  yes  !  she  has  a  heart  —  to  feel  for 
the  ]>oor  at  all  events." 

"And  am  I  not  the  poorest  of  the 
poor  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Vane.  "  I  have 
no  father  nor  mother,  Mr.  Triplet; 
my  husband  is  all  I  have  in  the  world, 
—  all  I  had,  I  mean." 

Triplet,  deeply  alVeeted  himself, 
stole  a  look  at  Mrs.  Wbffington. 
She  was  pale  ;  but  her  face  was  com- 

Iiosed  into  a  sort  of  dogged  obstinacy. 
le  was  disgusted  with  her.  "  Mad- 
am," said  he,  sternly,  "  there  is  a  wild 
beast  more  cruel  and  savage  than 
wolves  and  bears  ;  it  is  called  '  a 
rival,'  and  don't  you  get  in  its  way." 
At  this  moment,  in  spite  of  Trip- 
let's precaution,  Mrs  Vane,  casting 
her  eye  accidentally  round,  caught 
F 


82 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


sight  of  the  picture,  and  instantly 
started  up,  crying,  "  She  is  there  !  " 
Triplet  was  thunder-struck.  "What 
a  likeness  !"  cried  she,  and  moved 
towards  the  supposed  picture. 

"  Don't  go  to  it !  "  cried  Triplet, 
aghast ;  "  the  color  is  wet." 

She  stopped  ;  but  her  eye  and  her 
very  soul  dwelt  upon  the  supposed 
picture ;  and  Triplet  stood  quaking. 
"  How  like  !  It  seems  to  breathe. 
You  arc  a  great  painter,  sir.  A  glass 
is  not  truer." 

Triplet,  hardly  knowing  what  he 
said,  muttered  something  about  "  crit- 
ics and  lights  and  shades." 

"  Then  they  are  blind  !  "  cried  Ma- 
bel, never  for  a  moment  removing  her 
eye  from  the  object.  "  'fell  me  not 
of  lights  and  shades.  The  pictures 
I  see  have  a  look  of  paint ;  but  yours 
looks  like  life.  O  that  she  were 
here,  as  this  wonderful  image  of  hers 
is.  I  would  speak  to  her.  I  am  not 
wise  or  learned  ;  but  orators  never 
pleaded  as  I  would  plead  to  her  for 
my  Ernest's  heart."  Still  her  eye 
glanced  upon  the  picture  ;  and  I  sup- 
pose her  heart  realized  an  actual 
presence,  though  her  judgment  did 
not ;  for  by  some  irresistible  impulse 
she  sank  slowly  down  and  stretched 
her  clasped  hands  towards  it,  while 
sobs  and  words  seemed  to  break  direct 
from  her  bursting  heart.  "  0  yes  ! 
you  are  beautiful,  you  are  gifted,  and 
the  eyes  of  thousands  wait  upon  your 
very  word  and  look.  What  wonder 
that  he,  ardent,  refined,  and  genial, 
should  lay  his  heart  at  your  feet  ? 
And  I  have  nothing  but  my  love  to 
make  him  love  me.  I  cannot  take 
him  from  you.  O,  be  generous  to 
the  weak  !  O,  give  him  back  to  me  ! 
What  is  one  heart  more  to  you  1 
You  arc  so  rich,  and  I  am  so  poor, 
that  without  his  love  I  have  nothing, 
and  can  do  nothing  but  sit  me  down 
arid  cry  till  my  heart  breaks.  Give 
him  back  to  me,  beautiful,  terrible 
woman  !  for,  with  all  your  gifts,  you 
cannot  love  him  as  his  poor  Mabel 
docs ;  and  I  will  love  you  longer 
perhaps  than  men  can  love.     I  will 


kiss  your  feet,  and  Heaven  above  will 
bless  you ;  and  I  will  bless  you  and 
pray  for  you  to  my  dying  day.  Ah  ' 
it  is  alive  !  I  am  frightened  !  I  am 
frightened  !  "  She  ran  to  Triplet  and 
seized  his  arm.  "  No  ! "  cried  she, 
quivering  close  to  him ;  "  I  'm  not 
frightened,  for  it  was  for  me  she  — 
0  Mrs.  Wofhugton !  "  and,  hiding  her 
face  on  Mr.  Triplet's  shoulder,  she 
blushed,  and  wept,  and  trembled. 

What  was  it  had  betrayed  Mrs. 
Woffington  1     A  tear! 

During  the  whole  of  this  interview 
(which  had  taken  a  turn  so  unlooked 
for  by  the  listener)she  might  have 
said  with  Beatrice,  "  What  fire  is  in 
mine  ears  '?  "  and  what  self-reproach 
and  chill  misgiving  in  her  heart  too. 
She  had  passed  through  a  hundred 
emotions,  as  the  young  innocent  wife 
told  her  sad  and  simple  story.  But, 
anxious  now  above  all  things  to  es- 
cape without  being  recognized,  —  for 
she  had  long  repented  having  listened 
at  all,  or  placed  herself  in  her  present 
position,  ^—  she  fiercely  mastered  her 
countenance ;  but,  though  she  ruled 
her  features,  she  could  not  rule  her 
heart.  And  when  the  young  wife, 
instead  of  inveighing  against  her, 
came  to  her  as  a  supplicant,  with 
faith  in  her  goodness,  and  sobbed  to 
her  for  pity,  a  big  tear  rolled  down 
her  cheek,  and  proved  her  something 
more  than  a  picture  or  an  actress. 

Mrs.  Vane,  as  we  have  related, 
screamed  and  ran  to  Triplet. 

Mrs.  Woffington  came  instantly 
from  her  frame,  and  stood  before 
them  in  a  despairing  attitude,  with 
one  hand  upon  her  brow.  Tor  a  sin- 
gle moment  her  impulse  was  to  fly 
from  the  apartment,  so  ashamed  was 
she  of  having  listened,  and  of  meeting 
her  rival  in  this  way ;  but  she  con- 
quered this  feeling,  and,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  Mrs.  Vane  too  had  recovered 
some  composure,  she  said  to  Triplet, 
in  a  low  but  firm  voice :  — 

"Leave  us,  sir.  No  living  creature- 
must  hear  what  I  say  to  this  lady  !  " 

Triplet  remonstrated,  but  Mrs. 
Vane   said,   faintly  :  — 


PEG   WOFFIXGTON. 


83 


"  O  yes,  good  Mr.  Triplet,  I  would 
rather  you  left  me." 

Triplet,  full  of  misgivings,  was 
obliged  to  retire. 

"  Be  composed,  ladies,"  said  he, 
piteously.  "  Neither  of  you  could 
help  it"  ;  and  so  he  entered  his  inner 
room,  where  he  sat  and  listened  ner- 
vously, for  he  could  not  shake  off  all 
apprehension  of  a  personal  encounter. 

Jn  the  room  he  had  left  there  was 
a  long,  uneasy  silence.  Both  ladies 
were  greatly  embarrassed.  It  was 
the  actress  who  spoke  first.  All 
trace  of  emotion,  except  a  certain  pal- 
lor, was  driven  from  her  face.  She 
spoke  with  very  marked  courtesy,  but 
in  tones  that  seemed  to  freeze  as  they 
dropped  one  by  one  from  her  mouth. 

"  I  trust,  madam,  you  will  do  me 
the  justice  to  believe  I  did  not  know 
Mr.  Vane,  was  married  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it !  "  said  Mabel, 
warmly.  "  I  feel  you  are  as  good  as 
you  are  gifted." 

"  Mrs.  Vane,  I  am  not!  "  said  the 
other,  almost  sternly.  "  You  are  de- 
ceived !  " 

"  Then  Heaven  have  mercy  on  me! 
No  !  1  am  not  deceived,  you  pitied 
me.  You  speak  coldly  now;  but  I 
know  your  face  and  your  heart,  —  you 
pity  me  !  " 

"  I  do  respect,  admire,  and  pity 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Wotfington,  Badly; 
"and  I  could  consent  nevermore  to 
communicate  with  vour. —  with  Mr. 
Vane." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Mabel  ;  "  Heaven  will 
bless  you  !  lint  will  you  give  me 
back  his  heart  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  do  that  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Womngton,  uneasily;  she  had  not 
bargained  for  this. 

"  The  m  ignet  can  repel  as  well  as 
attract.       Can    yon    not    break    your 

own  spell  >.  What  will  his  presence 
be  to  me,  if  his  heart  remain  be- 
hind I" 

"  Yon  ask  mnch  of  me." 

"  Alas!  1  do." 

"  But  I  could  do  even  this."  She 
paused  for  breath.  "  And  perhaps  if 
you,  who  have  not  only  touched  my 


heart,  but  won  my  respect,  were  to 
say  to  me,  '  Do  so,'  I  should  do  it." 
Again  she  paused,  and  spoke  with 
difficulty  ;  for  the  bitter  struggle  took 
away  her  breath.  "  Mr.  Vane  thinks 
better  of  me  than  I  deserve.     I  have 

—  only  —  to  make  him  believe  me  — 

—  worthless —  worse  than  I  am'  — 
and  he  will  drop  me  like  an  adder  — 
and  love  you  better,  far  better  —  for 
having  known  —  admired  —  and  de- 
spised Margaret  Wotfington." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Mabel,  "  I  shall  bless 
you  every  hour  of  my  life."  Her 
countenance  brightened  into  rapture 
at  the  picture,  and  Mrs.  Woffington's 
darkened  with  bitterness  as  she 
watched  her. 

But  Mabel  reflected.  "  Rob  you  of 
your  good  name  '.  "  said  this  pure 
creature.  "Ah,  Mabel  Vane!  you 
think  but  of  yourself." 

"  I  thank  you,  madam,"  said  Mrs. 
Wotfington,  a  littie  touched  by  this 
unexpected  trait ;  "  but  some  one 
must  suffer  here,  and  —  " 

Mabel  Vane  interrupted  her. 
"This  would  he  cruel  and  base."  said 
she,  firmly.  "  No  woman's  forehead 
shall  be  soiled  by  me.  0  madam! 
beauty  is  admired,  talent  is  adored ; 
but  virtue  is  a  woman's  crowm.  With 
it,  the  poor  are  rich  ;  without  it,  the 
rich  are  poor.  It  walks  through  life. 
upright,  and  never  hides  its  head  for 
high  or  low." 

Her  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  an- 
gel now  ;  and  the  actress,  conquered 
by  her  beauty  and  her  goodness,  act- 
ually bowed  her  head  and  gently 
kissed  the  hand  of  the  country  wife 
whom  she  had  fpiizzcd  a  few  hours 
ago. 

Frailty  paid  this  homage  to  virtue! 
Mabel  Vane  hardly  noticed  it  ;   her 

eye  was  lifted  to  heaven,  and  her 
heart  was  gone  there  for  help  in  a  soro 
Btruggle. 

"  Ibis  would  be  to  assassinate  you  ; 
no  less.  And  so,  madam,"  she 
sighed,  "with  God's  help,  1  do  refuse 
your  offer  ;  choosing  rather,  if  needs 
be,  to  live  desolate,  but  innocent, — » 
many  a  better  than  1  hath  lived  so — ■ 


84 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


ay !  if  God  wills  it,  to  die,  with  my 
hopes  and  my  heart  crushed,  but  my 
hands  unstained  ;  for  so  my  humble 
life  has  passed." 

How  beautiful,  great,  and  pure 
goodness  is  !  It  paints  heaven  on 
the  face  that  has  it ;  it  wakens  the 
sleeping  souls  that  meet  it. 

At  the  bottom  of  Margaret  Wof- 
fington's  heart  lay  a  soul,  unknown 
to  the  world,  scarce  known  to  herself, 
—  a  heavenly  harp,  on  which  ill  airs 
of  passion  had  been  played,  —  but 
still  it  was  there,  in  tune  with  all  that 
is  true,  pure,  really  great  and  good. 
And  now  the  Hush  that  a  great  heart 
sends  to  the  brow,  to  herald  great  ac- 
tions, came  to  her  cheek  and  brow. 

"  Humble  !  "  she  cried.  "  Such  as 
you  are  the  diamonds  o*"  our  race. 
You  angel  of  truth  and  goodness,  you 
have  conquered  ! " 

"  O  yes  !  yes  !    Thank  God,  yes  !  " 

"  What  a  tiend  I  must  he  could  I 
injure  you  !  The  poor  heart  we  have 
both  overrated  shall  be  yours  again, 
and  yours  forever.  In  my  hands  it 
is  painted  glass  ;  in  the  lustre  of  a  love 
like  yours  it  may  become  a  priceless 
jewel."  She  turned  her  head  away 
and  pondered  a  moment,  then  sud- 
denly offered  to  Mrs.  Vane  her  hand 
with  nobleness  and  majesty;  "Can 
you  trust  me  ?  "  The  actress  too 
was  divinely  beautiful  now,  for  her 
good  angel  shone  through  her. 

"  I  could  trust  you  with  my  life  !  " 
was  the  reply. 

"  Ah  !  if  I  might  call  you  friend, 
dear  lady,  what  would  I  not  do  — 
suffer  —  resign  —  to  be  worthy  that 
title  !  " 

"  No,  not  friend  !  "  cried  the  warm, 
innocent  Mabel ;  "  sister  !  I  will  call 
you  sister.     I  have  no  sister." 

"  Sister  !  "  said  Mrs.  Woffington. 
"  O,  do  not  mock  me  !  Alas  !  you  do 
not  know  what  you  say.  That  sa- 
cred name  to  me,  from  lips  so  pure 
as  yours ;  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  she, 
timidly,  "would  you  think  me  pre- 
sumptuous if  I  begged  you  to  —  to 
let  me  kiss  you  1  " 

The  words  were  scarce  spoken  be- 


fore Mrs.  Vane's  arms  were  wreathed 
round  her  neck,  and  that  innocent 
cheek  laid  sweetly  to  hers. 

Mrs.  Woftington  strained  her  to 
her  bosom,  and  two  great  hearts, 
whose  grandeur  the  world,  worship- 
per of  charlatans,  never  discovered, 
had  found  each  other  out  and  beat 
against  each  other.  A  great  heart  is 
as  quick  to  find  another  out  as  the 
world  is  slow. 

Mrs.  Woffington  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears  and  clasped  Mabel  tight- 
er and  tighter,  in  a  half-despairing 
way.  Mabel  mistook  the  cause,  but 
she  kissed  her  tears  away. 

" Dear  sister,"  said  she,  "be  com- 
forted. I  love  you.  My  heart 
warmed  to  yon  the  first  moment  I 
saw  you.  A  woman's  love  and  grati- 
tude are  something.  Ah  !  you  will 
never  find  me  change.  This  is  for 
life,  look  you." 

"God  grant  it!"  cried  the  other 
poor  woman.  "  O,  it  is  not  that,  it  is 
not  that ;  it  is  because  I  am  so  little 
worthy  of  this.  It  is  a  sin  to  deceive 
you.  I  am  not  good  like  you.  You 
do  not  know  me  !  " 

"  You  do  not  know  yourself  if  you 
say  so ! "  cried  Mabel ;  and  to  her 
heater  the  words  seemed  to  come  from 
heaven.  "  I  read  faces,"  said  Mabel. 
"  I  read  yours  at  sight,  and  you  are 
what  I  set  you  down;  and  nobody 
must  breathe  a  word  against  you,  not 
even  yourself.  Do  you  think  I  am 
blind  ?  You  are  beautiful,  you  are 
good,  you  are  my  sister,  and  I  love 
you !  " 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  !  "  thought 
the  other.  "  How  can  I  resign  this 
angel's  good  opinion  1  Surely  Heav- 
en sends  this  blessed  dew  to  my 
parched  heart !  "  And  now  she  burned 
to  make  good  her  promise,  and  earn 
this  virtuous  wife's  love.  She  folded 
her  once  more  in  her  arms,  and  then, 
taking  her  by  the  hand, led  her  tenderly 
into  Triplet's  inner  room.  She  made 
her  lie  down  on  the  bed,  and  placed 
pillows  high  for  her  like  a  mother, 
and  leaned  over  her  as  she  lay,  and 
pressed  her  lips  gently  to   her  fore 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


8( 


head.  Her  fertile  brain  hart  already 
digested  a  plan,  but  she  hart  resolved 
that  this  pure  and  candid  soul  should 
take  no  lessons  of  deceit.  "  Lie 
there,"  said  she,  "  till  1  open  the  door, 
and  then  join  us.  Do  you  know 
what  I  am  going  to  do  1  I  am  not 
going  to  restore  you  your  husband's 
heart,  but  to  show  you  it  never  really 
left  you.  You  read  faces ;  well,  I 
read  circumstances.  Matters  are  not 
as  you  thought,"  said  she,  with  all  a 
woman's  tact.  "  I  cannot  explain, 
but  you  will  see."  She  then  gave 
Mrs.  Triplet  peremptory  orders  not 
to  let  her  charge  rise  from  the  bed 
until  the  preconcerted  signal. 

Mrs.  Vane  was,  in  fact,  so  exhaust- 
ed by  all  she  had  gone  through,  that 
she  was  in  no  condition  to  resist. 
She  cast  a  look  of  childlike  confi- 
dence upon  her  rival,  and  then  closed 
her  eyes,  anil  tried  not  to  tremble  all 
over  and  listen  like  a  frightened  hare. 


It  is  one  great  characteristic  of 
genius  to  do  great  things  with  little 
things.  Paxton  could  see  that  so 
Ismail  a  matter  as  a  green-house  could 
'dc  dilated  into  a  crystal  palace,  and 
'with  two  common  materials  —  glass 
and  iron  —  he  raised  the  palace  of  the 
genii  ;  the  brightest  idea  and  the 
noblest  ornament  added  to  Europe  in 
this  century,  —  the  koh-i-noor  of  the 
west.  Livy's  definition  of  Archimedes 
goes  on  the  same  ground. 


Peg  Woffington  was  a  genius  in 
her  way.  On  entering  Triplet's  stu- 
dio her  eye  fell  upon  three  trifle*, — 
Mrs.  Vane's  hood  and  mantle,  the 
hack  of  an  old  letter,  and  Mr.  Triplet. 
(It  will  be  seen  how  she  worked  these 
Blight  materials.)  On  the  letter  was 
written,  in  pencil,  simply  these  two 
words,  "  Mabel  Vane."  Mrs.  Woffing- 
ton wrote  above  these  words  tWO  more, 

"Alone  and  unprotected."     She   put 

this  into  Mr.  Triplet's  hand,  and  hade 
him  take  it  down  stairs  and  give  it 
Sir  Charles  Pomander,  whose  retreat, 


she  knew,  must  have  been  fictitious. 
"  You  will  find  him  round  the  comer," 
said  she,  "  or  in  some  shop  that  looks 
this  way."  Whilst  uttering  these 
words  she  had  put  on  Mrs.  Vane's 
hood  and  mantle. 

No  answer  was  returned,  and  no 
Triplet  went  out  of  the  door. 

She  turned,  and  there  he  was 
kneeling  on  both  knees  close  under 
her. 

"  Bid  me  jump  out  of  that  window, 
madam  ;  bid  me  kill  those  two  gen- 
tlemen, and  I  will  not  rebel.  You  are 
a  great  lady,  a  talented  lady ;  you 
have  been  insulted,  and  no  doubt 
blood  will  flow.  It  ought,  —  it  is 
your  due  ;  but  that  innocent  lady,  do 
not  compromise  her  !  " 

"  0  Mr.  Triplet,  you  need  not  kneel 
to  me.  I  do  not  wish  to  force  you  to 
render  me  a  service.  I  have  no  right 
to  dictate  to  you." 

"  0  dear  '.'"  cried  Triplet,  "  don't 
talk  in  that  way.  I  owe  you  my  life, 
but  I  think  of  your  own  peace  of 
minrt,  for  you  are  not  one  to  be  hap- 
py if  you  injure  the  innocent  !  "  lie 
rose  suddenly,  and  cried  :  "  Madam, 
promise  me  not  to  stir  till  I  come 
back !  " 

"  Where  are  you  going  1  " 

"  To  bring  the  husband  to  his  wife'* 
feet,  and  so  save  one  angel  from,  de- 
spair, and  another  angel  from  a  great 
crime." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  wiser 
than  I,"  said  she.  "  Hut,  if  you  are 
in  earnest,  you  had  better  be  quick, 
for  somehow  1  am  rather  changeable 
about  these  people." 

"You  can't  help  that,  madam,  it  is 
your  sex  ;  yon  are  mi  angel.  May  I 
he  permitted  to  kiss  your  baud  '.  you 
are  all  goodness  and  gentleness  at 
bottom.  I  fly  to  Mr.  Vane,  and  we 
will  be  back  before  you  have  time  to 
repent,  and  give  the  Devil  the  upper 
hand  again,  my  dear,  good,  sweet 
lady!" 

Away  flew  Triplet,  all  unconscious 
that  he  was  not  Mrs.  Wbffington's 
opponent,  but  puppet.  He  ran,  bo 
tore,  animated  by  a  good  action,  and 


86 


PEG    WOFFINGTON. 


spurred  by  the  notion  that  he  was  in 
direct  competition  with  the  licnd  for 
the  possession  of  his  benefactress. 

He  had  no  sooner  turned  the  cor- 
ner, than  Mrs.  Woffiugton,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  observed  Sir 
Charles  Pomander  on  the  watch,  as 
she  had  expected.  She  remained  at 
the  window  with  Mrs.  Vane's  hood 
on,  until  Sir  Charles's  eye  in  its  wan- 
derings lighted  on  her,  and  then, 
dropping  Mrs.  Vane's  letter  from  the 
window,  she  hastily  withdrew. 

Sir  Charles'  eagerly  picked  it  up. 
His  eye  brightened  when  he  read  the 
short  contents.  With  a  self-satisfied 
smile  he  mounted  the  stair.  He 
found  in  Triplet's  house  a  lady  who 
seemed  startled  at  her  late  hardihood. 
She  sat  with  her  back  to  the  door, 
her  hood  drawn  tightly  down,  and 
wore  an  air  of  trembling  conscious- 
ness. Sir  Charles  smiled  again.  He 
knew  the  sex,  at  least  he  said  so.  ( It 
is  an  assertion  often  ventured  upon.) 
Accordingly  Sir  Charles  determined 
to  come  down  from  his  height,  and 
court  nature  and  innocence  in  their 
own  tones.  This  he  rightly  judged 
m»i st  be  the  proper  course  to  take 
with  Mrs.  Vane.  He  fell  down  with 
mock  ardor  upon  one  knee. 

The  supposed  Mrs.  Vane  gave  a 
little  squeak. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Vane,"  cried  he,  "  be 
not  alarmed;  loveliness  neglected,  and 
simplicity  deceived,  insure  respect  as 
well  as  adoration.     Ah  !"  (A  sigh.) 

"  O,  get  up,  sir ;  do,  please.  Ah !  " 
(A  sigh.) 

"  You  sigh,  sweetest  of  human 
creatures.  Ah  !  why  did  not  a  na- 
ture like  yours  fall  into  hands  that 
would  have  cherished  it  as  it  de- 
serve-;? Had  Heaven  bestowed  on 
me  this  hand,  which  I  take  —  " 

"  < ),  please,  sir  —  " 

"  With  the  piofoundest  respect, 
woidd  I  have  abandoned  such  a  treas- 
ure for  an  actress?  —  a  Wotling'ton  ! 
us  artificial  and  hollow  a  jade  as  ever 
winked  at  a  side  box  !  " 

"  Is  she,  sir  ?  " 

"  Notorious,  madam.      Your  hus- 


band is  the  only  man  in  London  who 
does  not  see  through  her.  How  dif- 
ferent are  you  !  Even  I,  who  have 
no  taste  for  actresses,  found  myself 
revived,  refreshed,  ameliorated,  by 
that  engaging  picture  of  innocence 
and  virtue  you  drew  this  morning ; 
yourself  the  bright  and  central  figure. 
Ah,  dear  angel !  I  remember  all 
your  favorites,  and  envy  them  their 
place  in  your  recollections.  Your 
Barbary  mare  —  " 

"  Hen,  sir  !  " 

"  Of  course  I  meant  hen ;  and  Gray 
Gillian,  his  old  nurse  —  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  she  is  the  mare,  sir. 
He!  he!  he!" 

"So  she  is.  AndDaniC' — Dame — " 

"Best!" 

"  Ah  !  I  knew  it.  You  see  how  I 
remember  them  all.  And  all  carry 
me  back  to  those  innocent  days  which 
fleet  too  soon,  —  days  when  an  angel 
like  you  might  have  weaned  me  from 
the  wicked  pleasures  of  the  town,  to 
the  placid  delights  of  a  rural  exist- 
ence !  " 

"  Alas,  sir  !  " 

"  You  sigh.  It  is  not  yet  too  late. 
I  am  a  convert  to  you  ;  1  swear  it  on 
this  white  hand.  Ah  !  how  can  I 
relinquish  it,  pretty  fluttering  prison- 
er ?  " 

"  0  sir,  please  —  " 

"  Stay  awhile." 

"  No  !  please,  sir  —  " 

"  While  I  fetter  thee  with  a  worthy 
manacle."  Sir  Charles  slipped  a 
diamond  ring  of  great  value  upon 
his  pretty  prisoner. 

"  La,  sir,  how  pretty  !  "  cried  in- 
nocence. 

Sir  Charles  then  undertook  to  provo 
that  the  lustre  of  the  ring  was  taint, 
compared  with  that  of  the  present 
wearer's  eyes.  This  did  not  suit  in- 
nocence ;  she  hung  her  head  and 
fluttered,  and  showed  a  bashful  re- 
pugnance to  look  her  admirer  in  the 
face.  Sir  Charles  playfully  insist- 
ed, and  Mrs.  Wottington  was  begin- 
ning to  be  a  little  at  a  loss,  when  sud- 
denly voices  were  heard  upon  tha 
stairs. 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


87 


'*  My  husband! "  cried  the  false 
Mrs.  Vane,  and  in  a  moment  she 
rose,  and  darted  into  Triplet's  inner 
apartment. 

Mr.  Vane  and  Mr.  Triplet  were 
talking  earnestly  as  they  came  up  the 
stair.  It  seems  the  wise  Triplet  had 
prepared  a  little  dramatic  scene  for 
his  own  refreshment,  as  well  as  for  the 
ultimate  benefit  of  all  parties.  He 
had  persuaded  Mr.  Vane  to  accom- 
pany him  by  warm,  mysterious  prom- 
ises of  a  happy  denouement ;  and 
now,  having  conducted  that  gentle- 
man as  far  as  his  door,  he  was  heard 
to  say  :  — 

"  And  now,  sir,  you  shall  see  one 
who  waits  to  forget  grief,  suspicion, 
—  all,  in  your  arms.  Behold!"  and 
here  he  flung  the  door  open. 

"  The  devil ! " 

"  You  flatter  me !  "  said  Pomander, 
who  had  had  time  to  recover  his 
aplomb,  somewhat  shaken,  at  first,  by 
Mr.  Vane's  inopportune  arrival. 

Now  it  is  to  be  observed  that  Mr. 
Vane  had  not  long  ago  seen  his  wife 
lying  on  her  bed,  to  all  appearance 
incapable  of  motion. 

Mr.  Vane,  before  Triplet  could  re- 
cover bis  surprise,  inquired  of  Po- 
mander why  he  had  sent  for  liim. 
"  And  what/'  added  he,  "  is  the  grief, 
suspicion,  I  am,  according  to  Mr. 
Triplet,  to  forget  in  your  arms?" 

Mr.  Vane  added  this  last  sentence 
in  rather  a  tcstv  manner. 

"Why,  the 'fact  is  — "  began  Sir 
Charles,  without  the  remotest  idea  of 
what  the  fact  was  going  to  be. 

"That  Sir  Charles  Pomander  —  " 
interrupted  Triplet. 

"  But  Mr.  Triplet  is  going  to  ex- 
plain," said  Sir  Charles,  keenly. 

"Nay,  sir;  be  yours  the  pleasing 
duty.  But,  now  1  think  of  it,"  re- 
sumed Triplet,  "  why  not  tell  the 
simple  truth  '  it  is  not  a  play!  She 
I  brought  you  here  to  see  was  not  Sir 
Charles  Pomander;  but  —  " 

"  I    forbid    you    to    complete  the 

name  !  "  cried  Pomander. 

"  I  command  von  to  complete  the 
name  !  "  cried  Vane 


"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen  !  how  can 
I  do  both  ?  "  remonstrated  Triplet. 

"  Enough,  sir  !  "  cried  Pomander. 
"  It  is  a  lady's  secret.  I  am  the 
guardian  of  that  lady's  honor." 

"  She  has  chosen  a  strange  guar- 
dian of  her  honor !  "  said  Vane,  bit- 
terly. 

"  Gentlemen  !  "  cried  poor  Trip- 
let, who  did  not  at  all  like  the  turn 
things  were  taking,  "  I  give  you  my 
word,  she  does  not  even  know  of  Sir 
Charles's  presence  here  !  " 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  Vane,  furiously. 
"  Man  alive  !  who  are  you  speaking 
of  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Vane  ! " 

"  My  wife  !  "  cried  Vane,  trembling 
with  anger  and  jealousy.  "  She  here ! 
and  with  this  man  1  " 

"  No  !  "  cried  Triplet.  "  With 
me,  with  me  !  Not  with  him,  of 
course." 

"  Boaster  !  "  cried  Vane,  contempt- 
uously. "  But  that  is  a  part  of  your 
profession  ! " 

Pomander,  irritated,  scornfully 
drew  from  his  pocket  the  ladies'  joint 
production,  which  had  fallen  at  his 
feet  from  Mrs.  Woffington's  hand. 
lie  presented  this  to  Mr  Vane,  who 
took  it  very  uneasily ;  a  mist  swam 
before  his  eyes  as  he  read  the  words  : 
"Alone  and  unprotected,  —  Mabel 
Vane."  lie  had  no  sooner  read 
these  words,  than  he  found  he  loved 
his  wife  ;  when  lie  tampered  with  his 
treasure,  he  did  not  calculate  on 
another  seeking  it. 

This  was  Pomander's  hour  of 
triumph  !  He  proceeded  coolly  to  ex- 
plain to  Mr.  Vane,  that,  Mrs.  Wof- 
fington  having  deserted  him  for  Mr. 
Vane,  and  Mr.  Vane  his  wife  for 
Mrs.  Wbffingron,  the  bereaved  par- 
tics  had,  according  to  custom,  agreed 
to  console  each  other. 

This  soothing  little  speech  was  in- 
terrupted by  Mr.  Vane's  sword  flash- 
ing  suddenly  out  of  its  sheath  ;  while. 

that  gentleman,  white  with  rage  and 
jealousy,  hade  him  instantly  take  to 
his  guard, or  he  run  through  the  In  >ly 
like  M>me  noxious  animal. 


88 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


Sir  Charles  drew  his  sword,  and, 
in  spite  of  Triplet's  weak  interfer- 
ence, half  a  dozen. passes  were  rapidly 
exchanged,  when  suddenly  the  door 
of  the  inner  room  opened,  and  a  la- 
dy in  a  hood  pronounced,  in  a  voice 
which  was  an  excellent  imitation  of 
Mrs.  Vane's,  the  word,  "  False  !  " 

The  combatants  lowered  their 
points. 

"  You  hear,  sir !  "  cried  Triplet. 

"  You  see,  sir !  "  said  Pomander. 

"  Mabel !  —  wife  !  "  cried  Mr.  Vane, 
in  agony.  "  O,  say  this  is  not  true  ! 
O,  say  that  letter  is  a  forgery  !  Say, 
at  least,  it  was  by  some  treachery 
you  were  lured  to  this  den  of  iniquity  ! 
O,  speak ! " 

The  lady  silently  beckoned  to  some 
person  inside. 

"  You  know  I  loved  you  !  —  you 
know  how  bitterly  I  repent  the  infat- 
uation that  brought  me  to  the  feet  of 
another !  " 

The  lady  replied  not,  though  Vane's 
soul  appeared  to  hang  upon  her  an- 
swer. But  she  threw  the  door  open 
and  there  appeared  another  lady,  the 
real  Mrs.  Vane !  Mrs.  Woffington 
then  threw  oiF  her  hood,  and,  to  Sir 
Charles  Pomander's  consternation,  re- 
vealed the  features  of  that  ingenious 
person,  who  seemed  born  to  outwit 
him. 

"  You  heard  that  fervent  declara- 
tion, madam  ? "  said  she  to  Mrs. 
Vane.  "  I  present  to  you,  madam, 
a  gentleman  who  regrets  that  he  mis- 
took the  real  direction  of  his  feelings. 
And  to  you,  sir,"  continued  she,  with 
great  dignity,  "  I  present  a  lady  who 
will  never  mistake  cither  her  feelings 
or  her  duty." 

"  Ernest !  dear  Ernest !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Vane,  blushing  as  if  she  was  the  cul- 
prit. And  she  came  forward  all  love 
and  tenderness. 

Her  truant  husband  kneeled  at  her 
feet  of  course.  No  !  he  said,  rather 
sternly,  "  How  came  you  here,  Ma- 
bel ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  the  actress, 
"  fancied  you  had  mislaid  that  weath- 
ercock, your  heart,  in  Co  vent  Garden, 


and  that  an  actress  had  seen  in  it  a 
fit  companion  for  her  own,  and  had  fe- 
loniously appropriated  it.  She  came 
to  me  to  inquire  after  it." 

"  But  this  letter,  signed  by  you  ?  " 
said  Vane,  still  addressing  Mabel. 

"  Was  written  by  me  on  a  paper 
which  accidentally  contained  Mrs. 
Vane's  name.    The  fact  is,  Mr.  Vane, 

—  I  can  hardly  look  you  in  the  face, 

—  I  had  a  little  wager  with  Sir 
Charles  here ;  his  diamond  ring  — 
which  you  may  see  has  become  my 
diamond  ring  "  —  a  horrible  wry  face 
from  Sir  Charles  —  "against  my  left 
glove,  that  I  could  bewitch  a  country 
gentleman's  imagination,  and  make 
him  think  me  an  angel.  Unfortunate- 
ly the  owner  of  his  heart  appeared, 
and,  like  poor  Mr.  Vane,  took  our 
play  for  earnest.  It  became  necessa- 
ry to  disabuse  her  and  to  open  your 
eyes.     Have  I  done  so  ?  " 

"  You  have,  madam,"  said  Vane, 
wincing  at  each  word  she  said.  But 
at  last^  by  a  mighty  effort,  he  mas- 
tered himself,  and,  coming  to  Mrs. 
Woffington  with  a  quivering  lip,  he 
held  out  his  hand  suddenly  in  a  very 
manly  way.  "  I  have  been  the  dupe 
of  my  own  vanity,"  said  he,  "  and  I 
thank  you  for  this  lesson."  Poor 
Mrs.  Woffington's  fortitude  had  well- 
nigh  left  her  at  this. 

"  Mabel,"  he  cried,  "  is  this  humili- 
ation any  punishment  for  my  folly? 
any  guaranty  for  my  repentance  ? 
Can  you  forgive  me  1  " 

"  It  is  all  forgiven,  Ernest.  But 
O,  you  are  mistaken."  She  glided  to 
Mrs.  Woffington.  "  What  do  we  not 
owe  you,  sister '?  "  whispered  she. 

"  Nothing  !  that  word  pays  all," 
was  the  reply.  She  then  slipped  her 
address  into  Mrs.  Vane's  hand,  and, 
courtesying  to  all  the  company,  she 
hastily  left  the  room. 

Sir  Charles  Pomander  followed ; 
but  ho  was  not  quick  enough  :  she 
got  a  start,  and  purposely  avoided 
him,  and  for  three  days  neither  the 
public  nor  private  friends  saw  this 
poor  woman's  face. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vane  prepared  to  go 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


89 


also  ;  but  Mrs.  Vane  would  thank 
good  Mr.  Triplet  and  Mrs.  Triplet 
for  their  kindness  to  her. 

Triplet  the  benevolent  blushed,  was 
confused  and  delighted  ;  but  sudden- 
ly, turning  somewhat  sorrowful,  he 
said  :  "  Mr.  Vane,  madam,  made  use 
of  an  expression  which  caused  a  mo- 
mentary pang.  He  called  this  a  den 
of  iniquity.  Now  this  is  my  studio  ! 
But  never  mind." 

Mr.  Vane  asked  his  pardon  for  so 
absurd  an  error,  and  the  pair  left 
Triplet  in  all  the  enjoyment  which 
does  come  now  and  then  to  an  honest 
man,  whether  this  dirty  little  world 
will  or  not. 

A  coach  was  called  and  they  went 
home  to  Bloom sbury.  Few  words 
were  said  ;  hut  the  repentant  husband 
often  silently  pressed  this  angel  to 
his  bosom,  and  the  tears  which  found 
their  way  to  her  beautiful  eyelashes 
were  tears  of  joy. 

This  weakish,  and  consequently 
viJlanous,  though  not  ill  disposed  per- 
son would  have  gone  down  to  Wil- 
loughby  that  night ;  but  his  wife  had 
great  good  sense.  She  would  not 
take  her  husband  off,  like  a  school- 
hoy  caught  out  of  bounds.  She 
begged  him  to  stay  while  she  made 
certain  purchases  ;  but,  for  all  that, 
her  heart  burned  to  be  at  home.  So 
in  less  than  a  week  after  the  events  we 
have  related  they  left  London. 

Meantime,  every  day  Mrs.  Vane 
paid  a  quiet  visit  to  Mrs.  Wotfington 
(for  some  days  the  actress  admitted 
no  other  visitor),  and  was  with  her 
hut  two  hours  before  Bhc  left  London. 
On  that  occasion  Bhe  found  her  very 
.sad. 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again  in  this 
world,"  said  she  ;  "  hut  I  beg  of  you  to 
write  to  me,  that  my  mind  may  he  in 
contact  with  yours." 

She  then  asked  Mabel,  in  her  half- 
sorrowful,  half-bitter  way,  how  many 
months  it  would  be  ere  she  was  for- 
gotten. 

Mabel  answered  by  quietly  crying. 
So  then  they  embraced!  and  Mabel 
assured  her  friend  she  was  not  one  of 


those  who  change  their  minds.  ''It 
is  for  life,  dear  sister ;  it  is  for  life," 
cried  she. 

"  Swear  this  to  me,"  said  the  other, 
almost  sternly.  "  But  no.  I  havo 
more  confidence  in  that  candid  face 
and  pure  nature  than  in  a  human  be- 
ing's oath.  If  you  arc  happy,  remem- 
ber you  owe  me  something.  If  you 
are  unhappy,  come  to  me,  and  I  will 
love  you  as  men  cannot  love." 

Then  vows  passed  between  them, 
for  a  singular  tie  bound  these  two 
women ;  and  then  the  actress  showed 
a  part  at  least  of  her  sore  heart  to  her 
new  sister;  and  that  sister  was  sur- 
prised and  grieved,  and  pitied  her  tru^ 
ly  and  deeply,  and  they  wept  on  each 
other's  neck ;  and  at  last  they  were 
fain  to  part.  They  parted  ;  and  true 
it  was,  they  never  met  again  in  this 
world.  They  parted  in  sorrow  ;  hut 
when  they  meet  again,  it  shall  be  with 

joy- 
Women  are  generally  such  faithless, 
unscrupulous,  and  pitiless  humbugs 
in  their  dealings  with  their  own  sex, 
—  which,  whatever  they  may  say, 
they  despise  at  heart,  —  that  I  am 
happy  to  he  able  to  say,  Mrs.  Vane 
proved  true  as  steel.  She  was  a 
noble-minded,  simple-minded  crea- 
ture; she  was  also  a  constant  crea- 
ture. Constancy  is  a  rare,  a  beautiful, 
a  godlike  virtue. 

Four  times  every  year  she  wrote  a 
long  letter  to  Mrs.  Woffington  ;  and 
twice  a  year,  in  the  cold  weather,  she 
sent  her  a  hamper  of  country  delica- 
cies, that  would  have  victualled  a 
small  garrison.  And  when  her  sister 
left  this  earthly  scene,  —  a  humble, 
pious,  long  -  repentant  Christian, — 
Mrs.  Vane  wore  mourning  for  her,  and 
Borrowed  over  her;  hut  not  as  those, 
who  cannot  hope  to  meet  again. 


M\  Btory  as  a  work  of  nrt  —  good, 
had,  or  indifferent  —  ends  with  that 
last  sentence.  If  a  reader  accompa- 
nies me  further,  1  shall  feel  Battered, 

and  he  dOM  BO  at  his  o\\  n  risk. 

My  reader  knows  that  all  this  befell 


90 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


long  ago.  That  Woffington  is  gay, 
and  Triplet  sad,  no  more.  That  Ma- 
bel's, and  all  the  bright  eyes  of  that 
day,  have  long  been  dim,  and  all  its 
cunning  voices  hushed.  Judge  then 
whether  I  am  one  of  those  happy 
story-tellers  who  can  end  with  a  wed- 
ding. No  !  this  story  must  wind  up, 
as  yours  and  mine  must  —  to-morrow 

—  or  to  -  morrow  —  or  to  -  morrow  ! 
when  our  little  sand  is  run. 

Sir  Charles  Fomander  lived  a  man 
of  pleasure  until  sixty.  He  then  be- 
came a  man  of  pain  ;  lie  dragged  the 
chain  about  eight  years,  and  died 
miserably. 

Mr.  Cibber  not  so  much  died  as 
"slipped  his  wind,"  —  a  nautical  ex- 
pression, that  conveys  the  idea  of  an 
easy  exit.  He  went  off  quiet  and 
genteel.  He  was  past  eighty,  and 
had  lived  fast.  His  servant  called 
him  at  seven  in  the  morning.  "  I 
will  shave  at  eight,"  said  Mr.  Cibber. 
John  brought  the  hot  water  at  eight ; 
but  his  master  had  taken  advantage 
of  this  interval  in  his  toilet  to  die  ! 

—  to  avoid  shaving  1 

Snarl  and  Soaper  conducted  the 
criticism  of  their  day  with  credit  and 
respectability  until  a  good  old  age, 
anil  died  placidly  a  natural  death,  like 
twaddle,  sweet  or  sour. 

The  Triplets,  while  their  patroness 
lived,  did  pretty  well.  She  got  a 
tragedy  of  his  accepted  at  her  theatre. 
She  made  him  send  her  a  copy,  and 
with  her  scissors  cut  out  about  half; 
sometimes  thinning,  sometimes  cut- 
ting bodily  away.  But,  lo !  the  in- 
herent vanity  of  Mr.  Triplet  came  out 
strong.  Submissively,  but  obstinately, 
he  fought  for  the  discarded  beauties. 
Unluckily,  he  did  this  one  day  that 
his  patroness  was  in  one  of  her  bitter 
humors.  So  she  instantly  gave  him 
back  his  manuscript,  with  a  sweet 
smile  owned  herself  inferior  in  judg- 
ment to  him,  and  left  him  unmolested. 

Triplet  breathed  freely  ;  a  weight 
was  taken  off  him.  The  savage  steel 
(he  applied  this  title  to  the  actress's 
scissors)  had  spared  his purpura. panni. 
He  was  played,  pure   and   intact,  a 


calamity  the  rest  of  ue  grumbling  es- 
cape. 

But  it  did  so  happen  that  the  audi- 
ence were  of  the  actress's  mind,  and 
found  the  words  too  exuberant,  and 
the  business  of  the  play  too  scanty  in 
proportion.  At  last  their  patience 
was  so  sorely  tried  that  they  supplied 
one  striking  incident  to  a  piece  defi- 
cient in  facts.  They  gave  the  manager 
the  usual  broad  hint,  and  in  the  mid- 
dle of  Triplet's  third  act  a  huge  veil 
of  green  baize  descended  upon  "  The 
Jealous  Spaniard." 

Failing  here,  Mrs.  "Woffington  con- 
trived often  to  befriend  him  in  his 
other  arts,  and  moreover  she  often 
sent  Mr.  Triplet  what  she  called  a 
snug  investment,  a  loan  of  ten  pounds, 
to  be  repaid  at  Doomsday,  with  in- 
terest and  compound  interest,  accord- 
ing to  the  Scriptures ;  and,  although 
she  laughed,  she  secretly  believed  she 
was  to  get  her  ten  pounds  back, 
double  and  treble.  And  I  believe  so 
too. 

Some  years  later  Mrs.  Triplet  be- 
came eventful.  She  fell  ill,  and  lay  a 
dying ;  but  one  fine  morning,  after  all 
hope  had  been  given  up,  she  suddenly 
rose  and  dressed  herself.  She  was 
quite  well  in  body  now,  but  insane. 

She  continued  in  this  state  a  month, 
and  then  by  God's  mercy  she  recovered 
her  reason ;  but  now  the  disease  fell 
another  step,  and  lighted  upon  her 
temper,  —  a  more  athletic  vixen  was 
not  to  be  found.  She  had  spoiled 
Triplet  for  this  by  being  too  tame, 
so  when  the  dispensation  came  they 
sparred  daily.  They  were  now  thor- 
oughly unhappy.  They  were  poor 
as  ever,  and  their  benefactress  was 
dead,  and  they  had  learned  to  snap. 
A  speculative  tour  had  taken  this 
pair  to  Bristol,  then  the  second  city 
in  England.  They  sojourned  in  the 
suburbs. 

One  morning  the  postman  brought 
a  letter  for  Triplet,  who  was  showing 
his  landlord's  boy  how  to  plant  on- 
ions. (N.  B.  Triplet  had  never  plant- 
ed an  onion,  but  he  was  one  of  your 
a  priori  gentlemen,  and  could  show 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


01 


anybody  how  to  do  anything. )  Trip- 
let held  out  his  hand  for  the  letter, 
but  the  postman  held  out  his  hand 
for  half  a  crown  first.  Trip's  profes- 
sion had  transpired,  and  his  clothes 
inspired  diffidence.  Triplet  appealed 
to  his  good  feeling. 

He  replied  with  exultation,  "  That 
he  had  none  left."  (A  middle-aged 
postman,  no  doubt.) 

Triplet  then  suddenly  started  from 
entreaty  to  King  Cambyses'  vein. 
In  vain ! 

Mrs.  Triplet  came  down,  and  es- 
sayed the  blandishments  of  the  softer 
sex.  In  vain  !  And,  as  there  were 
no  assets,  the  postman  marched  off 
down  the  road. 

Mrs.  Triplet  glided  after  him  like 
an  assassin,  beckoning  on  Triplet, 
who  followed,  doubtful  of  her  designs. 
Suddenly  (truth  compels  me  to  relate 
this)  she  seized  the  obdurate  official 
from  behind,  pinned  both  his  arms  to 
his  side,  and  with  her  nose  furiously 
telegraphed  her  husband. 

He,    animated   by     her    example, 

I dunged  upon  the  man  and  tore  the 
etter  from  his  hand,  and  opened  it 
before  his  eyes. 

It  happened  to  be  a  very  windy 
morning,  and  when  he  opened  the 
letter  an  enclosure,  printed  on  much 
finer  paper,  was  caught  into  the  air. 
and  went  down  the  wind.  Triplet 
followed  in  kangaroo  leaps,  like  a 
dancer  making  a  flying  exit. 

The  postman  cried  on  all  good  cit- 
izens for  help.  Home  collected  and 
laughed  at  him  ;  Mrs.  Triplet  ex- 
plaining that  they  were  poor,  and 
could  not  pay  half  a  crown  tor  the 
freight  of  half  an  ounce  of  paper. 
She  Field  him  convulsively  until  Trip- 
let reappeared. 

That  gentleman  on  his  return  was 
ostentatiously  calm  and  dignified. 
"  You  are,  or  were,  in  perturbation 
about  half  a  crown,  '  said  he. 
"  There,  sir,  is  a  twenty-pound  note, 
oblige  me  with  nineteen  pounds  seven- 
teen shillings  and  sixpence.  Should 
your  resources  be  unequal  to  such  a 
demand,    meet    me    at    the   '  Green 


Cat  and  Brown  Frogs,'  after  dinner, 
when  you  shall  receive  your  halt- 
crown,  and  drink  another  upon  the 
occasion  of  my  sudden  accession  to 
unbounded  affluence." 

The  postman  was  staggered  by  the 
sentence,  and  overawed  by  the  note, 
and  chose  the  "  Cat  and  Frogs,"  and 
liquid  half-crown. 

Triplet  took  his  wife  down  the  road 
and  showed  her  the  letter  and  enclo- 
sure.    The  letter  ran  thus :  — 

"Sir:  — 

"  We  beg  respectfully  to  inform 
you  that  our  late  friend  and  client, 
James  Triplet,  Merchant,  of  the  Mi- 
nories,  died  last  August,  without  a 
will,  and  that  you  are  his  heir. 

"  His  property  amounts  to  about 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  besides 
some  reversions.  Having  possessed 
the  confidence  of  your  late  uncle,  we 
should  feel  honored  and  gratified  if 
you  should  think  us  worthy  to  act 
professionally  for  yourself. 

"  We  enclose  twenty  pounds,  and 
beg  you  will  draw  upon  us  as  far  as 
five  thousand    pounds,    should    you 
have  immediate  occasion. 
"  We  are,  sir, 
"  Your  humble  servants, 
"James  and  John  Allmitt." 

It  was  some  time  before  these 
children  of  misfortune  could  realize 
this  enormous  stroke  of  compensa- 
tion ;  but  at  last  it  worked  its  way 
into  their  spirits,  and  they  began  to 
sing,  to  triumph,  and  dance  upon  the 
king's  highway. 

Mrs.  Triplet  was  the  first  to  pause, 
and  take  better  views.  "<)  James!" 
she  cried,  "  we  have  suffered  much  ! 
we  have  been  poor,  but  honest,  and 
the  Almightv  has  looked  upon  us  at 
last  !  " 

Then  they  began  to  reproach  them- 
selves. 

"  ( >  James  !  T  have  been  a  pce\  ish 
woman,  —  an  ill  wife  to  you,  this 
many  years  ! " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Triplet,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes.  "  It  is  I  who  have  been 
rough  and  brutal.      Poverty  tried    03 


92 


PEG   WOFFINGTON. 


too  hard;  but  we  were  not  like  the  rest 
of  them,  — we  were  always  faithful  to 
the  altar.  And  the  Almighty  has 
seen  us,  though  we  often  doubted  it." 

"  I  never  doubted  that,  James." 

So  then  the  poor  things  fell  on 
their  knees  upon  the  public  road,  and 
thanked  God.  If  any  man  had  seen 
them,  he  would  have  said  they  were 
mail.  Yet  madder  things  are  done 
every  day  by  gentlemen  with  faces  as 
grave  as  the  parish  bull's.  And  then 
they  rose,  and  formed  their  little  plans. 

Triplet  was  for  devoting  four  fifths 
to  charity,  and  living  like  a  prince  on 
the  remainder.  But  Mrs.  Triplet 
thought  the  poor  were  entitled  to  no 
more  than  two  thirds,  and  they  them- 
selves ought  to  bask  in  a  third,  to 
make  up  for  what  they  had  gone 
through ;  and  then  suddenly  she 
sighed,  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Lucy  ! 
Lucy  !  "  sobbed  she. 

Yes,  reader,  God  had  taken  little 
Lucy !  And  her  mother  cried  to 
think  all  this  wealth  and  comfort  had 
come  too  late  for  her  darling  child. 

"  Do  not  cry.  Lucy  is  richer,  a 
thousand  times,  than  you  are,  with 
your  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

Their  good  resolutions  were  car- 
ried out,  for  a  wonder.  Triplet 
lived  for  years,  the  benefactor  of  all 
the  loose  fish  that  swim  in  and  round 
theatres ;  and,  indeed,  the  unfortu- 
nate seldom  appealed  to  him  in  vain. 
He  now  predominated  over  the  arts, 
instead  of  climbing  them.  In  his 
latter  day,  he  became  an  oracle,  as 
far  as  the  science  of  acting  was  con- 
cerned ;  and,  what  is  far  more  rare, 
he  really  got  to  know  something  about 
it.  This  was  owing  to  two  circum- 
stances :  first,  he  ceased  to  run  blind- 
fold in  a  groove  behind  the  scenes ; 
second,  be  became  a  frequenter  of  the 
first  row  of  the  pit,  and  that  is  where 
the  whole  critic,  and  two  thirds  of 
the  true  actor,  is  made. 

On  one  point,  to  his  dying  day, 
his  feelings  guided  his  judgment. 
He  never  could  see  an  actress  equal 
to  his  Woffington.  Mrs.  Abington 
was    grace    personified,    but   so    was 


Woffington,  said  the  old  man.  And 
Abington's  voice  is  thin,  Wotfington's 
was  sweet  and  mellow.  When  Jor- 
dan rose,  with  her  voice  of  honey, 
her  dewy  freshness,  and  her  heavenly 
laugh,  that  melted  in  along  with  her 
words,  like  the  gold  in  the  quartz, 
Triplet  was  obliged  to  own  her  the 
goddess  of  beautiful  gayety  ;  but  still 
he  had  the  last  word  :  "  YVoffingtoB 
was  all  she  is,  except  her  figure. 
Woffington  was  a  Hebe ;  your  Nell 
Jordan  is  little  better  than  a  dowdy." 
Triplet  almost  reached  the  presen* 
century.  He  passed  through  great 
events,  but  they  did  not  excite  him  ; 
his  eye  was  upon  the  arts.  Wheu 
Napoleon  drew  his  conquering  swor(* 
on  England,  Triplet's  remark  was  : 
"  Now  we  shall  be  driven  upon  native 
talent,  thank  Heaven  !  "  The  storms 
of  Europe  shook  not  Triplet.  The 
fact  is,  nothing  that  happened  on  the 
great  stage  of  the  world  seemed  real 
to  him.  He  believed  in  nothing,  where 
there  was  no  curtain  visible.  But 
even  the  grotesque  are  not  good  in 
vain.  Many  an  eye  was  wet  round 
his  dying  bed,  and  many  a  tear  fell 
upon  his  grave.  He  made  his  final 
exit  in  the  year  of  grace  1 799.  And 
I,  who  laugh  at  him,  would  leave  this 
world  to-day  to  be  with  him ;  for  I 
am  tossing  at  sea,  —  he  is  in  port. 


A  straightforward  character  like 
Mabel's  becomes  a  firm  character  with 
years.  Long  ere  she  was  forty,  her 
hand  gently  but  steadily  ruled  Wil- 
loughby  House,  and  all  in  it.  She 
and  Mr.  Vane  lived  very  happily  ;  he 
gave  her  no  fresh  cause  for  uneasi- 
ness. Six  months  after  their  return, 
she  told  him  what  burned  in  that 
honest  heart  of  hers,  the  truth  about 
Mrs.  Woffington.  The  water  rushed  to 
his  eyes,  but  his  heart  was  now  whol- 
ly his  wife's ;  and  gratitude  to  Mrs. 
Woffington  for  her  noble  conduct 
was  the  only  sentiment  awakened. 

"  You  must  repay  her,  dearest," 
said  he.  "  I  know  you  love  her,  and 
until  to-day  it  gave  me  pain  ;  now  it 


PEG   WOFFINGTON 


C3 


giv?s  me  pleasure.  "We  owe  her 
much." 

The  happy,  innocent  life  of  Mabel 
Vane  is  soon  summed  up.  Frank  as 
the  day,  constant  as  the  sun,  pure  as 
tlie  dew,  she  passed  the  golden  years 
preparing  herself  and  others  for  a 
still  brighter  eternity.  At  home,  it 
was  she  who  warmed  and  cheered  the 
house,  and  the  hearth,  more  than  all 
the  Christmas  fires.  Abroad,  she 
shone  upon  the  poor  like  the  sun. 
She  led  her  beloved  husband  by  the 
hand  to  Heaven.  .She  led  her  chil- 
dren the  same  road ;  and  she  was 
leading  her  Krandchildren  when  the 
angel  of  death  came  for  her  ;  and  she 
slept  in  peace. 

Many  remember  her.  For  she 
alone,  of  all  our  tale,  lived  in  this 
present  century ;  but  they  speak  of 
her  as  "  old  Madam  Vane,"  —  her 
whom  we  knew  so  young  and  fresh. 

She  lies  in  Willoughby  Church,  — 
her  mortal  part ;  her  spirit  is  with 
the  spirits  of  our  mothers  and  sisters, 
reader,  that  are  pone  before  us;  with 
the  tender  mothers,  the  chaste  wives, 
the  loyal  friends,  and  the  just  women 
of  all  ages. 

RESUKGET. 

I  come  to  her  last,  who  went  first ; 
but  I  could  not  have  stayed  by  the 
others,  when  once  I  had  laid  my 
darling  asleep.  It  seemed  for  a  while 
as  if  the  events  of  our  tale  did  her 
harm  ;  but  it  was  not  so  in  the  end. 

Not  many  years  afterwards,  she 
was  enjjaiicd  by  Mr.  Sheridan,  at  a 
Tery  heavy  salary,  and  went  to  Dub- 
lin. Here  the  little,  girl,  who  had 
often  carried  a  pitcher  on  her  head 
down  to    the    Litl'ey,  and    had    played 

Polly  Peachum  in  a  booth,  became  a 

lion  ;  dramatic,  political,  and  literary, 
and  the  centre  of  the  wit  of  that  wit- 
of  cities. 

But  the-  Dublin  ladies  and  she  did 
not  coalesce.  They  said  she  was  a 
naughty  woman,  and  not  lit  for  them 
morally.  She  said  they  had  but  two 
topics.  "  silks  and  scandal,"  anil  were 
untit  for  her  intellectually. 


This  was  the  saddest  part  of  her 
history.  But  it  is  darkest  just  before 
sunrise.  She  returned  to  London. 
Not  long  after,  it  so  happened  that 
she  went  to  a  small  church  in  the 
city  one  Sunday  afternoon.  The 
preacher  was  such  as  we  have  often 
heard  ;  but  not  so  this  poor  woman, 
in  her  day  of  sapless  theology,  ere 
John  Wesley  waked  the  snoring 
church.  Instead  of  sending  a  dry 
clatter  of  morality  about  their  ears, 
or  evaporating  the  Bible  in  the  thin 
generalities  of  the  pulpit,  this  man 
drove  God's  truths  home  to  the  hearts 
of  men  and  women.  In  his  hands 
the  divine  virtues  were  thunderbolts, 
not  swans'  down.  With  pood  sense, 
plain  speaking,  and  a  heart  yearning 
for  the  souls  of  his  brethren  and  his 
sisters,  he  stormed  the  bosoms  of 
many  ;  and  this  afternoon,  as  he  rea- 
soned like  Paul  of  righteousness, 
temperance,  and  judgment  to  come, 
sinners  trembled,  —  and  Margaret 
Woffington  was  of  those  who  trem- 
bled 

After  this  day,  she  came  ever  to 
the  narrow  stteet  where  shone  this 
house  of  God  ;  and  still  new  light 
burst  upon  her  heart  and  conscience. 
Here  she  learned  why  she  was  un- 
happy ;  here  she  learned  how  alone 
she  could  be  happy ;  here  she  learned 
to  know  herself ;  and,  the  moment  she 
knew  herself,  she  abhorred  herself,  and 
repented  in  dust  and  ashes. 

This  stronp  and  straightforward 
character  made  no  attempt  to  recon- 
cile two  things  that  an  average  Chris- 
tian would  have  continued  to  recon- 
cile. Her  interest  fell  in  a  moment 
before  her  new  sense  of  ripht.  She 
flung  her  profession  from  her  like  a 
poisonous  weed. 

Long  before  this,  Mrs.  Vane  had 
begged  her  to  leave  the  BtagO.  She 
had  replied,  that  it  was  to  her  what 
wine  is  to  weak  stomachs.  "  Hut," 
added  she,  "  do  not  fear  that  1  will 
ever  crawl  down  hill,  and  unravel  my 
own  reputation  ;  nor  will  1  ever  do 
as  I  have  seen  others.  —  stand  groan- 
ing at  the  wing,  to  go  on  giggling, 


94 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


nnd  come  off  gasping.  No  !  the  first 
night  the  boards  do  not  spring  be- 
neath my  feet,  and  the  pulse  of  the 
public  beat  under  my  hand,  I  am 
gone !  Next  day,  at  rehearsal,  instead 
of  Woffington,  a  note  will  come,  to 
tell  the  manager  that  henceforth  Wof- 
fington is  herself,  —  at  Twickenham, 
or  Richmond,  or  Harrow-on-tlie-Hill, 
far  from  his  dust,  his  din,  and  his 
glare,  —  quiet,  till  God  takes  her  : 
amidst  grass,  and  flowcus,  and  chari- 
table deeds." 

This  day  had  not  come :  it  was  in 
the  zenith  of  her  charms  and  her  fame 
that  she  went  home  one  night  after  a 
play,  and  never  entered  a  theatre,  by 
front  door  or  back  door,  again.  She 
declined  all  leave-taking  and  cere- 
mony. 

"  When  a  publican  shuts  up  shop 
and  ceases  •  to  diffuse  liquid  poison, 
he  does  not  invite  the  world  to  put 
up  the  shutters  ;  neither  will  I.  Act- 
ors overrate  themselves  ridiculously," 
added  she ;  "  I  am  not  of  that  impor- 
tance to  the  world,  nor  the  world  to 
me.  I  (ling  away  a  dirty  old  glove 
instead  of  soiling  my  finders  filling  it 
with  more  guineas,  and  the  world 
loses  in  me,  what  ?  another  old  glove, 
full  of  words ;  half  of  them  idle,  the 
rest  wicked,  untrue,  silly,  or  impure. 
Rourjissons,  taisons-nous,  et  partons." 

She  now  changed  her  residence, 
and  withdrew  politely  from  her  old 
associates,  courting  two  classes  only, 
the  good  and  the  poor.  She  had 
always  supported  her  mother  and  sis- 
ter ;  but  now  charity  became  her  sys- 
tem. The  following  is  characteris- 
tic :  — 

A  gentleman  who  had  greatly  ad- 
mired this  dashing  actress  met  one 
day,  in  the  suburbs,  a  lady  in  an  old 
black  silk  gown  and  a  gray  shawl, 
with  a  large  basket  on  her  arm.  She 
showed  him  its  contents, — worsted 
stockings  of  prodigious  thickness, — 
which  she  was  carrying  to  some  of 
her  yyrol€q€&. 

"  But  surely  that  is  a  waste  of  your 
valuable  time,"  remonstrated  her  ad- 
mirer.    "  Much  better  buy  them." 


"But,  my  good  soul,"  replied  the 
representative  of  Sir  Harry  YVildair, 
"  you  can't  buy  them.  Nobody  in 
this  wretched  town  can  knit  worsted 
hose  except  Woffington." 

Conversions  like  this  are  open  to 
just  suspicion,  and  some  did  not  fail 
to  confound  her  with  certain  great 
sinners,  who  have  turned  austere  self- 
deceivers  when  sin  smiled  no  more. 
But  this  was  mere  conjecture.  The 
facts  were  clear,  and  speaking  to  the 
contrary.  This  woman  left  folly  at 
its  brightest,  and  did  not  become  aus- 
tere :  on  the  contrary,  though  she 
laughed  less,  she  was  observed  to 
smile  far  oftener  than  before.  She 
was  a  humble  and  penitent,  but  cheer- 
ful, hopeful  Christian. 

Another  class  of  detractors  took  a 
somewhat  opposite  ground  :  they  ac- 
cused her  of  bigotry  for  advising  a 
young  female  friend  against  the  stage 
as  a  business.  But  let  us  hear  herself. 
This  is  what  she  said  to  the  girl :  — 

"  At  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  al- 
ways loved  and  honored  virtue.  Yet 
the  tendencies  of  the  stage  so  com- 
pletely overcame  my  good  sentiments, 
that  I  was  for  years  a  worthless  wo- 
man. It  is  a  situation  of  uncommon 
and  incessant  temptation.  Ask  your- 
self, my  child,  whether  there  is  noth- 
ing else  you  can  do,  but  this.  It  is,  I 
think,  our  duty  and  our  wisdom  to  fly 
temptation  whenever  we  can,  as  it  is 
to  resist  it  when  we  cannot  escape  it." 
Was  this  the  tone  of  bigotry  1 
Easy  in  fortune,  penitent,  but 
cheerful,  Mrs.  Woffington  had  now 
but  one  care,  —  to  efface  the  memory 
of  her  former  self,  and  to  give  as  many 
years  to  purity  and  piety  as  had  gone 
to  folly  and  frailty.  This  was  not  to 
be !  The  Almighty  did  not  permit, 
or  perhaps  I  should  say,  did  not  re- 
quire this. 

Some  unpleasant  symptoms  had 
long  attracted  her  notice,  but  in  the 
bustle  of  her  profession  had  received 
little  attention.  She  was  now  per- 
suaded by  her  own  medical  attendant 
to  consult  Dr.  Bowdler,  who  had  a 
great  reputation,  and  had  been  years 


PEG  WOFFINGTON. 


95 


ago  an  acquaintance  and  an  admirer. 
He  visited  her,  he  examined  her  by 
means  little  used  in  that  day,  and  he 
saw  at  once  that  her  days  were  num- 
bered. 

Dr.  Bowdler's  profession  and  ex- 
perience had  not  steeled  his  heart  as 
they  generally  do  and  must  do.  He 
could  not  tell  her  this  sad  news,  so  he 
asked  her  for  pen  and  paper,  and  said, 
I  will  write  a  prescription  to  Mr. 
.  He  then  wrote,  not  a  prescrip- 
tion,  but  a  few   lines,   begging  Mr. 

to  convey  the  cruel  intelligence 

by  degrees,  and  with  care  and  tender- 
ness. "  It  is  all  we  can  do  for  ber," 
said  he. 

He  looked  so  grave  while  writing 
the  supposed  prescription,  that  it  un- 
luckily occurred  to  Mrs.  Woffington 
to  look  over  him.  She  stole  archly 
behind  him,  and,  with  a  smile  on  her 
face,  —  read  her  death-warrant. 

It  was  a  cruel  stroke  !  A  gasping 
sigh  broke  from  her.  At  this  Dr. 
Bowdlcr  looked  up,  and  to  his  horror 
saw  the  sweet  face  he  had  doomed  to 
the  tomb  looking  earnestly  and  anx- 
iously at  him,  and  very  pale  and  grave. 
He  was  shocked,  and,  strange  to  say, 
she,  whose  death-warrant  he  had 
signed,  ran  and  brought  him  a  glass 
of  wine,  for  he  was  quite  overcome. 
Then  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  her 
own  sweet  way,  and  bade  him  not 
grieve  for  ber,  for  she  was  not  afraid 
to  die,  and  had  lone-learned  that  "life 
is  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor,  poorplay- 
cr,  who  frets  and  struts  bis  hour  upon 
the  Stage,  and  then  is  heard  no  more." 

But  no  sooner  was  the  doctor  gone, 
than  she  wept  latterly.  Poor  soul  ! 
she  had  set  her  heart  upon  living  as 
many  years  to  God  as  she  had  to  the 
world,  and  she  had  hoped  to  wipe  out 

her  former  Belf. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said  to  her  sister,  "  I 
have  done  more  harm  than  1  can  ever 
hope  to  do  good  now  ;  and  my  long 
life  of  folly  and  wickedness  will  be  re- 
membered,—  will  be  what  they  call 
famous;  my  -hurt  life  of  repentance 
who  will  know,  or  heed,  or  take  to 
profit  1  " 


But  she  soon  ceased  to  repine.  She 
bowed  to  the  will  of  Heaven,  and  set 
her  house  in  order,  and  awaited  her 
summons.  The  tranquillity  of  her 
life  and  her  courageous  spirit  were 
unfavorable  to  the  progress  of  dis- 
ease, and  I  am  glad  to  say  she  was 
permitted  to  live  nearly  three  years 
after  this,  and  these  three  years  were 
the  happiest  period  of  her  whole  life. 
Works  of  piety  and  love  made  the 
days  eventful.  She  was  at  home 
now,  —  she  had  never  been  at  home 
in  folly  and  loose  living.  All  ber  bit- 
terness was  gone  now,  with  its  cause. 

Reader,  it  was  with  her  as  it  is  with 
many  an  autumn  day  :  clouds  darken 
the  sun,  rain  and  wind  sweep  over 
all,  —  till  day  declines.  But  then 
comes  one  heavenly  hour,  when  all  ill 
things  seem  spent.  There  is  no  more 
wind,  no  more  rain.  The  great  sun 
comes  forth,  —  not  fiery  bright  indeed, 
but  full  of  tranquil  glory,  and  warms 
the  sky  with  raby  waves,  and  the 
hearts  of  men  with  hope,  as,  parting 
with  us  for  a  little  space,  he  glides 
slowly  and  peacefully  to  rest. 

So  fared  it  with  this  humble,  peni- 
tent, and  now  happy  Christian. 

A  part  of  her  desire  was  given  her. 
She  lived  lontr  enough  to  read  a  firm 
recantation  of  her  former  self,  to  show 
the  world  a  great  repentance,  and  to 
leave  upon  indelible  record  one  more 
proof,  what  alone  is  true  wisdom,  and 
where  alone  true  joys  are  to  be  found. 

She  endured  some  physical  pain,  as 
all  must  who  die  in  their  prime.  But 
this  never  wrung  a  Bigh  from  her  great 
heart ;  and  within  she  had  the  peace  of 
Cod,  which  passes  all  understanding. 

I  am  not  strong  enough  to  follow 
her  to  her  last  hour;  nor  is  it  needed. 
Enough  that  her  own  words  carob 
true.  When  the  great  summons  rami', 
it  found    her  full   of  hope,  and   peace, 

and  joy;  sojourning,   not   dwelling, 

upon  earth  ;  far  from  dust  and  din 
anil  vice  ;  the  Bible  in  her  hand,  the 
('n^s  in  her  heart;  quiet;  amidst 
j_'rass,  and  (lowers,  and  charitable 
deeds. 

"  NON    OMNEM    MOKITURAM." 


He  led  her  to  his  boat,  which  was  called  'The  Christie  Johnstone.'  "  —  See  page  118. 


CHRISTIE    JOHNSTONE. 


A    NOVEL. 


I    DEDICATE 

ALL  THAT   IS   GOOD   IN   THIS   WOJUE 
TO 

MX"   MOTHER 

C.  R 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


CHAPTER  L 

Viscount  Ipsden,  aged  twenty- 
five,  income  eighteen  thousand  pounds 
per  year,  constitution  equine,  was  un- 
happy !  This  might  surprise  some 
people  ;  but  there  are  certain  blessings, 
the  non-possession  of  which  makes 
more  people  discontented  than  their 
possession  renders  happy. 

Foremost  among  these  are  "  Wealth 
and  Rank  "  :  were  I  to  add  "  Beauty  " 
to  the  list,  such  men  and  women  as 
go  by  fact,  not  by  conjecture,  would 
hardly  contradict  me. 

The  fortunate  man  is  he  who,  born 
poor,  or  nobody,  works  gradually  up 
to  wealth  and  consideration,  and,  hav- 
ing got  them,  dies  before  he  finds  they 
were  not  worth  so  much  trouble. 

Lord  Ipsden  started  with  nothing 
to  win ;  and  naturally  lived  for  amuse- 
ment. Now  nothing  is  so  sure  to 
cease  to  please  as  pleasure,  —  to 
amuse,  as  amusement :  unfortunately 
for  himself  he  could  not  at  this  period 
of  his  life  warm  to  politics  ;  so,  hav- 
ing exhausted  his  London  clique,  he 
rolled  through  the  cities  of  Europe 
in  his  carriage,  and  cruised  its  shores 
in  his  yacht.  But  he  was  not  hap- 
py! 

He  was  a  man  of  taste,  and  sipped 
the  arts  and  other  knowledge,  as  he 
sauntered  Europe  round. 

But  he  was  not  happy. 

"  What  shall  I  do  1  "  said  Ven- 
nuyt. 

"  Distinguish  yourself,"  said  one. 

"  How !  " 

No  immediate  answer. 


"  Take  a  prima  donna  over,"  said 
another. 

Well,  the  man  took  a  prima  donna 
over,  which  scolded  its  maid  from  the 
Alps  to  Dover  in  the  lingua  Toscana 
without  the  bocca  Romana,  and  sang 
in  London  without  applause  ;  because 
what  goes  down  at  La  Scala  does 
not  generally  go  down  at  II  Teatro 
della  Regina,  Haymarket. 

So  then  my  Lord  strolled  into 
Russia ;  there  he  drove  a  pair  of 
horses,  one  of  whom  put  his  head 
down  and  did  the  work  ;  the  other 
pranced  and  capricoled  alongside,  all 
unconscious  of  the  trace.  He  seemed 
happier  than  his  working  brother ; 
but  the  biped  whose  career  corre- 
sponded with  this  playful  animal's 
was  not  happy  ! 

At  length  an  event  occurred  that 
promised  to  play  an  adagio  upon 
Lord  Ipsden 's  mind.  lie  fell  in  love 
with  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair ;  and  he 
had  no  sooner  done  this  than  he  felt, 
as  we  are  all  apt  to  do  on  similar 
occasions,  how  wise  a  thing  he  had 
done  ! 

Besides  a  lovely  person,  Lady  Bar- 
bara Sinclair  had  a  character  that  ho 
saw  would  make  him  ;  and,  in  fact, 
Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  was,  to  an  in- 
experienced eye,  the  exact  opposite 
of  Lord  Ipsden. 

Her  mental  pulse  was  as  plethoric 
as  his  was  languid. 

She  was  as  enthusiastic  as  he  was 
cool. 

She  took  a  warm  interest  in  every- 
thing. 

She  believed  that  government  is  a 


102 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


science,  and  one  that  goe8  with  copia 
verborum. 

She  believed  that,  in  England, 
government  is  administered,  not  by 
a  set  of  men  whose  salaries  range 
from  eighty  to  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year,  and  whose  names  are  never 
heard,  but  by  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Treasury,  and  other  great  men. 

Hence  she  inferred,  that  it  matters 
very  much  to  all  of  us  in  whose  hand 
is  the  rudder  of  that  state  vessel  which 
goes  down  the  wind  of  public  opin- 
ion, without  veering  a  point,  let  who 
will  be  at  the  helm. 

She  also  cared  very  much  who  was 
the  new  Bishop.  Religion  —  if  not 
religion,  theology  —  would  be  affected 
thereby. 

She  was  enthusiastic  about  poets ; 
imagined  their  verse  to  be  some  sort 
of  clew  to  their  characters,  and  so  on. 

She  had  other  theories,  which  will 
be  indicated  by  and  by  ;  at  present  it 
is  enough  to  say  that  her  mind  was 
young,  healthy,  somewhat  original, 
full  of  fire  and  faith,  and  empty  of 
experience. 

Lord  Ipsden  loved  her !  it  was  easy 
to  love  her. 

First,  there  was  not,  in  the  whole 
range  of  her  mind  and  body,  one  grain 
of  affectation  of  any  sort. 

She  was  always,  in  point  of  fact, 
under  the  influence  of  some  male 
mind  or  other,  generally  some  writer. 
What  young  woman  is  not,  more  or 
less,  a  mirror?  But  she  never  imi- 
tated or  affected ;  she  was  always 
herself,  by  whomsoever  colored. 

Then  she  was  beautiful  and  elo- 
quent; much  too  high-bred  to  put  a 
restraint  upon  her  natural  manner, 
she  was  often  more  naive,  and  even 
brusque,  than  your  would-be  aristo- 
crats dare  to  be  ;  but  what  a  charm- 
ing abruptness  hers  was ! 

I  do  not  excel  in  descriptions,  and 
yet  I  want  to  give  you  some  carnal 
idea  of  a  certain  peculiarity  and  charm 
this  lady  possessed  ;  permit  me  to  call 
a  sister  art  to  my  aid. 

There  has  lately  stepped  upon  the 
French  stage  a  charming  personage, 


whose  manner  is  quite  free  from  the 
affectation  that  soils  nearly  all  French 
actresses,  —  Mademoiselle  Madeleine 
Brohan !  When  you  see  this  young 
lady  play  Mademoiselle  La  Segliere, 
you  see  high-bred  sensibility  person- 
ified, and  you  see  something  like  La- 
dy Barbara  Sinclair. 

She  was  a  connection  of  Lord  Ips- 
den's,  but  they  had  not  met  for  two 
years,  when  they  encountered  each 
other  in  Paris  just  before  the  com- 
mencement of  this  "  Dramatic  Story," 
"  Novel "  by  courtesy. 

The  month  he  spent  in  Paris,  near 
her,  was  a  bright  month  to  Lord  Ips- 
den. A  by-stander  would  not  have 
gathered,  from  his  manner,  that  he 
was  warmly  in  love  with  this  lady, 
but,  for  all  that,  his  Lordship  was 
gradually  uncoiling  himself,and  grace- 
fully, quietly,  basking  in  the  rays  of 
Barbara  Sinclair. 

He  was  also  just  beginning  to  take 
an  interest  in  subjects  of  the  day,  — 
ministries,  flat  paintings,  controversial 
novels,  Cromwell's  spotless  integrity, 
&c,  —  Avhy  not  ?  They  interested 
her. 

Suddenly  the  lady  and  her  family 
returned  to  England.  Lord  Ipsden, 
who  was  going  to  Rome,  came  to 
England  instead. 

She  had  not  been  five  days  in  Lon- 
don, before  she  made  her  preparations 
to  spend  six  months  in  Perthshire. 

This  brought  matters  to  a  climax. 

Lord  Ipsden  proposed  in  form. 

Lady  Barbara  was  surprised ;  she 
had  not  viewed  his  graceful  attentions 
in  that  light  at  all.  However,  she 
answered  by  letter  his  proposal  which 
had  been  made  by  letter. 

After  a  few  of  those  courteous  words 
a  lady  always  bestows  on  a  gentleman 
who  has  offered  her  the  highest  com- 
pliment any  man  has  it  in  his  power 
to  offer  any  woman,  she  came  to  the 
point  in  the  following  characteristic 
manner :  — 

"  The  man  I  marry  must  have  two 
things,  virtues  and  vices,  —  you  have 
neither  :  you  do  nothing,  and  never 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


103 


will  do  anything  but  sketch  and  hum 
tunes,  and  dance  and  dangle  :  forget 
*.his  folly  the  day  after  to-morrow,  my 
dear  Ipsden,  and,  if  I  may  ask  a  favor 
of  one  to  whom  I  refuse  that  which 
would  not  be  a  kindness,  he  still  good 
friends  with  her  who  will  always  be 
"  Your  affectionate  Cousin, 
"  Barbara.  Sinclair." 

Soon  after  this  effusion  she  vanished 
into  Perthshire,  leaving  her  cousin 
stunned  by  a  blow  which  she  thought 
would  be  only  a  scratch  to  one  of  his 
character. 

Lord  Ipsden  relapsed  into  greater 
listleasness  than  before  he  had  cher- 
ished these  crushed  hopes.  The 
world  now  became  really  dark  and 
blank  to  him.  He  was  too  languid  to 
go  anywhere  or  do  anything;  a  re- 
publican might  have  compared  the 
settled  expression  of  his  handsome, 
hopeless  face  with  that  of  most  day- 
laborers  of  the  same  age,  and  mod- 
erated his  envy  of  the  rich  and  titled. 

At  last  he  became  so  pale  as  well 
as  languid,  that  Mr.  Saunders  inter- 
fered. 

Saunders  was  a  model  valet  and 
factotum  ;  who  had  been  with  his 
master  ever  since  he  left  Eton,  and 
had  made  himself  necessary  to  him  in 
their  journeys. 

Tin',  said  Saunders  was  really  an 
invaluable  servant,  and,  with  a  world 
of  obsequiousness,  contrived  to  have 
his  own  way  on  most  occasions.  He 
had,  I  believe,  only  one  great  weak- 
ness, that  of  imagining  a  beau-ideal 
of  aristocracy  ami  then  outdoing  it  in 
the  person  of  John  Saunders. 

Now  this  Saunders  was  human,  and 
could  not  be  eight  years  with  this 
young  gentleman  and  not  take  some 
little  interest  in  him.  He  was  flunky, 
and  took  a  great  interest  in  him,  as 
stepping-stone  to  his  own  greatness. 
So  when  he  saw  him  turning  pale  and 
thin,  and  reading  one  letter  fifty 
times,  he  speculated  and  inquired 
what  w;ls  the  matter,  lie  brought 
the  intellect  of  Mr.  Saunders  to  bearon 
the  question  at  the  following  angle  :  — 


"  Now,  if  I  was  a  young  lord  with 
.€20,000  a  year,  and  all  the  world  at  my 
feet,  what  would  make  me  in  this  way  ? " 

"  Why,  the  liver  !     Nothing  else." 

"  And  that  is  what  is  wrong  with 
him,  you  may  depend." 

This  conclusion  arrived  at,  Mr. 
Saunders  coolly  wrote  his  convictions 
to  Dr.  Aberford,  and  desired  that  gen- 
tleman's immediate  attention  to  the 
case.  An  hour  or  two  later,  he  glided 
into  his  lord's  room,  not  without  some 
secret  trepidation,  no  trace  of  which 
appeared  on  his  face.  He  pulled  a 
long  histrionic  countenance.  "  My 
Lord,"  said  he,  in  soft,  melancholy 
tones,  "  your  Lordship's  melancholy 
state  of  health  gives  me  great  anxiety ; 
I  and,  with  many  apologies  to  your 
Lordship,  the  Doctor  is  sent  for,  my 
Lord." 

"  Why,  Saunders,  you  are  mad  ; 
there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

"  I  beg  your  Lordship's  pardon, 
your  Lordship  is  very  ill,  and  Dr. 
Aberford  sent  for." 

"  You  may  go,  Saunders." 

"  Yes,  my  Lord.  I  couldn't  help 
it ;  I  've  outstepped  my  duty,  my 
Lord,  but  I  could  not  stand  quiet  and 
see  your  Lordship  dying  by  inches." 
Here  Mr.  S.  put  a  cambric  handker- 
chief artistically  to  his  eyes,  and  glided 
out,  having  disarmed  censure. 

Lord  Ipsden  fell  into  a  re  very. 

"  Is  my  mind  or  my  body  disor- 
dered ?  Dr.  Aberford  !  —  absurd  !  — 
Saunders  is  getting  too  pragmatical. 
j  The  Doctor  shall  prescribe  for  him  in- 
stead of  me;  by  Jove,  that  would 
'  serve  him  right."  And  my  Lord 
|  faintly  chuckled.  "  No  !  this  is  what 
I  am  ill  of,"  —  and  he  read  the  fatal 
note  again.  "  I  do  nothing  !  —  cruel, 
unjust,"  sighed  he.  "  I  could  have 
done,  would  have  done,  anything  to 
please  her  Do  nothing  !  nobody  docs 
anything  now,  —  things  don't  come 
in  your  way  to  be  done  as  they  used 
centuries  ago,  or  we  should  do  them 
just  the  same  ;  it  is  their  fault,  not 
i  ours,"  argued  his  Lordship,  somewhat 

< fused ly  ;    then,  leaning   his  brow 

upon  the  sofa,  be  wished  to  die  :  for, 


104 


CHHISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


at  that  dark  moment,  life  seemed  to 
this  fortunate  man  an  aching  void  ;  a 
weary,  stale,  flat,  unprofitable  tale  ;  a 
faded  flower ;  a  ball-room  after  day- 
light has  crept  in,  and  music,  motion, 
and  beauty  are  fled  away. 

"Dr.  Aberford,  my  Lord." 

This  announcement,  made  by  Mr. 
Saunders,  checked  his  Lordship's  rev- 
ery. 

"  Insults  everybody,  does  he  not, 
Saunders  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  said  Saunders, 
monotonously. 

"  Perhaps  he  will  me ;  that  might 
amuse  me,"  said  the  other. 

A  moment  later  the  Doctor  bowled 
into  the  apartment,  tugging  at  his 
gloves,  as  he  ran. 

The  contrast  between  him  and  our 
poor  rich  friend  is  almost  beyond 
human  language. 

Here  lay  on  a  sofa  Ipsden,  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  young  gentle- 
men in  Europe  :  a  creature  incapable, 
by  nature,  of  a  rugged  tone  or  a  coarse 
gesture :  a  being  without  the  slight- 
est apparent  pretension,  but  refined 
beyond  the  wildest  dream  of  dandies. 
To  him,  enter  Aberford,  perspiring 
and  shouting.  He  was  one  of  those 
globules  of  human  quicksilver  one 
sees  now  and  then  for  two  seconds ; 
they  are,  in  fact,  two  globules ;  their 
head  is  one,  invariably  bald,  round, 
and  glittering :  the  body  is  another 
in  activity  and  shape,  totus  teres  atque 
rotundas;  and  in  fifty  years  they  live 
five  centuries.  Horum  Rex  Aber- 
ford, —  of  these  our  Doctor  was  the 
chief.  He  had  hardly  torn  off  one 
glove,  and  rolled  as  far  as  the  third 
flower  from  the  door  on  his  Lord- 
ship's carpet,  before  he  shouted  :  — 

"  This  is  my  patient,  lolloping  in 
pursuit  of  health.  —  Your  hand," 
added  he.  For  he  was  at  the  sofa 
long  before  his  Lordship  could  glide 
off  it. 

"  Tongue.  —  Pulse  is  good.  — 
Breathe  in  my  face." 

"Breathe  in  your  face,  sir!  how 
can  I  do  that  1  "  (with  an  air  of  mild 
doubt.) 


"By  first  inhaling,  and  then  exhal- 
ing in  the  direction  required,  or  how 
can  I  make  acquaintance  with  your 
bowels  ?  " 

"  My  bowels  ? " 

"  The  abdomen,  and  the  greater 
and  lesser  intestines.  Well,  never 
mind,  I  can  get  at  them  another  way, 
give  your  heart  a  slap,  so.  —  That 's 
your  liver.  —  And  that's  your  dia- 
phragm." 

His  Lordship  having  found  the  re- 
quired spot  (some  people  that  I  know 
could  not)  and  slapped  it,  the  Aber- 
ford made  a  circular  spring  and  lis- 
tened eagerly  at  his  shoulder-blade  ; 
the  result  of  this  scientific  pantomime 
seemed  to  be  satisfactory,  for  he  ex- 
claimed, not  to  say  bawled  :  — 

"  Hallo !  here  is  a  Viscount  as 
sound  as  a  roach  !  Now,  young  gen- 
tleman," added  he  ;  "  your  organs 
are  superb,  yet  yon  are  really  out  of 
sorts;  it  follows  you  have  the  mala- 
dies of  idle  minds,  love,  perhaps, 
among  the  rest ;  you  blush,  a  diag- 
nostic of  that  disorder ;  make  your 
mind  easy,  cutaneous  disorders,  such 
as  love,  &c,  shall  never  kill  a  patient 
of  mine  with  a  stomach  like  yours : 
so,  now  to  cure  you  !  "  And  away 
went  the  spherical  Doctor,  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  not  up  and  down 
the  room,  but  slanting  and  tacking, 
like  a  knight  on  a  chess-board.  He 
had  not  made  many  steps  before, 
turning  his  upper  globule,  without 
affecting  his  lower,  he  hurled  back, 
in  a  cold  business-like  tone,  the  fol- 
lowing interrogatory :  — 

"  What  arc  your  vices  ?  " 

"  Saunders,"  inquired  the  patient, 
"  which  are  my  vices  3  " 

"  M'  Lord,  Lordship  has  n't  any 
vices,"  replied  Saunders,  with  dull, 
matter-of-fact  solemnity. 

"  Lady  Barbara  makes  the  same 
complaint,"  thought  Lord  Ipsden. 

"  It  seems  I  have  not  any  vices, 
Dr.  Aberford,"  said  he,  demurely. 

"  That  is  bad  ;  nothing  to  get  hold 
of.     What  interests  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  remember." 

"  What  amuses  you  1 " 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


105 


« I  forget." 

"  What !  no  winning  horse  to  gal- 
lop away  your  rents  ? ' 

"  No,  sir !  " 

"  No  Opera  Girl  to  run  her  foot 
and  ankle  through  your  purse  ?  " 

"  No,  sir !  and  I  think  their  ankles 
are  not  what  they  were." 

"  Stun'!  just  the  same,  from  their 
ankles  up  to  their  ears,  and  down 
again  to  their  morals ;  it  is  your  eyes 
that  are  sunk  deeper  into  your  head. 
Hum  !  no  horses,  no  vices,  no  dancers, 
no  yacht ;  you  confound  one's  notions 
of  nobility,  and  I  oujjht  to  know 
them,  for  I  have  to  patch  them  all  up 
a  bit  just  before  they  go  to  the  deuce." 

"But  1  have,  Doctor  Aberford." 

"  What !  " 

"  A  yacht !  and  a  clipper  she  is 
too." 

"Ah!  —  (Now  I've  got  him.)" 

"  In  the  Bay  of  Biscay  she  lay  half 
a  point  nearer  the  wind  than  Lord 
Heavyjib." 

"()ii!  bother  Lord  Heavyjib,  and 
his  Bay  of  Biscay." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  they  have  of- 
ten bothered  me." 

"  Send  her  round  to  Granton  Pier, 
in  the  Firth  of  Forth." 

"I  will,  sir." 

"  And  writedown  this  prescription." 
And  away  he  walked  again,  thinking 
the  prescription. 

"  Saunders,"  appealed  his  master. 

"  Saunders  be  hanged.." 

"  Sir  !  "  said  Saunders,  with  dignity, 
"I  thank  you." 

"  Don't  thank  me,  thank  your  own 
deserts,"  replied  the  modern  Chester- 
field. "  '  Oblige  me  by  writing  it  your- 
self, ray  Lord,  it  is  all  the  bodily 
exercise  you  will  have  had  to-day,  no 
do.ll.t." 

The  young  Viscount  bowed,  seated 
himself  at  a  desk,  and  wrote  from  dic- 
tation :  — 

"Dr.  Aijerford's  Prescription. 

"  Make  acquaintance  with  all  the 
people  of  low  estate  who  have  time  to 
be   bothered    with    vn;    learo   their 


ways,  their  minds,  and,  above  all, 
their  troubles." 

"Won't  all  this  bore  me?"  sug- 
gested the  writer. 

"  You  will  see.  Relieve  one  fellow- 
creature  every  day,  and  let  Mr.  Saun- 
ders book  the  circumstances." 

"  I  shall  like  this  part,"  said  the  pa- 
tient, laying  down  his  pen.  "  How 
clever  of  you  to  think  of  such  things  ; 
may  not  I  do  two  sometimes  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  one  pill  per  day.  — 
Write,  Fish  the  herring!  (that  beats 
deer-stalking.)  Run  your  nose  into 
adventures  at  sea ;  live  on  tenpence, 
and  earn  it.     Is  it  down  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  down,  but  Saunders 
would  have  written  it  better." 

"  If  he  had  n't  he  ought  to  be 
hanged,"  said  the  Aberford,  inspect- 
ing the  work.  "  I  'in  off,  where  's  my 
hat  1  oh,  there ,  where  's  my  money  ? 
oh,  here.  Now  look  here,  follow  my 
prescription,  and 

You  will  soon  hare  Mens  Sana  in  corpore 

sano  ; 
And  not  care  whether  the  girls  say  yes  or 

say  no  -, 

neglect  it,  and  —  my  gloves;  oh,  in 
my  pocket  —  you  will  be  blase  and 
ermuye,  and  (an  English  participle, 
that  means  something  as  bad) ;  God 
bless  you  ! " 

And  out  he  scuttled,  glided  after  by 
Saunders,  for  whom  he  opened  and 
shut  the  street  door. 

Never  was  a  greater  effect  produced 
by  a  doctor's  visit ;  patient  and  physi- 
cian were  made  lor  each  other.  Dr. 
Aberford  was  the  specific  for  Lord 
Ipsden.  lie  came  to  him  like  a  shower 
to  a  Minting  strawberry. 

Saunders,  on  his  return,  found  his 
Lord  pacing  the  apartment. 

"  Saunders,"  said  he,  smartly, 
"  send  down  to  Gravesend,  and  or- 
der the  yacht  to  this  place,  —  what  is 
it?  " 

"  Granton  Pier.     Yes,  my  Lord." 

"And,  Saunders,  take  clothes,  and 
books,  and  violins,  and  telescopes,  and 
things  —  and  me  —  to  Eustou  Square, 
in  an  hour.'' 

"  Impossible,  my  Lord,  cried  Sauu- 


106 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


ders,  in  dismay.     "  And  there  is   no 
train  for  hours." 

His  master  replied  with  a  hundred- 
pound  note,  and  a  quiet,  but  wiekedish 
look ;  and  the  prince  of  gentlemen's 
gentleman  had  all  the  required  items 
with  him,  in  a  special  train,  within  the 
specified  time,  and  away  they  flashed, 
northwards. 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  is  said  that  opposite  characters 
m:ike  a  union  happiest ;  and  perhaps 
Lord  Ipsdea,  diffident  of  himself,  felt 
the  value  to  him  of  a  creature  so  dif- 
ferent as  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  ;  but 
the  lady,  for  her  part,  was  not  so  dif- 
fident of  herself,  nor  was  she  in  search 
of  her  opposite ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
was  waiting  patiently  to  find  just  such 
a  man  as  she  was,  or  fancied  herself,  a 
woman. 

Accustomed  to  measure  men  by 
their  characters  alone,  and  to  treat 
with  sublime  contempt  the  accidents 
of  birth  and  fortune,  she  had  been  a 
little  staggered  by  the  assurance  of  this 
butterfly  that  had  proposed  to  settle 
upon  her  hand  —  for  life. 

In  a  word,  the  beautiful  writer  of 
the  fatal  note  was  honestly  romantic, 
according  to  the  romance  of  1848, 
and  of  good  society ;  of  course  she 
was  not  affected  by  hair  tumbling 
back  or  plastered  down  forwards,  and 
a  rolling  eye  went  no  further  with  her 
than  a  squinting  one. 

Her  romance  was  stern,  not  sickly. 
She  was  on  the  lookout  for  iron  vir- 
tues ;  she  had  sworn  to  be  wooed 
with  great  deeds,  or  never  won ;  on 
this  subject  she  had  thought  much, 
though  not  enough  to  ask  herself 
whether  great  deeds  are  always  to  be 
got  at,  however  disposed  a  lover  may 
be. 

No  matter  ;  she  kept  herself  in  re- 
serve for  some  earnest  man,  who  was 
not  to  come  flattering  and  fooling  to 
her,  but  look  another  way  and  do  ex- 
ploits. 

She  liked  Lord  Ipsden,  her  cousin 


once  removed,  buc,  despised  him  fol 
being  agreeable,  handsome,  clever, 
and  nobody. 

She  was  also  a  little  bitten  with 
what  she  and  others  called  the  Middle 
Ages,  in  fact  with  that  picture  of  them 
which  Grub  Street,  imposing  on  the 
simplicity  of  youth,  had  got  up  for 
sale  by  arraying  painted  glass,  gilt 
rags,  and  fancy,  against  fact. 

With  these  vague  and  sketchy  no- 
tices we  are  compelled  to  part,  for  the 
present,  with  Lady  Barbara  :  but  it 
serves  her  right ;  she  has  gone  to  es- 
tablish her  court  in  Perthshire,  and  left 
her  rejected  lover  on  our  hands. 

Journeys  of  a  few  hundred  miles  are 
no  longer  described. 

You  exchange  a  dead  chair  for  a  liv- 
ing chair,  Saunders  puts  in  your  hand 
a  new  tale  like  this ;  you  mourn  the 
superstition  of  booksellers,  which  still 
inflicts  uncut  leaves  upon  humanity, 
though  tailors  do  not  send  home  coats 
with  the  sleeves  stitched  up,  nor  cham- 
bermaids put  travellers  into  apple-pie 
beds  as  well  as  damp  sheets.  You 
rend  and  read,  and  are  at  Edinburgh, 
fatigued  more  or  less,  but  not  by  the 
journey. 

Lord  Ipsden  was,  therefore,  soon 
installed  by  the  Firth  side,  full  of  the 
Aberford. 

The  young  nobleman  not  only  ven- 
erated the  Doctor's  sagacity,  but  half 
admired  his  brusquerie  and  bustle ; 
things  of  which  he  was  himself  never 
guilty. 

As  for  the  prescription,  that  was  a 
Delphic  Oracle.  Worlds  could  not 
have  tempted  him  to  deviate  from  a 
letter  in  it. 

He  waited  with  impatience  for  the 
yacht ;  and,  meantime,  it  struck  him 
that  the  first  part  of  the  prescription 
could  be  attacked  at  once. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  suc- 
ceeding his  arrival.  The  Eifeshire 
hills,  seen  across  the  Firth  from  his 
windows,  were  beginning  to  take  their 
charming  violet  tinge,  a  light  breeze 
ruffled  the  blue  water  into  a  sparkling 
smile,  the  shore  was  tranquil,  and  the 
sea  full  of  noiseless  life,  with  the  craft 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


101 


of  all  sizes  gliding  and  dancing  and 
conrtesying  on  their  trackless  roads. 

The  air  was  tepid,  pure,  and  sweet 
as  heaven  ;  this  bright  afternoon,  Na- 
ture had  grudged  nothing  that  could 
give  fresh  life  and  hope  to  such  dwell- 
ers in  dust  and  smoke  and  vice  as 
were  there  to  look  awhile  on  her 
clean  face  and  drink  her  honeyed 
breath. 

This  young  gentleman  was  not  in- 
sensible to  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 
He  was  a  little  lazy  by  nature,  and 
made  lazier  by  the  misfortune  of 
wealth,  but  he  had  sensibilities ;  he 
was  an  artist  of  great  natural  talent ; 
had  he  only  been  without  a  penny, 
how  he  would  have  handled  the  brush  ! 
And  then  he  was  a  mighty  sailor; 
if  he  had  sailed  for  biscuit  a  few 
years,  how  he  would  have  handled  a 
ship  ! 

As  he  was,  he  had  the  eye  of  a 
hawk  for  Nature's  beauties,  and  the 
sea  always  came  back  to  him  like  a 
friend  after  an  absence. 

This  scene,  then,  curled  round  his 
heart  a  little,  and  he  felt  the  good 
physician  was  wiser  than  the  tribe 
that  go  by  that  name,  and  strive  to 
build  health  on  the  sandy  foundation 
of  drugs. 

"  Saunders !  do  you  know  what 
Dr.  Aherford  means  by  the  lower 
classes "? " 

"  Perfectly,  my  Lord." 

"  Are  there  any  about  here  1 " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  are  every- 
where, my  Lord." 

"  Gel  me  some  "  —  (cir/arette) . 

Out  went  Saunders,  with  his  usual 
graceful  empressement,  but  an  internal 
shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

He  mi  absent  an  hour  and  a  half; 
he  then  returned  with  a  double  expres- 
sion on  his  face,  —  pride  at  his  success 
in  diving  to  the  very  bottom  of  soci- 
ety, and  contempt  of  what  he  had 
fished  up  thence. 

If-  approached  his  Lord  mysterious- 
ly, and  said,  solio  voce,  but  impres- 
sively, "  This  is  low  enough,  my 
Lord."  Then  glided  hack,  and  ushered 
in,   with   polite  disdain*   two   lovelier 


women  than  he  had  ever  opened  a 
door  to  in  the  whole  course  of  his  per- 
fumed existence. 

On  i\eir  heads  they  wore  caps  of 
Dutch  cv  Flemish  origin,  with  a 
broad  lace  border,  stiffened  and  arched 
over  the  forehead,  about  three  inches 
high,  leaving  the  brow  and  cheeks 
unencumbered. 

They  had  cotton  jackets,  bright  red 
and  yellow,  mixed  in  patterns,  con- 
fined at  the  waist  by  the  apron-strings, 
but  bobtailed  below  the  waist ;  short 
woollen  petticoats,  with  broad  vertical 
stripes,  red  and  white,  most  vivid  in 
color ;  white  worsted  stockings,  and 
neat,  though  high-quartered  shoes. 
Under  their  jackets  they  wore  a  thick 
spotted  cotton  handkerchief,  about 
one  inch  of  which  was  visible  round 
the  lower  part  of  the  throat. 

Of  their  petticoats,  the  outer  one 
was  kilted,  or  gathered  up  towards 
the  front,  and  the  second,  of  the  same 
color,  hung  in  the  usual  way. 

Of  these  young  women,  one  had  an 
olive  complexion,  with  the  red  blood 
mantling  under  it,  and  black  hair, 
and  glorious  black  eyebrows. 

The  other  was  fair,  with  a  massive 
but  shapely  throat,  as  white  as  milk; 
glossy  brown  hair,  the  loose  threads 
of  which  glittered  like  gold,  and  a 
blue  eye,  which,  being  contrasted  with 
dark  eyebrows  and  lashes,  took  the 
luminous  effect  peculiar  to  that  rare 
beauty. 

Their  short  petticoats  revealed  a 
neat  ankle,  and  a  leg  with  a  noble 
swell  ;  for  Nature,  when  she  is  in 
earnest,  builds  beauty  on  the  ideas  of 
ancient  sculptors  and  poets,  not  of 
modern  poetasters,  who,  with  their 
airy-like  sylphs  and  their  smoke-like 
verses,  fight  for  want  of  flesh  in  wo- 
man and  want  of  fact  in  poetry  as 
parallel  beauties. 

They  arc,  my  lads.  —  Continues t 

These  women  had  a  gratid  corpo- 
real trait;  they  had  never  known  a 
corset  !  so  they  were  straight  as 
javelins  ;  they  could  lift  their  hands 
above  their  heads  !  — actually  !  Their 
supple  Dci>ons  moved  as  Nature  in- 


108 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


tended  ;  every  gesture  was  ease,  grace, 
and  freedom . 

What  with  their  own  radiance,  and 
the  snowy  cleanliness  and  brightness 
of  their  costume,  they^came  like  me- 
teors into  the  apartment. 

Lord  Ipsden,  rising  gently  from  his 
scat,  with  the  same  quiet  politeness 
with  which  he  would  have  received 
two  princes  of  the  blood,  said, 
"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  and  smiled  a 
welcome. 

"Fine!  hoow  's  yoursel  ?  "  answered 
the  dark  lass,  whose  name  was  Jean 
Camie,  and  whose  voice  was  not  so 
sweet  as  her  face. 

"  What'n  lord  are  ye  ?  "  continued 
she;  "are  you  a  juke?  I  wad  like 
fine  to  hae  a  crack  wi'  a  juke." 

Saunders,  who  knew  himself  the 
cause  of  this  question,  replied,  sotto 
voce,  "  His  Lordship  is  a  viscount." 

"  I  didna  ken't,"  was  Jean's  re- 
mark.    "  But  it  has  a  bonny  soond." 

"  What  mair  would  ye  hae  ?  "  said 
the  fair  beauty,  whose  name  was 
Christie  Johnstone.  Then,  appealing 
to  his  Lordship  a3  the  likeliest  to 
know,  she  added,  "  Nobeelity  is  just 
a  soond  itsel,  I  'm  tauld." 

The  Viscount,  finding  himself  ex- 
pected to  say  something  on  a  topic  he 
had  not  attended  much  to,  answered 
dryly :  "  We  must  ask  the  republi- 
cans, they  are  the  people  that  give 
their  minds  to  such  subjects." 

"  And  yon  man,"  asked  Jean  Car- 
nie,  "  is  he  a  lord,  too  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  Lordship's  servant,"  re- 
plied Saunders,  gravely,  not  without 
a  secret  misgiving  whether  fate  had 
been  just. 

"  Na  !  "  replied  she,  not  to  be  im- 
posed upon,  "  ye  are  statelier  and 
prooder  than  this  ane." 

"  I  will  explain,"  said  his  master. 
"  Saunders  knows  his  value  ;  a  ser- 
vant like  Saunders  is  rarer  than  an 
idle  viscount." 

"  My  Lord,  my  Lord !  "  remonstrat- 
ed Saunders,  with  a  shocked  and  most 
disclamatory  tone.  "  Rather  ! "  was 
his  inward  reflection. 

"Jeau,"   said     Christie,   "ye    hae 


muckle  to  laern.  Are  ye  for  herrin' 
the  day,  Vile  Count?  " 

"  No  !  are  you  for  this  sort  of 
thing?  " 

At  this,  Saunders,  with  a  world  of 
empressement,  offered  the  Carnie  some 
cake  that  was  on  the  table. 

She  took  a  piece,  instantly  spat  it 
out  into  her  hand,  and  with  more  en- 
ergy than  delicacy  flung  it  into  the 
fire. 

"  Augh  !  "  cried  she,  "just  a  sugar 
and  saut  butter  thegither ;  buy  nae 
mair  at  yon  shoep,  Vile  Count." 

"  Try  this,  out  of  Nature's  shop," 
laughed  their  entertainer ;  and  he 
offered  them,  himself,  some  peaches 
and  things. 

"  Hech !  a  medi — cine!"  said  Chris- 
tie. 

"  Nature,  my  lad,"  said  Miss  Car- 
nie, making  her  ivory  teeth  meet  in 
their  first  nectarine,  "  I  didna  ken 
whaur  ye  stoep,  but  ye  beat  the  other 
confectioners,  that  div  ye." 

The  fair  lass,  who  had  watched 
the  Viscount  all  this  time  as  demure- 
ly as  a  cat  cream,  now  approached 
him. 

This  young  woman  was  the  think- 
er ;  her  voice  was  also  rich,  full,  and 
melodious,  and  her  manner  very  en- 
gaging ;  it  was  half  advancing,  half 
retiring,  not  easy  to  resist  or  to  de- 
scribe. 

"  Noo,"  said  she,  with  a  very  slight 
blush  stealing  across  her  face,  "  ye 
maun  let  me  catecheeze  ye,  wull  ye  ?  " 

The  last  two  words  were  said  in  a 
way  that  would  have  induced  a  bear 
to  reveal  his  winter  residence. 

He  smiled  assent.  Saunders  re- 
tired to  the  door,  and,  excluding  every 
shade  of  curiosity  from  his  face,  took 
an  attitude,  half  majesty,  half  obsequi- 
ousness. 

Christie  stood  by  Lord  Ipsden,  with 
one  hand  on  her  hip  (the  knuckles 
downwards),  but  graceful  as  Anti- 
nous,  and  be<ran. 

"  Hoo  muckle  is  the  Queen  greater 
than  y'  are  ?  " 

His  Lordship  was  obliged  to  reflect. 

"  Let  me  see,  —  as  is  the  moon  to 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


109 


a  wax  taper,  so   is  her  Majesty  the 
Queen  to  you  and  me,  and  the  rest." 

"  An*  whaur  does  the  Juke  *  come 
in?" 

"  On  this  particular  occasion,  the 
Duket  makes  one  of  us,  my  pretty 
maid." 

"I  see  !  Are  na  ye  awfu'  prood 
o'  being  a  Lorrd  ?  " 

"  Wliat  an  idea !  " 

"  His  Lordship  did  not  go  to  bed  a 
spinning-jenny,  and  rise  up  a  lord, 
like  some  of  them,"  put  in  Saunders. 

"  Saunders,"  said  the  peer,  doubt- 
fully, "  eloquence  rather  bores  peo- 
ple." 

"  Then  I  must  n't  speak  again,  my 
Lord,"  said  Saunders,  respectfully. 

"  Noo,"  said  the  fair  inquisitor, 
"ye  shall  tell  me  how  ye  came  to  be 
Lorrds,  your  faemiiy  i  " 

"  Saunders ! " 

"  Na  !  ye  mauna  flee  to  Sandy  for 
a  thing,  ye  are  no  a  bairn,  are  ye  3  " 

Here  was  a  dilemma,  the  Saunders 
prop  knocked  rudely  away,  and 
obliged  to  think  for  ourselves. 

But  Saunders  would  come  to  his 
distressed  master's  assistance.  Ho 
furtively  conveyed  to  him  a  plump 
book,  —  this  was  Saunders's  manual 
of  faith;  the  author  was  Mr.  Burke, 
not  Edmund. 

Lord  Ipsdcn  ran  hastily  over  the 
page,  closed  the  book,  and  said, 
"  I  lore  is  the  story. 

"Five  hundred  vcars  ago  —  " 

"  Listen,  Jean,"  said  Christie  ; 
"  we  're  gatin  to  get  a  boeny  story. 
'  Five  hundro'  years  ago,' "  added 
she,  with  interest  and  awe. 

"  Was  a  great  battle,"  resumed  the 
narrator,  in  cheerful  tones,  ns  one 
larking  with  history,  "  between  a 
Kin<_r  <>f  England  and  his  rebels.  He 
was  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  —  " 

"  That 's  the  King,  Jean,  he  was  in 
the  thick  o't." 

"  My  ancestor  killed  a  fellow  who 
was  sneaking  behind  him,  hut  the 
next  moment  a  man-at-arms  prepared 
a  thrust  at  his  majesty,  who  had  his 
hands  full  with  three  a s-ailaiils." 
*  Buccleuch.  t   \\uUiu«tou. 


"  Eh  !  that 's  no  fair,"  said  Chris- 
tie, "  as  sure  as  deeth." 

"  My  ancestor  dashed  forward,  and, 
as  the  king's  sword  passed  through 
one  of  them,  he  .clove  another  to  the 
waist  with  a  blow." 

"  Weel  done  !  weel  done  !  " 

Lord  Ipsden  looked  at  the  speaker, 
her  eyes  were  glittering,  and  her 
cheek  flushing. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  thought  he  ; 
"  she  believes  it !  "  So  he  began  to 
take  more  pains  with  his  legend. 

"  But  for  the  spearsman,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  he  had  nothing  but  his 
body ;  he  gave  it,  it  was  his  duty,  and 
received  the  death  levelled  at  his 
sovereign." 

"  Ilech  !  puir  mon."  And  the 
glowing  eyes  began  to  glisten. 

"  The  battle  flowed  another  way, 
and  God  gave  victory  to  the  right ; 
but  the  king  came  back  to  look  for 
him,  for  it  was  no  common  service." 

"  Deed  no  !  " 

Here  Lord  Ipsden  began  to  turn 
his  eye  inwards,  and  call  up  the 
scene.     He  lowered  his  voice. 

"  They  found  him  lying  on  his 
back,  looking  death  in  the  face. 

"  The  nobles,  by  the  King's  side, 
uncovered  as  soon  as  he  was  found, 
for  they  were  brave  men,  too.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence ;  eyes  met 
eyes,  and  said,  this  is  a  stout  soldier's 
last  battle. 

"  The  King  could  not  bid  him 
live." 

"  Na !  lad,  King  Deeth  has  owcr 
strong  a  grrip." 

"  But  be  did  what  Kings  can  do, 
he  gave  him  two  blows  with  his  royal 
sword." 

"  O,  the  robber,  and  him  a  deeing 
mon." 

"  Two  words  from  his  royal  mouth, 
and  he  and  we  were  Barons  of  Ipsden 
and  Hawthorn  Glen  from  that  day  to 
this." 

"  But  the  puir  dying  creature  1  " 

"  What  poor  dying  creature  1  " 

"  Your  Forbear,  lad." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  call  him 
poor,   madam  ;   all    the  men  of  that 


110 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


day  are  uust ;  they  are  the  gold  dust 
who  died  with  honor. 

"  He  looked  round,  uneasily,  for 
his  son,  —  for  he  had  but  one,  —  and 
when  that  son  knelt,  unwounded,  hy 
him,  he  said,  '  Good  night,  Baron 
Ipsden ' ;  and  so  he  died,  fire  in  his 
eye,  a  smile  on  his  lip,  and  honor  on 
his  name  forever.  I  meant  to  tell 
you  a  lie,  and  I've  told  you  the 
truth." 

"  Laddie,"  said  Christie,  half  ad- 
miringly, half  reproachfully,  "  ye  gar 
the  tear  come  in  my  cen.  Hech  !  look 
at  yon  lassie  !  how  could  you  think 
t'  eat  plums  through  siccan  a  bonny 
story  ?  " 

"  Hets,"  answered  Jean,  who  had, 
in  fact,  cleared  the  plate,  "  I  aye  lis- 
ten best  when  my  ain  mooth  's  stap- 
pit." 

"  But  see,  now,"  pondered  Chris- 
tic,  "  twa  words  fra  a  King,  —  thir 
titles  are  just  breeth." 

"  Of  course,"  was  the  answer.  "  All 
titles  are.  What  is  popularit)r  1  ask 
Aristides  and  Latnartine :  the  breath 
of  a  mob, — smells  of  its  source, — 
and  is  gone  before  the  sun  can  set  on 
it.  Now  the  royal  breath  does  smell 
of  the  Rose  and  Crown,  and  stays  by 
us  from  age  to  age." 

The  story  had  warmed  our  marble 
acquaintance.  Saunders  opened  his 
eyes,  and  thought,  "  We  shall  wake 
up  the  House  of  Lords  some  evening, 
—ice  shall." 

His  Lordship  then  added,  less 
warmly,  looking  at  the  girls  :  — 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  a  fish- 
erman." So  saying,  my  Lord  yawned 
slightly. 

To  this  aspiration  the  young  fish- 
wives deigned  no  attention,  doubting, 
perhaps,  its  sincerity ;  and  Christie, 
with  a  shade  of  severity,  inquired 
of  him  how  he  came  to  be  a  Vile 
Count. 

"  A  baron  's  no'  a  Vile  Count,  I  'm 
sure,"  said  she  ;  "  sae  tell  me  how  ye 
came  to  be  a  Vile  Count." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  that  is  by  no 
means  a  pretty  story  like  the  other  ; 
you  will  not  like  it,  I  am  sure." 


"  Ay,  will  I,  —  ay,  will  I ;  1  'm  aye 
seeking  knocwledge." 

"  Well,  it  is  soon  told.  One  of  us 
sat  twenty  years  on  one  seat,  in  the 
same  house,  so  one  day  he  got  up  a 
—  Viscount." 

"  Ower  muckle  pay  for  ower  little 
wark." 

"  Now  don't  say  that ;  I  would  n't 
do  it  to  be  Emperor  of  Russia." 

"  Aweel,  I  hae  gotten  a  heap  out  o' 
ye ;  sae  noow  I  '11  gang,  since  ye  are 
no  for  herrin' ;  come  away,  Jean." 

At  this  their  host  remonstrated, 
and  inquired  why  bores  are  at  one's 
service  night  and  day,  and  bright  peo- 
ple are  always  in  a  hurry  ;  he  was  in- 
formed in  reply,  "  Labor  is  the  lot  o' 
man.  Div  ye  no  ken  that  muckle  ? 
And  abunc  a'  o'  women."  * 

"  Why,  what  can  two  such  pretty 
creatures  have  to  do  except  to  be  ad- 
mired 1 " 

This  question  coming  within  the 
dark  beauty's  scope,  she  hastened  to 
reply. 

"  To  sell  our  herrin',  —  we  hao 
three  hundre'  left  in  the  creel." 

"  What  is  the  price  1  " 

At  this  question  the  poetry  died 
out  of  Christie  Johnstone's  face,  she 
gave  her  companion  a  rapid  look, 
indiscernible  by  male  eye,  and  an- 
swered :  — 

"  Three  a  penny,  sirr  ;  they  are  no 
plenty  the  day,"  added  she,  in  smooth 
tones  that  carried  conviction. 

(Little  liar;  they  were  selling  six  a 
penny  everywhere.) 

"  Saunders,  buy  them  all,  and  be 
ever  so  long  about  it ;  count  them,  or 
some  nonsense." 

"He's  daft!  he's  daft!  O,  ye 
ken,  Jean,  an  Ennglishman  and  a 
lorrd,  twa  daft  things  thegither,  he 
could  na'  miss  the  road.  Coont 
them,  lassie." 

"  Come  away,  Sandy,  till  I  count 
them  till  ye,"  said  Jean. 

Saunders  and  Jean  disappeared. 

Business  being  out  of  sight,  curi* 
osity  revived. 

"An'   what   brings   ye   here   from 

*  A  local  idea,  I  suspect.  —  C.  11. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTOXE. 


Ill 


"London,  if  yc  please?  "  recommenced 
the  fair  inquisitor. 

"  You  have  a  good  countenance  ; 
there  is  something  in  your  (ace.  I 
could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  tell  you, 
but  I  should  bore  you." 

"De'elafear!  Bore  me,  bore  me  ! 
whaat  'a  thaat,  I  wonder?  " 

"  What  is  your  name,  madam  ? 
Mine  is  Ipsden." 

"  They  ca'  me  Christie  Johnstone." 

"  Well,  Christie  Johnstone,  I  am 
under  the  doctor's  hands." 

"  Puir  lad.  What 's  the  trouble  ?  " 
(solemnly  and  tenderly.) 

"  Ennui !  "    (rather  piteously.) 

"  Ya\vn-we  ?     I    never   heerd  tell 

0  t. 

"  O  you  lucky  girl,"  burst  out  he  ; 
"  but  the  doctor  has  undertaken  to 
cure  me  ;  in  one  thing  you  could  as- 
sist me,  if  I  am  not  presuming  too 
far  on  our  short  acquaintance.  I  am 
to  relieve  one  poor  distressed  person 
every  day,  but  I  must  n't  do  two  :  is 
not  that  a  bore  ?  " 

"  Gie  's  your  hand,  gie  's  your  hand. 

1  'm  vexed  for  ca'ing  you  daft.  Ilech  ! 
what  a  Baft  hand  ye  hae.  Jean,  I  'm 
saying,  come  here,  feel  this." 

Jean,  who  had  run  in,  took  the 
Viscount's  hand  from  Christie. 

"  It  never  wroucht  any,"  explained 
Jean. 

"  And  he  has  bonny  hair,"  said 
Christie,  just  touching  his  locks  on 
the  other  side. 

"  He's*,  bonny  lad,"  said  Jean,  in- 
specting him  scientifically,  and  point- 
blank. 

"Ay,  is  he,"  said  the  other. 
"Aweel,  there's  Jess  Rutherford,  a 
widdy,  wi'  four  bairns,  ye  mcicht  do 
waur  than  ware  your  siller  on  her." 

"  Five  pounds  to  begin  ?  "  inquired 
his  Lordship. 

"  Five  pund  !  Are  yc  made  o'  sil- 
ler 1     Ten  sehell'n  !  " 

Saunders  was  rung;  for,  and  pro- 
duced a  one-pound  note. 

"  The  hcrrin'  is  live  and  saxpence; 
it  's  four  and  saxpence  I  'm  awin  yc," 
said  the  young  fishwife,  "  and  Jess 
will  be  a  clad  woman  the  neiclit." 


The  settlement  was  effected,  and 
away  went  the  two  friends,  saying  : — 

"  Good  boye,  Vile  Count." 

Their  host  fell  into  thought. 

"  When  have  I  talked  so  much  ?  " 
asked  he  of  himself. 

"  Dr.  Aberford,  you  are  a  wonder- 
ful man  ;  I  like  your  lower  classes 
amazingly." 

"  Me'fiez  vous,  Monsieur  Ipsden  ! " 
should  some  mentor  have  said. 

As  the  Devil  puts  into  a  beginner's 
hands  ace,  queen,  five  trumps,  to 
give  him  a  taste  for  whist,  so  these 
lower  classes  have  perhaps  put  for- 
ward one  of  their  best  cards  to  lead 
you  into  a  false  estimate  of  the  strength 
of  their  hand. 

Instead,  however,  of  this,  who 
should  return,  to  disturb  the  equilib- 
rium of  truth,  but  this  Christina  John- 
stone ?  She  came  thoughtfully  in, 
and  said  :  — 

"  I  've  been  taking  a  thoucht,  and 
this  is  no  what  yon  gude  physeecian 
meaned ;  ye  are  no  to  fling  your 
chaerity  like  a  bane  till  a  doeg ;  ye  '11 
gang  yoursel  to  Jess  Kutherford; 
Flucker  Johnstone,  that 's  my  brother, 
will  convoy  ye." 

"  But  how  is  your  brother  to  know 
me?" 

"  How  ?  Because  I  '11  gie  him  a 
sair  sair  hiding,  if  he  lets  ye  gang 

by." 

Then  she  returned  the  one-pound 
note,  a  fresh  settlement  was  effected, 
and  she  left  him. 

At  the  door  she  said :  "  And  I  am 
muckle  oblecged  to  ye  for  your  story 
and  your  goodness." 

Whilst  uttering  these  words,  she 
half  kissed  her  hand  to  him,  with  a 
lofty  and  disengaged  gesture,  such  as 
one  might  expect  from  a  queen,  if 
queens  did  not  wear  stays  ;  and  was 
gone. 

When  his  Lordship,  a  few  minutes 
after,  sauntered  out  for  a  stroll,  the 
first  object  he  beheld  was  an  exact 
human  square,  a  handsome  boy,  with 
a  body  (swelled  out  apparently  to  the 
size  of  a  man'':,  with  blue  flannel,  and 
blue  cloth  above  it,  leaning  against  a 


112 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


wall,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, — 
a  statuette  of  insouciance. 

This  marine  puff-ball  was  Flucker 
Johnstone,  aged  fourteen. 

Stain  his  sister's  face  with  diluted 
walnut-juice,  as  they  make  the  stage 
gypsy  and  Red  Indian  (two  animals 
imagined  by  actors  to  be  one),  and 
you  have  Flucker's  face. 

A  slight  moral  distinction  remains, 
not  to  be  so  easily  got  over. 

She  was  the  best  girl  in  the  place, 
and  he  a  baddish  boy. 

He  was,  however,  as  sharp  in  his 
way  as  she  was  intelligent  in  hers. 

This  youthful  mariner  allowed  his 
Lordship  to  pass  him,  and  take  twenty 
steps,  but  watched  him  all  the  time, 
and  compared  him  with  a  description 
furnished  him  by  his  sister. 

He  then  followed,  and  brought  him 
to,  as  he  called  it. 

"  I  daur  say  it 's  you  I  'm  to  con- 
voy to  yon  auld  faggitt ! "  said  this 
baddish  boy. 

On  they  went,  Flucker  rolling  and 
pitching  and  yawing  to  keep  up  with 
the  lordly  galley,  for  a  fisherman's 
natural  waddle  is  two  miles  an  hour. 

At  the  very  entrance  of  Newhaven, 
the  new  pilot  suddenly  sung  out, 
"  Starboard ! " 

Starboard  it  was,  and  they  ascend- 
ed a  filthy  "  close,"  or  alley  ;  they 
mounted  a  staircase  which  was  out  of 
doors,  and,  without  knocking,  Fluck- 
er introduced  himself  into  Jess  Ruth- 
erford's house. 

"  Here  a  gentleman  to  speak  till  ye, 
wife." 


CHAPTER  III. 

TnE  widow  was  weather-beaten 
and  rough.  She  sat  mending  an  old 
net. 

"  The  gentleman 's  welcome,"  said 
she  ;  but  there  was  no  gratification  in 
her  tone,  and  but  little  surprise. 

His  Lordship  then  explained  that, 
understanding  there  were  worthy  peo- 
ple ia   distress,  he  was  in  hopes  he 


might  be  permitted  to  assist  them, 
and  that  she  must  blame  a  neighbor 
of  hers  if  he  had  broken  in  upon  her 
too  abruptly  with  this  object.  He 
then,  with  a  blush,  hinted  at  ten  shil- 
lings, which  he  begged  she  would  con- 
sider as  merely  an  instalment,  until 
he  could  learn  the  precise  nature  of 
her  embarrassments,  and  the  best  way 
of  placing  means  at  her  disposal. 

The  widow  heard  all  this  with  a 
lack-lustre  mind. 

For  many  years  her  life  had  been 
unsuccessful  labor ;  if  anything  had 
ever  come  to  her,  it  had  always  been 
a  misfortune  ;  her  incidents  had  been 
thorns,  —  her  events,  daggers. 

She  could  not  realize  a  human  an- 
gel coining  to  her  relief,  and  she  did 
not  realize  it,  and  she  worked  away  at 
her  net. 

At  this,  Flucker,  to  whom  his  Lord- 
ship's speech  appeared  monstrously 
weak  and  pointless,  drew  nigh,  and 
gave  the  widow,  in  her  ear,  his  ver- 
sion, namely,  his  sister's  embellished. 
It  was  briefly  this  :  That  the  gentle- 
man was  a  daft  lord  from  England, 
who  had  come  with  the  bank  in  his 
breeks,  to  remove  poverty  from  Scot- 
land,  beginning  with  her.  "  Sae 
speak  loud  aneuch,  and  ye  '11  no  want 
siller,"  was  his  polite  corollary. 

His  Lordship  rose,  laid  a  card  on  a 
chair,  begged  her  to  make  use  of  him, 
et  cetera  ;  he  then,  recalling  the  orac- 
ular prescription,  said,  "  Do  me  the 
favor  to  apply  to  me  for  any  little 
sum  you  have  a  use  for,  and,  in  return, 
I  will  beg  of  you  (if  it  does  not  bore 
you  too  much)  to  make  me  acquainted 
with  any  little  troubles  you  may  have 
encountered  in  the  course  of  your 
life." 

His  Lordship,  receiving  no  answer, 
was  about  to  go,  after  bowing  to  her, 
and  smiling  gracefully  upon  her. 

His  hand  was  on  the  latch,  when 
Jess  Rutherford  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears. 

He  turned  with  surprise. 

"  My  troubles,  laddie,"  cried  she, 
trembling  all  over.  "  The  sun  wad 
set,  and  rise,  and  set  again,  ere  I  could 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


113 


tell  ye  a'  the  trouble  I  hae  come 
through. 

"  O,  ye  need  na  vex  yourself  for  an 
auld  wife's  tears  ;  tears  are  a  blessin', 
lad,  I  shall  assure  ye.  Mony  's  the 
time  I  hae  prayed  for  them,  and  could 
na  hae  them.  Sit  ye  doon !  sit  ye 
doon !  I  '11  no  let  ye  gang  fra  my 
door  till  I  hae  thankit  ye,  —  but  gie 
me  time,  gie  me  time.  I  canna  greet 
a'  the  days  of  the  week." 

Flucker,  atat.  14,  opened  his  eyes, 
unable  to  connect  ten  shillings  and 
tears. 

Lord  Ipsden  sat  down,  and  felt  very 
sorry  for  her. 

And  she  cried  at  her  ease. 

If  one  touch  of  nature  make  the 
whole  world  kin,  methinks  that  sweet 
and  wonderful  thing,  sympathy,  is  not 
less  powerful.  What  frozen  barriers, 
what  ice  of  centuries,  it  can  melt  in  a 
moment ! 

His  bare  mention  of  her  troubles  had 
surprised  the  widowed  woman's  heart, 
and  now  she  looked  up,  and  exam- 
ined his  countenance  ;  it  was  soon 
done. 

A  woman,  young  or  old,  high  or 
low,  can  discern  and  appreciate  sensi- 
bility in  a  man's  face,  at  a  single 
glance. 

What  she  saw  there  was  enough. 
She  was  sure  of  sympathy.  She 
recalled  her  resolve,  and  the  tale  of 
her  sorrows  burst  from  her,  like  a 
Hood. 

Then  the  old  fishwife  told  the  young 
aristocrat  how  she  had  borne  twelve 
children,  and  buried  six  as  bairns ; 
how  her  man  was  always  unlucky  ; 
how  a  mast  fell  on  him,  and  disabled 
him  a  whole  season  ;  how  they  could 
but  just  keep  the  pot  boiling  by  the 
deep-sea  fishing,  and  he  was  not  al- 
lowed to  dredge  foroysters,  because  his 
fatherwas  not  a  Newliaveii  man.  How, 
when  the  herring  fishing  came,  to 
make  all  right,  he  never  had  another 
man's  luck  ;  how  his  boat's  crew 
would  draw  empty  nets,  and  a  boat 
alongside  him  would  lie  gunwale  down 
in  the  water  with  the  fish.  How,  at 
last,   one    morning,    the  20th    day   of 


November,  his  boat  came  in  to  New- 
haven  Pier  without  him,  and  when  he 
was  inquired  for,  his  crew  said,  "  He 
had  stayed  at  home,  like  a  lazy  loon, 
and  not  sailed  with  them  the  night  be- 
fore." How  she  was  anxious,  and 
had  all  the  public-houses  searched, 
"  For  he  took  a  drop  now  and  then, 
nae  wonder,  and  him  aye  in  tho 
weather."  Poor  thing  !  when  he  was 
alive  she  used  to  call  him  a  drunken 
scoundrel  to  his  face.  How,  when  tho 
tide  went  down,  a  mad  wife,  whose 
husband  had  been  drowned  twenty 
years  ago,  pointed  out  something  un- 
der the  pier,  that  the  rest  took  for 
sea-weed  floating,  —  how  it  was  the 
hair  of  her  man's  head,  washed  about 
by  the  water,  and  he  was  there, 
drowned  without  a  cry  or  a  struggle, 
by  his  enormous  boots,  that  kept  him 
in  an  upright  position,  though  he  was 
dead  ;  there  lie  stood,  —  dead,  — 
drowned  by  slipping  from  the  slippery 
pier,  close  to  his  comrades'  hands,  in 
a  dark  and  gusty  night ;  how  her 
daughter  married,  and  was  well  to  do, 
and  assisted  her  ;  how  she  fell  into  a 
rapid  decline,  and  died,  a  picture  of 
health  to  inexperienced  eyes.  How 
she,  the  mother,  saw  and  knew,  and 
watched  the  treacherous  advance  of 
disease  and  death ;  how  others  said 
gayly,  "  Her  daughter  was  better," 
and  she  was  obliged  to  say,  "Yes." 
How  she  had  worked,  eighteen  hours 
a  day,  at  making  nets  ;  how,  when 
she  let  out  her  nets  to  the  other  men  at 
the  herring  fishing,  they  always  cheat- 
ed her,  because  her  man  was  gone. 
How  she  had  many  times  had  to 
choose  between  begging  her  meal  and 
going  to  bed  without  it,  but,  thank 
Heaven  !  she  had  always  chosen  the 
latter. 

She  told  him  of  hunger,  cold,  and 
anguish.  As  she  spoke  they  became 
real  things  to  him  ;  up  to  that  mo- 
ment they  had  been  things  in  a  story- 
book. And  as  she  spoke  she  rocked 
herself  from  side  to  side. 

Indeed,  she  was  a  woman  "ac- 
quainted with  grief."  She  might 
have  said,  "Hero  I  and  sorrow  sit/ 
U 


114 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


This  is  my  throne,  bid  kings  come 
and   bow  to  it ! " 

Her  hearer  felt  this,  and  therefore 
this  woman,  poor,  old,  and  ugly,  be- 
came sacred  in  his  eye  ;  it  was  with  a 
strange  sort  of  respect  that  he  tried  to 
console  her. 

He  spoke  to  her  in  tones  gentle  and 
sweet  as  the  south  wind  on  a  summer 
evening. 

"  Madam,"  said  he,  "  let  me  be  so 
happy  as  to  bring  you  some  comfort. 
The  sorrows  of  the  heart  I  cannot 
heal ;  they  are  for  a  mightier  hand ; 
but  a  part  of  your  distress  appears  to 
have  been  positive  need  ;  that  we  can 
at  least  dispose  of,  and  I  entreat  you 
to  believe  that  from  this  hour  want 
shall  never  enter  that  door  again. 
Never !  upon  my  honor !  " 

The  Scotch  are  icebergs,  with  vol- 
canoes underneath ;  thaw  the  Scotch 
ice,  which  is  very  cold,  and  you  shall 
get  to  the  Scotch  fire,  warmer  than 
any  sun  of  Italy  or  Spain. 

His  Lordship  had  risen  to  go.  The 
old  wife  had  seemed  absorbed  in  her 
own  grief;  she  now  dried  her  tears. 

"  Bide  ye,  sirr,"  said  she,  "  till  I 
thank  ye." 

So  she  began  to  thank  him,  rather 
coldly  and  stiffly. 

"  He  says  ye  are  a  lord,"  said  she  ; 
"  I  dinna  ken,  an'  I  dinna  care  ;  but 
ye  're  a  gentleman,  I  daur  say,  and  a 
kind  heart  ye  hae." 

Then  she  began  to  warm. 

"  And  ye  Tl  never  be  a  grain  the 
poorer  for  the  siller  ye  hae  gien  me  ; 
for  he  that  giveth  to  the  poor  lendeth 
to  the  Lord." 

Then  she  began  to  glow. 

"But  it's  no  your  siller;  dinna 
think  it,  — na,  lad,  na  !  0,  fine  !  I 
ken  there  's  mony  a  supper  for  the 
bairns  and  me  in  yon  bits  metal  ; 
but  I  canna  feel  your  siller  as  I  feel 
your  winsome  smile,  —  the  drop  in 
your  young  een, — an'  the  sweet 
words  ye  gied  me,  in  the  sweet  music 
o'  your  Soothern  tongue,  Gude  bless 
ye! "  (Where  was  her  ice  by  this 
time?)  "Gude  bless  ye!  and  I  bless 
ye !  " 


And  she  did  bless  him  ;  and  what  a 
blessing  it  was  ;  not  a  melodious  gen- 
erality, like  a  stage  parent's,  or  papa's 
in  a  damsel's  novel.  It  was  like  the 
son  of  Barak  on  Zophim. 

She  blessed  him,  as  one  who  had 
the  power  and  the  right  to  bless  or 
curse. 

She  stood  on  the  high  ground  of  her 
low  estate,  and  her  afflictions,  —  and 
demanded  of  their  Creator  to  bless  the 
fellow-creature  that  had  come  to  her 
aid  and  consolation. 

This  woman  had  suffered  to  the 
limits  of  endurance;  yesterday  she 
had  said,  "  Surely  the  Almighty  does 
na  see  me  a'  these  years  ! " 

So  now  she  blessed  him,  and  her 
heart's  blood  seemed  to  gush  into 
words. 

She  blessed  him  by  land  and  water. 

She  knew  most  mortal  griefs ;  for 
she  had  felt  them. 

She  warned  them  away  from  him 
one  by  one. 

She  knew  the  joys  of  life  ;  for  she 
had  felt  their  want. 

She  summoned  them  one  by  one  to 
his  side. 

"  And  a  fair  wind  to  your  ship," 
cried  she  :  "  an'  the  storms  aye  ten 
miles  to  leeward  o'  her." 

Many  happy  days,  "an'  weel  spent," 
she  wished  him. 

"  His  love  should  love  him  dearly, 
or  a  better  take  her  place." 

"  Health  to  his  side  by  day ;  sleep 
to  his  pillow  by  night." 

A  thousand  good  wishes  came,  like 
a  torrent  of  fire,  from  her  lips,  with  a 
power  that  eclipsed  his  dreams  of  hu- 
man eloquence  ;  and  then,  changing 
in  a  moment  from  the  thunder  of  a 
Pythoness  to  the  tender  music  of  some 
poetess  mother,  she  ended  :  — 

"  An'  O  my  boenny,  boenny  lad, 
may  ye  be  wi'  the  rich  upon  the  airth 
a'  your  days, — and  wi'  the  puir 

IN  THE  WAHLD  TO  COME  !  " 

His  Lordship's  tongue  refused  him 
the  thin  phrases  of  society. 

"  Farewell  for  the  present,"  said  he, 
and  he  went  quietly  away. 

He  paced  thoughtfully  home. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


115 


He  had  drunk  a  fact  with  every  sen- 
tence ;  and  sin  idea  with  every  fact. 

For  the  knowledge  we  have  never 
realized  is  not  knowledge  to  us,  —  only 
knowledge's  shadow. 

With  the  banished  Duke,  he  now 
began  to  feel,  "  we  are  not  alone  un- 
happy " :  this  universal  world  con- 
tains other  guess  sorrows  than  yours, 
"Viscount,  —  scilicet  than  unvarying 
health,  unbroken  leisure,  and  incalcu- 
lable income. 

Then  this  woman's  eloquence ! 
bless  me  !  he  had  seen  folk  murmur 
politely  in  the  Upper  House,  and 
drone  or  hammer  away  at  the  Speak- 
er down  below,  with  more  heat  than 
warmth. 

He  had  seen  nine  hundred  wild 
beasts  fed  with  peppered  tongue,  in  a 
menagerie  called  U Asscmblce  Nation- 
ale. 

His  cars  had  rung  often  enough,  for 
that  matter. 

This  time  his  heart  beat. 

He  had  been  in  the  principal  Courts 
of  Europe :  knew  what  a  handful  of 
gentlefolks  call  "  the  World  "  :  had 
experienced  the  honeyed  words  of 
courtiers ;  the  misty  nothings  of  di- 
plomatists; and  the  innocent  prattle 
of  mighty  kings. 

15 ut  hitherto  he  seemed  to  have 
undergone  gibberish  and  jargon  :  — 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Political ! 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Social  ! 

Gibberish  and  jargon  —  Theologi- 
cal ! 

Gibl>crish  and  jargon  —  Positive  ! 

1  Vople  h:id  been  prating  —  Jess  had 
8]  ii  i  ken. 

Hut,  it  is  to  he  observed,  he  was 
under  the  double  etl'eet  of  eloquence 
and  novelty  ;  and,  so  situated,  we 
overrate  things,  you  know. 

That  night  he  made  a  provision  for 
this  poor  woman,  in  case  he  should 
die  before  next  week. 

"Who  knows?"  said  he,  "she  is 
such  an  unlucky  woman." 

Then  he  went  to  bed,  and  whether 
from  the  widow's  Messing,  or  the  : » i r 
of  the  place,  bo  slept  like  a  plough- 
boy. 


Leaving  Richard,  Lord  Ipsdcn,  to 
work  out  the  Aberford  problem,  —  to 
relieve  poor  people,  one  or  two  of 
whom,  like  the  Rutherford,  were  grate- 
ful, the  rest  acted  it  to  the  life,  —  to 
receive  now  and  then  a  visit  from 
Christina  Johnstone,  who  borrowed 
every  mortal  book  in  his  house,  who 
sold  him  fish,  invariably  cheated  him 
by  the  indelible  force  of  habit,  and 
then  remorsefully  undid  the  bargain, 
with  a  peevish  entreaty  that "  he  would 
not  be  so  green,  for  there  was  no  do- 
ing business  with  him,"  —  to  be  fas- 
tened upon  by  Flacker,  who,  with 
admirable  smoothness  and  cunning, 
wormed  himself  into  a  cabin-boy  on 
board  the  yacht,  and  man-at-arms 
ashore. 

To  cruise  in  search  of  adventures, 
and  meet  nothing  but  disappoint- 
ments; to  acquire  a  browner  tint,  a 
lighter  step,  and  a  jacket,  our  story 
moves  for  a  while  towards  humbler 
personages. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Jess  Rotiierford,  widow  of 
Alexander  Johnstone,  for  Newhaven 
wives,  like  great  artists,  change  their 
conditions  without  changing  their 
names,  was  known  in  the  town  only 
as  a  dour  wife,  a  sour  old  carlinc. 
Whose  fault  ? 

Uo  wooden  faces  and  iron  tongues 
tempt  sorrow  to  put  out  its  snails' 
horns  ? 

She  hardly  spoke  to  any  one,  or 
any  one  to  her,  but  four  days  after  the 
visit  we  have  described  people  began 
to  bend  looks  of  sympathy  on  her,  to 
step  out  of  their  way  to  give  her  a 
kindly  good-morrow  ;  after  a  bit,  fish 
and  meal  used  to  be  placed  on  be* 
table  by  one  neighbor  or  another, 
when  she  was  out :  and  so  on.  She 
was  at  first  behind-hand  in  respond- 
ing to  all  this,  but  by  degrees  she 

thawed  to  those  who  wen-  thawing  to 
her.  Next,  Saunders  called  on  her, 
and  Bhowed  her  n  settlement,  made 
for   her    benefit,  on  certain    lands    in 


11G 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Lanarkshire.     She   was   at  ease   for 
life. 

The  Almighty  had  seen  her  all  these 
years. 

But  how  came  her  neighbors  to 
melt? 

Because  a  nobleman  had  visited 
her. 

Not  exactly,  dear  novel-reader. 

This  was  it. 

That  same  night,  by  a  bright  fire 
lighting  up  snowy  walls,  burnished 
copper,  gleaming  candlesticks,  and  a 
dinner-table  floor,  sat  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  Christie  Johnstone,  and 
her  brother,  Flucker. 

She  with  a  book,  he  with  his  reflec- 
tions opposite  her. 

"  Lassie,  hae  ye  ony  siller  past  ye  ?  " 

"  Ay,  lad  ;  an'  I  mean  to  keep  it ! " 

The  baddish  boy  had  registered  a 
vow  to  the  contrary,  and  proceeded 
to  bleed  his  flint  (for  to  do  Christie 
justice  the  process  was  not  very  dis- 
similar). Fluckcr  had  a  versatile 
genius  for  making  money ;  he  had 
made  it  in  forty  different  ways,  by 
land  and  sea,  tenpence  at  a  time. 

"  I  hae  gotten  the  life  o'  Jess  Ruth- 
erford, till  ye,"  said  he. 

"  Giest  then." 

"  I  'm  seeking  half  a  crown  for 't," 
said  he. 

Now,  he  knew  he  should  never  get 
half  a  crown,  but  he  also  knew  that 
if  he  asked  a  shilling,  he  should  be 
beaten  clown  to  fourpence. 

So  half  a  crown  was  his  first  bode. 

The  enemy,  with  anger  at  her 
heart,  called  up  a  humorous  smile, 
and  saying,  "  An  ye  '11  get  saxpence," 
went  about  some  household  matter ; 
in  reality,  to  let  her  proposal  rankle 
in  Flucker. 

Fluckcr  lighted  his  pipe  slowly,  as 
one  who  would  not  do  a  sister  the 
injustice  to  notice  so  trivial  a  propo- 
sition. 

He  waited  fresh  overtures. 

They  did  not  come. 

Christie  resumed  her  book. 

Then  the  baddish  boy  fixed  his  eye 
on  the  fire,  and  said  softly  and  thought- 
fully to  the  fire,  "  Hech,  what  a  heap 


o'   troubles  yon   woman   has    come 
through." 

This  stroke  of  art  was  not  lost. 
Christie  looked  up  from  her  book ; 
pretended  he  had  spoken  to  her,  gave 
a  fictitious  yawn,  and  renewed  the  ne- 
gotiation with  the  air  of  one  disposed 
to  kill  time. 

She  was  dying  for  the  story. 

Commerce  was  twice  broken  off  and 
renewed  by  each  power  in  turn. 

At  last  the  bargain  was  struck  at 
fourteen-pence. 

Then  Flucker  came  out,  the  honest 
merchant. 

He  had  listened  intently,  with  mer- 
cantile views. 

He  had  the  widow's  sorrows  all  off 
pat. 

He  was  not  a  bit  affected  himself, 
but  by  pure  memory  he  remembered 
where  she  had  been  most  agitated  or 
overcome. 

He  gave  it  Christie,  word  for  word, 
and  even  threw  in  what  dramatists 
call  "  the  business,"  thus  :  — 

"  Here  ye  suld  greet  —  " 

"  Here  ye  *11  play  your  hand  like  a 
geraffe." 

"  Geraffe  ?  That 's  a  beast,  I  'm 
thinking." 

"  Na  ;  it 's  the  thing  on  the  hill  that 
makes  signals." 

"  Telegraph,  ye  fulish  goloshen  !  " 

"  Oo  ay,  telegraph !  Geraffe  's  sun- 
est  said  for  a'." 

Thus  Jess  Rutherford's  life  camo 
into  Christie  Johnstone's  hands. 

She  told  it  to  a  knot  of  natives  next 
dav;  it  lost  nothing,  for  she  was  a 
woman  of  feeling,  and  by  intuition  an 
artist  of  the  tongue.  She  was  the 
best  raconteur  in  a  place  where  there 
are  a  hundred,  male  and  female,  who 
attempt  that  art. 

The  next  day  she  told  it  again,  and 
then  inferior  narrators  got  hold  of  it, 
and  it  soon  circulated  through  the 
town. 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  the  sud- 
den sympathy  with  Jess  Rutherford. 

As  our  prigs  would  6ay  :  — 

"Art  had  adopted  her  cause  and 
adorned  her  tale." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


117 


CHATTER  V. 

The  fishing  village  of  Newhaven  is 
an  unique  place ;  it  is  a  colony  that 
retains  distinct  features  ;  the  people 
seldom  intermarry  with  their  Scotch 
neighbors. 

Some  say  the  colony  is  Dutch, 
some  Danish,  some  Flemish.  The 
character  and  cleanliness  of  their  fe- 
male costume  points  rather  to  the 
latter. 

Fish,  like  horse -flesh,  corrupts  the 
mind  and  manners. 

After  a  certain  age,  the  Newhaven 
fishwife  is  always  a  blackguard,  and 
ugly  ;  but  among  the  younger  speci- 
mens, who  have  not  traded  too  much, 
or  come  into  much  contact  with  larger 
towns,  a  charming  modesty,  or  else 
slyness  (such  as  no  man  can  distin- 
guish from  it,  so  it  answers  every  pur- 
pose), is  to  be  found,  combined  with 
rare  grace  and  beauty. 

It  is  a  race  of  women  that  the  north- 
ern sun  peachilics  instead  of  rosewood- 
izing. 

On  Sundays  the  majority  sacrifice 
appearance  to  fashion  ;  these  turn 
out  rainbows  of  silk,  satin,  and  lace. 
In  the  week  they  were  all  grace,  and 
no  stays  ;  now  they  seem  all  stays  and 
no  grace.  They  never  look  so  ill  as 
when  they  change  their  "  costume  " 
fur "  dress." 

The  men  arc  smart  fishermen,  dis- 
tinguished from  the  other  fishermen 
of  the  Firth  chiefly  by  their  "  dredging 
sont;." 

This  old  song  is  money  to  them ; 
thus  :  — 

Dredging  is  practically  very  stiff 
rowing  for  ten  hours. 

Now  both  the  Newhaven  men  and 
their  rivals  arc  agreed  that  this  6ong 
lifts  them  through  more  work  than 
untuned  fishermen  can  manage. 

I  bare  heard  the  song,  and  Been  the 

work  done  to  it;  and  incline  to  think 
it  helps  the  oar,  not  only  by  keeping 
(he  time  true,  and  the  .spirit  alive,  but 
also  by  its  favorable  action  on  the 
Lungs.  It  is  Bung  in  a  peculiar  way  : 
the  sound  is,  as  it  were,  expelled  from 


the  chest  in  a  sort  of  musical  ejacula- 
tions ;  and  the  like,  we  know,  was 
done  by  the  ancient  gymnasts ;  and 
is  done  by  the  French  bakers,  in  lift- 
ing their  enormous  dough,  and  by  out 
paviors. 

The  song,  in  itself,  does  not  contain 
above  seventy  stock  verses,  but  these 
perennial  lines  are  a  nucleus,  round 
which  the  men  improvise  the  topics  of 
the  day,  giving,  I  know  not  for  what 
reason,  the  preference  to  such  as  verge 
upon  indelicacy. 

The  men  and  women  are  musical 
and  narrative ;  three  out  of  four  can 
sing  a  song  or  tell  a  story,  and  they 
omit  few  opportunities. 

Males  and  females  suck  whiskey 
like  milk,  and  are  quarrelsome  in  pro- 
portion :  the  men  fight  (round-hand- 
ed), the  women  flcicht  or  scold,  in  the 
form  of  a  teapot,  —  the  handle  fixed 
and  the  spout  sawing  the  air. 

A  singular  custom  prevails  here. 

The  maidens  have  only  one  sweet- 
heart apiece ! ! ! 

So  the  whole  town  is  in  pairs. 

The  courting  is  all  done  on  Satur- 
day night,  by  the  lady's  fire.  It  is 
hard  to  keep  out  of  a  groove  in  which 
all  the  town  is  running;  and  tho 
Johnstone  had  possessed,  as  mcro 
property,  —  a  lad  ! 

She  was  so  wealthy  that  few  of 
them  could  pretend  to  aspire  to  her, 
so  she  selected  for  her  chattel  a  young 
man  called  Willy  Liston  ;  a  youth  of 
an  unhappy  turn,  —  he  contributed 
nothing  to  hilarity,  his  face  was  a  kill- 
joy,—  nobody  liked  him;  for  this  fe- 
male reason  Christie  distinguished 
him. 

He  found  a  divine  supper  every 
Saturday  night  in  her  house;  he  ate, 
and  sighed  !  Christie  fed  him,  and 
laughed  at  him. 

Fluckcr  ditto. 

As  she  neither  fed  nor  laughed  at 
any  other  man,  some  twenty  were 
bitterly  jealous  of  Willy  Liston,  and 
this  gave  the  blighted  youth  a  cheer- 
ful moment  or  two. 

But  the  bright  alliance  received  a 
check  some  months  before  our  tale. 


113 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Christie  was  heluo  librorum !  and 
like  others  who  have  that  taste,  and 
can  only  gratify  it  in  the  interval  of 
manual  exereise,  she  read  very  in- 
tensely in  her  hours  of  study.  A 
book  absorbed  her.  She  was  like  a 
leech  on  these  occasions,  non  missura 
cittern :  even  Jean  Carnie,  her  coadju- 
tor or  "  neebor,"  as  they  call  it,  found 
it  best  to  keep  out  of  her  way  till  the 
book  was  sucked. 

One  Saturday  night  Willy  Liston's 
evil  star  ordained  that  a  gentleman 
of  French  origin  and  Spanish  dress, 
called  Gil  Bias,  should  be  the  John- 
stone's companion. 
Willy  Liston  arrived. 
Christie,  who  had  bolted  the  door, 
told  him  from  the  window,  civilly 
enough,  but  decidedly,  "  She  would 
excuse  his  company  that  night." 

"  Vara  weel,"  said  Willy,  and  de- 
parted. 

Next  Saturday,  —  no  Willy  came. 
Ditto  the  next.     Willy  was  wait- 
ing the  amende. 

Christie  forgot  to  make  it. 
One  day  she  was  passing  the  boats, 
Willy  beckoned  her  mysteriously ; 
he  led  her  to  his  boat,  which  was 
called  "  The  Christie  Johnstone  "  ; 
by  the  boat's  side  was  a  paint  pot  and 
brush. 

They  had  not  supped  together  for 
five  Saturdays. 

Ergo,  Mr.  Liston  had  painted  out 
the  four  first  letters  of  "Christie,"  he 
now  proceeded  to  paint  out  the  fifth, 
giving  her  to  understand,  that,  if  she 
allowed  the  whole  name  to  go,  a  letter 
every  blank  Saturday,  her  image  would 
be  gradually,  but  effectually,  obliter- 
ated from  the  heart  Listonian. 

My  reader  has  done  what  Liston 
did  not,  anticipate  her  answer.  She 
recommended  him,  whilst  his  hand 
was  in,  to  paint  out  the  entire  name, 
and,  with  white  paint  and  a  smaller 
brush,  to  substitute  some  other  female 
appellation.  So  saying,  she  tripped 
off. 

Mr.  Liston  on  this  was  guilty  of 
the  following  inconsistency ;  he 
pressed  the  paint  carefully  out  of  the 


brush  into  the  pot :  having  thus  econ- 
omized his  materia],  he  hurled  the  pot 
which  contained  his  economy  at  "  tie 
Johnstone,"  he  then  adjourned  to  the 
"  Peacock,"  and  "  away  at  once  with 
love  and  reason." 

Thenceforth,  when  men  asked  who 
was  Christie  Johnstone's  lad,  the  an- 
swer used  to  be,  "  She  's  seeking  ane." 
Quelle  horrewr  ! ! 

Newhaven  does  n't  know  every- 
thing, but  my  intelligent  reader  sus- 
pects, and,  if  confirming  his  suspicions 
can  reconcile  him  to  our  facts,  it  will 
soon  be  done. 

But  he  must  come  with  us  to  Edin- 
burgh ;  it 's  only  three  miles. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  little  band  of  painters  came 
into  Edinburgh  from  a  professional 
walk.  Three  were  of  Edinburgh  : 
Groove,  aged  fifty ;  Jones  and  Hya- 
cinth, young ;  the  latter  long-haired. 

With  them  was  a  young  English- 
man, the  leader  of  the  expedition,  — 
Charles  Gatty. 

His  step  was  elastic,  and  his  man- 
ner wonderfully  animated,  without 
loudness. 

"  A  bright  day,"  said  he.  "  The 
sun  forgot  where  he  was,  and  shone  ; 
everything  was  in  favor  of  art." 

"  O  dear,  no,"  replied  old  Groove, 
"  not  where  I  was." 

"  Why,  what  was  the  matter  ?  " 

"  The  flies  kept  buzzing  and  biting, 
and  sticking  in  the  work  :  that 's  the 
worst  of  out  o'  doors  !  " 

"  The  flies  !  is  that  all  ?  Swear  the 
spiders  in  special  constables  next 
time,"  cried  Gatty.  "  We  shall  win 
the  day  "  ;  and  light  shone  into  his 
hazel  eye. 

"  The  world  will  not  always  put  up 
with  the  humbugs  of  the  brush,  who, 
to  imitate  Nature,  turn  their  back  on 
her.  Paint  an  out  o'  door  scene  in 
doors  !  I  swear  by  the  sun  it 's  a  lie  ! 
the  one  stupid,  impudent  lie,  that 
glitters  amongst  the  lies  of  vulgar  art, 


CIIRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


119 


like  Satan  amongst  Belial,  Mammon, 
and  all  those  beggars. 

"  Now  look  here ;  the  barren  out- 
lines of  a  scene  must  be  looked  at,  to 
be  done  ;  hence  the  sketching  system 
slop-sellers  of  the  Academy  !  but  the 
million  delicacies  of  light,  shade,  and 
color,  can  be  trusted  to  memory,  can 
they  ■? 

"  It 's  a  lie  big  enough  to  shake  the 
earth  out  of  her  course  ;  if  any  part  of 
the  work  could  be  trusted  to  memory 
or  imagination,  it  happens  to  be  the 
bare  outlines,  and  they  can't.  The 
million  subtleties  of  light  and  color; 
learn  them  by  heart,  and  say  them  off 
on  canvas  !  the  highest  angel  in  the 
sky  must  have  his  eye  upon  them,  and 
look  devilish  sharp,  too,  or  he  sha'  n't 
paint  them  :  I  give  him  Charles  Gat- 
ty's  word  for  that." 

"  That 's  very  eloquent,  I  call  it," 
said  Jones. 

"  Yes,"  said  poor  old  Groove,  "  the 
lad  will  never  make  a  painter." 

"  Yes,  I  shall,  Groove ;  at  least  I 
hope  so,  but  it  must  be  a  long  time 
first." 

"  I  never  knew  a  painter  who  could 
talk  and  paint  both,"  explained  Mr. 
Groove. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Gatty.  "  Then 
I  '11  say  but  one  word  more,  and  it  is 
this.  The  artifice  of  painting  is  old 
enough  to  die  ;  it  is  time  tho  art  was 
horn.  Whenever  it  does  come  into 
the  world,  you  will  see  no  more  dead 
corpses  of  trees,  grass,  and  water, 
robbed  of  their  life,  the  sunlight,  and 
flung  upon  canvas  in  a  studio,  by  the 
light  of  a  cigar,  and  a  lie  —  and —  " 

"  How  much  do  you  expect  for  your 
picture  '  "  interrupted  Jones. 

"What  has  that  to"  do  with  it? 
With  these  little  swords  "  (waving  his 
brush),  "we'll  fight  for  nature-light, 
truth  light,  and  sunlight,  against  a 
world  in  arms,  —  no,  worse,  in  swad- 
dling clothes." 

"  With  these  little  swerrds,"  replied 
pour  old  (Jmovc,  "we  shall  cut  our 
own  throats  if  we  go  against  people's 
prejudices." 

The  young  artist  laughed  the  old 


daubster  a  merry  defiance,  and  then 
separated  from  the  party,  for  his  lodg- 
ings were  down  the  street. 

He  had  not  left  them  long,  before  a 
most  musical  voice  was  heard,  cry- 
ing:— 

"  A  caallerr  owoo !  " 
And  two  young  fishwives  hove  in 
sight. 

The  boys  recognized  one  of  them  as 
Gatty's  sweetheart. 

"  Is  he  in  love  with  her  ?  "  inquired 
Jones. 

Hyacinth  the  longhaired  undertook 
to  reply. 

"  He  loves  her  better  than  anything 
in  the  world,  except  Art.  Love  and 
Art  are  two  beautiful  things,"  whined 
Hyacinth. 

"  She,   too,    is   beautiful.      I   have 
done  her,"  added  he,  with  a  simper. 
"  In  oil  ?  "  asked  Groove. 
"  In  oil  1  no,  in  verse,  here  "  ;  and 
he  took  out  a  paper. 

"  Then  had  n't  we  better  cut  1  you 
might  propose  reading  them,"  said 
poor  old  Groove. 

"  Have  you  any  oysters  f  "  inquired 
Jones  of  the  Carnie  and  the  John- 
stone, who  were  now  alongside. 

"  Plenty,"  answered  Jean.  "  Hae 
ye  ony  siller? " 

The  artists  looked  at  one  another, 
and  did  n't  all  speak  at  once. 

"  I,  madam,"  said  old  Groove,  in- 
sinuatingly, to  Christie,  "am  a  friend 
of  Mr.  Gatty's ;  perhaps,  on  that  ac- 
count, you  would  lend  me  an  oyster  or 
two." 

"Na,"  said  Jean,  sternly. 
"  Hyacinth,"  said  Jones,  sarcastical- 
ly, "give  them  your  verses,  perhaps 
that  will  soften  them." 

Hyacinth  gave  his  verses,  descrip- 
tive of  herself,  to  Christie. 

This  youngster  was   one  of  those 
who  mind  other  people's  business. 
Alienis  studiia  ddectotm  contempsit 

Still  III. 

His  destiny  was  to  be  a  bad  painter, 
so  he  wanted  to  be  an  execrable 
poet. 

All  this  morning  he  had  been  dog- 
grelling,  whet)  he  ought  to  have  been 


120 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


daubing ;  and  now  he  will  have  to 
sup  off  a  colored  print,  if  he  sups  at 
all. 

Christie  read,  blushed,  and  put  the 
verses  in  her  bosom. 

"  Come  awa,  Custy,"  said  Jean. 

"  Hcts,"  said  Christie,  "  gie  the 
puir  lads  twarree  oysters,  what  the 
waur  will  we  be  ?  " 

So  they  opened  oysters  for  them  ; 
and  Hyacinth  the  long-haired  looked 
down  on  the  others  with  sarcastico- 
benignant  superiority.  He  had  con- 
ducted a  sister  art  to  the  aid  of  his 
brother  brushes. 

"  The  poet's  empire,  all  our  hearts  allow  ; 
But  doggrel's  power  was  never  known  till 
now." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  last 
chapter,  Charles  Gatty,  artist,  was 
going  to  usher  in  a  new  state,  of  things, 
true  art,  etc.  Wales  was  to  be  paint- 
ed in  Wales,  not  Poland  Street. 

He  and  five  or  six  more  youngsters 
were  to  be  in  the  foremost  files  of 
truth,  and  take  the  world  by  storm. 

This  was  at  two  o'clock  ;  it  is  now 
five  ;  whereupon  the  posture  of  affairs, 
the  prospects  of  art,  the  face  of  the 
world,  the  nature  of  things,  are  quite 
the  reverse. 

In  the  artist's  room,  on  the  floor, 
was  a  small  child,  whose  movements, 
and  they  were  many,  were  viewed 
with  huge  dissatisfaction  by  Charles 
Gatty,  Esq.  This  personage,  pencil 
in  bund,  sat  slouching  and  morose, 
looking  gloomily  at  his  intractable 
model. 

Things  were  going  on  very  badly  ; 
he  had  been  waiting  two  hours  for  an 
infantine  pose  as  common  as  dirt,  and 
the  little  viper  would  die  first. 

Out  of  doors  everything  was  noth- 
ing, for  the  sun  was  obscured,  and  to 
all  appearance  extinguished  forever. 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Groove,"  cried  he,  to 
that  worthy,  who  peeped  in  at  that 
moment ;  "  you  are  right,  it  is  better 


to  plough  away  upon  canvas  blind- 
fold, as  our  grandfathers  —  no,  grand- 
mothers—  used,  than  to  kill  ourselves 
toiling  after  such  coy  ladies  as  Nature 
and  Truth." 

"  Aweel,  I  dinna  ken,  sirr,"  replied 
Groove,  in  smooth  tones.  "  I  didna 
like  to  express  my  warm  approbation 
of  you  before  the  lads,  for  fear  of  mak- 
ing them  jealous." 

"They  be—    No!" 

"  I  ken  what  ye  wad  say,  sirr,  an  it 
wad  hae  been  a  vara  just  an'  sprightly 
observaation.  Aweel,  between  oursels, 
I  look  upon  ye  as  a  young  gentleman 
of  amazing  talent  and  moedesty.  Man, 
ye  dinna  do  yoursel  justice  ;  ye  should 
be  in  th'  Academy,  at  the  hede  o'  't." 

"  Mr.  Groove,  I  am  a  poor  fainting 
pilgrim  on  the  road,  where  stronger 
spirits  have  marched  erect  before  me." 

"  A  faintin'  pelgrim  !  Deil  a  frights 
o'  ye,  ye  're  a  brisk  and  bonny  lad. 
Ah,  sirr,  in  my  juvenile  days,  we 
didna  fash  wi  nature,  and  truth,  an 
the  like." 

"  The  like !  What  is  like  nature 
and  truth,  except  themselves  ?  " 

"  Vara  true,  sirr ;  vara  true,  and 
sae  I  doot  I  will  never  attain  the 
height  o'  profeeciency  ye  hae  reached. 
An'  at  this  vara  moment,  sir,"  contin- 
ued Groove,  with  delicious  solemnity 
and  mystery,  "  ye  see  before  ye,  sir, 
a  man  wha  is  in  maist  dismal  want  — 
o'  ten  shellcn  !  "  (A  pause.)  "If 
your  superior  talent  has  put  ye  in  pos- 
session of  that  sum,  ye  would  obleege 
me  infinitely  by  a  temporary  accom- 
modaation,  Mr.  Gaattie." 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  to  the 
point  at  once  ?  "  cried  Gatty,  brusque- 
ly, "instead  of  humbling  me  with  un- 
deserved praise.  There."  Groove 
held  out  his  hand,  but  made  a  wry 
face  when,  instead  of  money,  Gatty 
put  a  sketch  into  his  hand. 

"  There,"  said  Gatty,  "  that  is  a 
lie  !  " 

"  How  can  it  be  a  lee  ?  "  said  the 
other,  with  sour  inadvertence.  "  How 
can  it  be  a  lee,  when  I  hae  na  spo- 
ken ? " 

"  You  don't  understand  me.     That 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


121 


sketch  is  a  libel  on  a  poor  cow  and  an 
unfortunate  oak-rice.  I  did  them  at 
the  Academy.  They  liad  never  done 
me  any  wrong,  poor  things  ;  they  suf- 
fered unjustly.  You  take  them  to  a 
shop,  swear  they  are  a  tree  and  a  cow, 
and  some  fool,  that  never  really  looked 
into  a  cow  or  a  tree,  will  give  you  ten 
shillings  for  them." 

"  Are  ye  sure,  lad  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure.  Mr.  Groove,  sir,  if 
you  cannot  sell  a  lie  for  ten  shillings, 
you  are  not  fit  to  live  in  this  world  ; 
where  is  the  lie  that  will  not  sell  for 
ten  shillings  ?  " 

"  I  shall  think  the  better  o'  lees  all 
my  days ;  sir,  your  words  are  in- 
specriting."  And  away  went  Groove 
With  the  sketch. 

Gatty  reflected,  and  stopped  him. 

"On  second  thoughts,  Groove,  you 
must  not  ask  ten  shillings  ;  you  must 
ask  twenty  pounds  for  that  ruhbish." 

"  Twenty  pund  !  What  for  will  I 
seek  twenty  pund  ?  " 

"  Simply  because  people  that  would 
not  give  you  ten  shillings  for  it  will 
offer  you  eleven  pounds  for  it  if  you 
ask  twenty  pounds." 

"  The  rales,"  roared  Groove. 
"  Twenty  pund  !  hem  !  "  He  looked 
closer  into  it.  "  For  a',"  said  he,  "  I 
begin  to  obsairve  it  is  a  work  of  great 
merit.  I  '11  seek  twenty  pund  an' 
I  Ml  no  tak  less  than  fifteen  schelln,  at 
present.*' 

The  visit  of  this  routine  painter  did 
not  cheer  our  artist. 

The  small  child  got  a  coal,  and 
pounded  the  floor  with  it,  like  a  ma- 
chine incapable  of  fatigue.  So  the 
wished-for  pose  seemed  more  remote 
than  ever. 

The  day  waxed  darker,  instead  of 
lighter;  Mr.  Gun's  reflections  took 
til -■  >  n  still  more  sombre  hue. 

"  Even  Nature  spites  us,"  thought 
he,  "  because  we  love  her. 

"Then  c:\nt,  tradition,  numbers, 
slang,  and  money  are  against  us  ;  the 
lc;ist  of  these  is  singly  a  match  for 
truth  ;  we  shall  die  of  despair  or  paint 
cobwebs  in  Bedlam  ;  and  I  am  taint, 
weary  of  a  hopeless  struggle ;  and 
G 


one  man's  brush  is  truer  than  mine, 
another's  is  bolder,  —  my  hand  and 
eye  are  not  in  tune.  Ah  !  no  !  I  shall 
never,  never,  never  be  a  painter." 

These  last  words  broke  audibly  from 
him  as  his  head  went  down  almost  to 
his  knees. 

A  hand  was  placed  on  his  shoulder 
as  a  flake  of  snow  falls  on  the  water. 
It  was  Christie  Johnstone,  radiant, 
who  had  glided  in  unobserved. 

"  What 's  wrang  wi'  ye,  my  lad  1 " 

"  The  sun  is  gone  to  the  Devil,  for 
one  thing." 

"  Heeh  !  hech  !  ye  Tl  no  be  long 
ahint  him  ;  div  ye  no  think  shame." 

"  And  I  want  that  little  brute  just 
to  do  so,  and  he  'd  die  first." 

"  O,  ye  villain,  to  ca'  a  bairn  a 
brute  ;  there  's  but  ae  brute  here,  an' 
it's  no  yon,  Jamie,  nor  me,  —  is  it, 
my  lamb?  " 

She  then  stepped  to  the  window. 

"  It 's  clear  to  windward  ;  in  ten 
minutes  ye'll  hae  plenty  sun.  Tak 
your  tools  noo."  And  at  the  word 
she  knelt  on  the  floor,  whipped  out  a 
paper  of  sugar-plums,  and  said  to 
him  she  had  christened  "  Jamie  "  : 
"  Heh  !  Here  's  sweeties  till  ye." 
Out  went  Jamie's  arms,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  machine  and  she  had  pulled 
the  right  string. 

"  Ah,  that  will  do,"  said  Gatty,  and 
sketched  away. 

Unfortunately  Jamie  was  quickly 
arrested  on  the  way  to  immortality  by 
his  mother,  who  came  in,  saying:  — 

"  I  maun  hae  my  bairn,  —  lie  canna 
be  aye  wasting  his  time  here." 

This  sally  awakened  the  satire  that 
ever  lies  ready  in  piscatory  bosoms. 

"  Wasting  his  time  !  ye  re  no  blate. 
O,  ye  'II  he  for  taking  him  to  the 
college  to  laern  phecsick,  — and  teach 
maenners." 

"  Ye  need  na  begin  on  me,"  said  the 
woman,  "I'm  no  match  for  New- 
haven." 

So  Baying  she  cut  short  the  dispute 
by  carrying  off  the  gristle  of  conten- 
tion. 

"  Another  enemy  to  art,"  said  Gat- 
ty, hurling  away  his  pencil. 


122 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


The  young  fishwife  inquired  if  there 
were  any  more  griefs :  what  she  had 
heard  had  not  accounted,  to  her  rea- 
son, for  her  companion's  depression. 

"  Are  ye  sick,  laddy  ? "  said  she. 

"No,  Christie,  not  sick,  but  quite, 
quite  down  in  the  mouth." 

She  scanned  him  thirty  seconds. 

"  What  had  ye  till  your  dinner  ?  " 

"  I  forget." 

"  A  choep,  likely  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  was." 

"  Or  maybe  it  was  a  steak  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  it  was  a  steak." 

"  Taste  my  girdle  cake,  that  I  've 
brought  for  ye." 

She  gave  him  a  piece ;  be  ate  it 
rapidly,  and  looked  gratefully  at  her. 

"  Noo,  div  ye  no  think  shame  to 
look  me  in  the  face  ?  Ye  hae  na 
dined  ava."  And  she  wore  an  in- 
jured look. 

"  Sit  ye  there ;  it 's  ower  late  for 
dinner,  but  ye  Ml  get  a  cup  tea:  doon 
i'  the  mooth,  nae  wonder,  when  nae- 
thing  gangs  doon  your  —  " 

In  a  minute  she  placed  a  tea-tray, 
and  ran  into  the  kitchen  with  a  tea- 
pot. 

The  next  moment  a  yell  was  heard, 
and  she  returned  laughing,  with  an- 
other teapot. 

"  The  wife  had  maskit  her  tea  till 
herseP,"  said  this  lawless  forager. 

Tea  and  cake  on  the  table,  —  beau- 
ty seated  by  his  side,  —  all  in  less  than 
a  minute. 

He  offered  her  a  piece  of  cake. 

"  Na  !  I  am  no  for  any." 

"Nor  I  then,"  said  he. 

"  Hets  !  eat,  I  tell  ye." 

He  replied  by  putting  a  bit  to  her 
heavenly  mouth. 

"Ye 're  awfu'  opinionated,"  said 
she,  with  a  countenance  that  said  noth- 
ing should  induce  her,  and  eating  it 
almost  contemporaneously. 

"  Put  plenty  sugar,"  added  she, 
referring  to  the  Chinese  infusion ; 
"  mind,  I  hae  a  sweet  tooth." 

"  You  have  a  sweet  set,"  said  he, 
approaching  another  morsel. 

They  showed  themselves  by  way  of 
6milc,  and  confirmed  the  accusation. 


"Aha!  lad,"  answered  she; "  they  ve 
been  the  death  o'  niony  a  herrin' !  " 

"  Now,  what  does  that  mean  in 
English,  Christie  ?  " 

"  My  grinders  —  (a  full  stop.) 

"Which  you  approve — (a  full  stop.) 

"Have  been  fatal —  (a  full  stop.) 

"  To  many  fishes  !  " 

Christie  prided  herself  on  her  Eng- 
lish, which  she  had  culled  from  books. 

Then  he  made  her  drink  from  the 
cup,  and  was  ostentatious  in  putting 
his  lips  to  the  same  part  of  the  brim. 

Then  she  left  the  table,  and  in- 
spected all  things. 

She  came  to  his  drawers,  opened 
one,  and  was  horror-struck. 

There  were  coats  and  trousers,  with 
their  limbs  interchangeably  inter- 
twined, waistcoats,  shirts,  and  cigars, 
hurled  into  chaos. 

She  instantly  took  the  drawer  bod- 
ily out,  brought  it,  leaned  it  against 
the  tea-table,  pointed  silently  into  it, 
with  an  air  of  majestic  reproach,  and 
awaited  the  result. 

"  I  can  find  whatever  I  want,"  said 
the  unblushing  bachelor,  "  except 
money." 

"  Siller  does  na  bide  wi'  slovens  ! 
hae  ye  often  siccan  a  gale  o'  wind  in 
your  drawer  ?  " 

"  Every  day  !     Speak  English  !  " 

"  Aweel !  How  do  you  do?  that 's 
Ennglish  !     I  daur  say." 

"  Jolly  !  "  cried  he,  with  his  mouth 
full. 

Christie  was  now  folding  up  and 
neatly  arranging  his  clothes. 

"  Will  you  ever,  ever  be  a  painter  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  painter !  I  could  paint 
the  Devil  pea-green  !  " 

'  Dinna  speak  o'  yon  lad,  Chairles, 
it 's  no  canny." 

"  No  !  I  am  going  to  paint  an  an- 
gel ;  the  prettiest,  cleverest  girl  in 
Scotland,  '  The  Snowdrop  of  the 
North.' " 

And  he  dashed  into  his  bedroom  to 
find  a  canvas. 

"  Hech  ! "  reflected  Christie.  "  Thir 
Ennglish  hae  flattering  tongues,  as 
sure  as  Dcthe ;  '  The  Snawdrap  o' 
the  Nonth  ! '  " 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


123 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Gatty's  back  was  hardly  turned 
when  a  visitor  arrived,  and  inquired, 
"  Is  Mr  Gatty  at  home  ?  " 

"  What 's  your  will  wi'  him  ?  "  was 
the  Scottish  reply. 

"  Will  vou  give  him  this  ?  " 

"  What  est  1  " 

"Are  you  fond  of  asking  ques- 
tions ?  "  inquired  the  man. 

"  Ay !  and  fules  canna  answer 
them,"  retorted  Christie. 

The  little  document  which  the  man, 
in  retiring,  left  with  Christie  John- 
stone purported  to  come  from  one 
Victoria,  who  seemed,  at  first  sight, 
disposed  to  show  Charles  Gatty  civili- 
ties. "Victoria  —  to  Charles  Gatty, 
greeting!  (salutem)."  Christie  was 
much  struck  with  this  instance  of 
royal  affability ;  she  read  no  further, 
but  began  to  think,  "  Victoree  !  that 's 
the  Queen  hersel.  A  letter  fra  the 
Queen  to  a  painter  lad  !  Picters  will 
rise  i'  the  mairket,  —  it  will  be  an 
order  to  paint  the  bairns.  I  bae 
brought  him  luck  ;  I  am  real  pleased." 
Ami  on  Gatty's  return,  canvas  in 
band,  she  whipped  the  document  be- 
hind her,  and  said  archly,  "  I  hae 
sonic  thing  for  ye,  a  tecket  fra  a  leddy, 
ye  '11  no  want  siller  fra  this  day." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

"  Ay  !  indeed,  fra  a  great  leddy ; 
it 's  vara  gude  o'  me  to  gie  ye  it ;  hell  ! 
tak  it." 

He  did  take  it,  looked  stupefied, 
looked  again,  sunk  into  a  chair,  and 
glared  at  it. 

"  Laddyl"  said  Christie. 

"  This  is  a  new  step  on  the  down- 
ward path,"  said  the  poor  painter. 

"  Is   it  no  an  orrder  to  paint  the 

Sroung  prence?"  said  Christie,  faint* 
J- 
"  No  !  "  almost  shrieked  the  victim. 

"  It  's  a  writ !  I  owe  a  lot  of 
money." 

"  O  Chairles !  " 

"  Sec  !  I  borowed  sixty  pounds 
six  months  a^ro  of  a  friend,  so  now  I 
owe  eighty !  " 

"  All  right !  "  giggled  the  unfriend- 


ly visitor  at  the  door,  whose  departure 
had  been  more  or  less  fictitious. 

Christie,  by  an  impulse,  not  justi- 
fiable, but  natural,  drew  her  oyster- 
knife  out,  and  this  time  the  man 
really  went  away. 

"  Hairtless  mon  !  "  cried  she, 
"could  he  no  do  his  ain  dirrty  work, 
and  no  gar  me  gie  the  puir  lad  th' 
action,  and  he  likeit  me  sac  weel ! " 
and  she  began  to  whimper. 

"  And  love  you  more  now,"  said 
he  ;  "  don't  you  cry,  dear,  to  add  to 
my  vexation." 

"  Na !  I  '11  no  add  to  your  vexa- 
tion," and  she  gulped  down  her  tears. 

"  Besides,  I  have  pictures  painted 
worth  two  hundred  pounds ;  this  is 
only  for  eighty.  To  be  sure  you 
can't  sell  them  for  two  hundred  pence 
when  you  want.  So  I  shall  go  to 
jail,  but  they  won't  keep  mc  long." 

Then  he  took  a  turn,  and  began  to 
fall  into  the  artistic,  or  true  view  of 
matters,  which,  indeed,  was  never 
long  absent  from  him. 

"  Look  here,  Christie,"  said  he, 
"  I  am  sick  of  conventional  assassins, 
humbugging  models,  with  dirty 
beards,  that  knit  their  brows,  and 
try  to  look  murder  ;  they,  never  mur- 
dered so  much  as  a  tom-cat  :  I  al- 
ways go  in  for  the  real  thing,  and 
here  I  shall  find  it." 

"  Dinna  gang  in  there,  lad,  for  ony 
favor." 

"  Then  I  shall  find  the  accessories 
of  a  picture  I  have  in  my  head, — 
chains  with  genuine  rust,  and  ancient 
mouldering  stones,  with  the  stains  of 
time."  His  eye  brightened  at  the 
prospect 

"  Vou  among  fiefs,  and  chains,  and 
stanes  !  Ye  '11  break  my  hairt,  laddy, 
ye  '11  no  be  easy  till  you  break  my 
hairt"  :  and  this  time  the  tears  would 
not  be  denied. 

"  I  love  you  for  crying ;  don't 
cry  "  ;  and  he  fished  from  the  chaotic 
drawer  a  cambric  handkerchief,  with 
which  he  dried  her  tears  as  they  fell. 

It  is  my  firm  belief  she  cried  nearly 
twice  aa  much  as  phe  really  wanted 
to ;  she  contrived  to  make  the  grief 


124 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


hers,  the  sympathy  his.  Suddenly 
she  stopped,  and  said  :  — 

"  I  'm  daft ;  ye  '11  accept  a  lane  o' 
the  siller  fra  me,  will  ye  no  ?  " 

"No!"  said  he.  "And  where 
could  you  find  eighty  pound  ?  " 

"  Auchty  pund,"  cried  she,  "  it 's 
no  auchty  pund  that  will  ding  Chris- 
tie Johnstone,  laddy.  I  hae  boats 
and  nets  worth  twa  auchtys  ;  and  I 
hae  forty  pund  laid  by;  and  I  hae 
seven  hundred  pund  at  London,  but 
that  I  canna  meddle.  My  feyther  lent 
it  the  King  or  the  Queen,  I  dinna 
justly  mind  ;  she  pays  me  the  interest 
twice  the  year.  Sae  ye  ken  I  could 
na  be  sae  dirty  as  seek  my  siller, 
when  she  pays  me  th'  interest :  to  the 
very  day,  ye  ken.  She's  just  the 
only  one  o'  a'  my  debtors  that 's 
hoenest,  but  never  heed,  ye  '11  no  gang 
to  jail." 

"  I  '11  hold  my  tongue,  and  sacri- 
fice my  pictures,"  thought  Charles. 

"  Cheer  up  !  "  said  Christie,  mis- 
taking the  nature  of  his  thoughts, 
"  for  it  did  na  come  fra  Vietoree  her- 
sel'.  It  wad  smell  o'  the  musk,  ye 
ken.  Na,  it 's  just  a  wheen  black- 
guards at  London  that  makes  use  o' 
her  name  to  torment  puir  folk.  Wad 
she  pairsecutc  a  puir  lad  ?  No  like- 
ly-" 

She  then  asked  questions,  some  of 

which  were  embarrassing.  One  thing 
he  could  never  succeed  in  making  her 
understand,  how,  since  it  was  sixty 
pounds  he  borrowed,  it  could  be  eighty 
pounds  he  owed. 

Then  once  more  she  promised  him 
her  protection,  bade  him  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  left  him. 

At  the  door  slie  turned,  and  said  : 
"  Chairles,  here  's  an  auld  wife  seek- 
ing ye,"  and  vanished. 

These  two  young  people  had  fallen 
acquainted  at  a  Newhaven  wedding. 
Christie,  belonging  to  no  one,  had 
danced  with  him  all  the  night,  they 
had  walked  under  the  stars  to  cool 
themselves,  for  dancing  reels,  with 
heart  and  soul,  is  not  quadrilling. 

Then  he  had  seen  his  beautiful 
partner  in   Edinburgh,  and    made  a 


sketch  of  her,  which  he  gave  her; 
and  by  and  by  he  used  to  run  down 
to  Newhaven,  and  stroll  up  and  down 
a  certain  green  lane  near  the  town. 

Next,  on  Sunday  evenings,  a  long 
walk  together,  and  then  it  came  to 
visits  at  his  place  now  and  then. 

And  here  Raphael  and  Eornarina 
were  inverted,  our  artist  used  to  work, 
and  Christie  tell  him  stories  the 
while. 

And,  as  her  voice  curled  round  his 
heart,  he  used  to  smile  and  look,  and 
lay  inspired  touches  on  his  subject. 

And  she,  an  artist  of  the  tongue 
(without  knowing  herself  one),  used 
to  make  him  grave,  or  gay,  or  sad,  at 
will,  and  watch  the  effect  of  her  art 
upon  his  countenance  ;  and  a  very 
pretty  art  it  is,  —  the  viva  voce  story- 
teller's, —  and  a  rare  one  amongst  the 
nations  of  Europe. 

Christie  had  not  learned  it  in  a  day  ; 
when  she  began,  she  used  to  tell  them 
like  the  other  Newhaven  people,  with 
a  noble  impartiality  of  detail,  weari- 
some to  the  hearer. 

But  latterly  she  had  learned  to  seize 
the  salient  parts  of  a  narrative  ;  her 
voice  had  compass,  and,  like  all  fine 
speakers,  she  travelled  over  a  great 
many  notes  in  speaking ;  her  low 
tones  were  gorgeously  rich,  her  upper 
tones  full  and  sweet ;  all  this,  and  her 
beauty,  made  the  hours  she  gave  him 
very  sweet  to  our  poor  artist. 

He  was  wont  to  bask  in  her  music, 
and  tell  her  in  return  how  he  loved 
her,  and  how  happy  they  were  both 
to  be  as  soon  as  he  had  acquired  a 
name,  for  a  name  was  wealth,  he  told 
her.  And  although  Christie  Johnstone 
did  not  let  him  see  how  much  she 
took  all  this  to  heart  and  believed  it, 
it  was  as  sweet  music  to  her  as  her 
own  honeysuckle  breath  to  him. 

She  improved  him. 

He  dropped  cigars,  and  medical 
students,  and  similar  abominations. 

Christie's  cool,  fresh  breath,  as  she 
hung  over  him  while  painting,  sug- 
gested to  him  that  smoking  might, 
peradventure,  be  a  sin  against  nature 
as  well  as  against  cleanliness. 


CHBISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


125 


And  he  improved  her  ;  she  learned 
from  art  to  look  into  nature  (the  usual 
process  of  mind). 

She  had  noticed  too  little  the  flick- 
ering gold  of  the  leaves  at  evening, 
the  purple  hills,  and  the  shifting  sto- 
ries and  glories  of  the  sky  ;  but  now, 
whatever  she  saw  him  try  to  imitate, 
she  learned  to  examine.  She  was  a 
woman,  and  admired  sunset,  etc.,  for 
this  boy's  sake,  and  her  whole  heart 
expanded  with  a  new  sensation  that 
softened  her  manner  to  all  the  world, 
and  brightened  her  personal  rays. 

This  charming  picture  of  mutual 
affection  had  hitherto  been  admired 
only  by  those  who  figured  in  it. 

But  a  visitor  had  now  arrived  on 
purpose  to  inspect  it,  etc.,  attracted 
by  report. 

A  friend  had  considerately  informed 
Mrs.  Gatty,  the  artist's  mother,  and 
she  had  instantly  started  from  New- 
castle. 

This  was  the  old  lady  Christie  dis- 
covered on  the  stairs. 

Her  sudden  appearance  took  her 
son's  breath  away. 

No  human  event  was  less  likely  than 
that  she  should  be  there,  yet  there  she 
was. 

After  the  first  surprise  and  affection- 
ate ^rectin^s,  a  misgiving  crossed  him, 
"she  must  know  about  the  writ,"  — 
it  was  impossible  ;  but  our  minds  are 
so  constituted,  —  when  we  are  guilty, 
we  fear  that  others  know  what  we 
know. 

Now  Gatty  was  particularly  anx- 
ious she  should  not  know  about  this 
writ,  for  he  bad  incurred  the  debt  by 
acting  against  her  advice. 

Last  year  he  commenced  a  picture 
in  which  was  Durham  Cathedral ;  his 
mother  bade  him  Btayquietly  at  home, 
and  paint  the  cathedral  and  its  banks 
from  a  print,  "as  any  oilier  painter 
would,"  observed  she. 

But  this  was  not  the  lad's  system  ; 
he  spent  live  months  on  the  spot,  and 
painted  his  picture,  but  he  had  to  bor- 
row sixty  pounds  to  do  this ;  the  con- 
(litii)ii  of  this  In  in  wns,  that  in  six 
mouths  he  should  cither  pay  eighty 


pounds,  or  finish  and   hand  over   a 
certain  half-finished  picture. 

He  did  neither ;  his  new  subject 
thrust  aside  his  old  one,  and  he  had 
no  money,  ergo  his  friend,  a  picture- 
dealer,  who  had  found  artists  slippery 
in  money-matters,  followed  him  up 
sharp,  as  we  see. 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter,  I 
hope,  mother.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  tired,  Charles."  He  brought 
her  a  seat :  she  sat  down. 

"  I  did  net  come  from  Newcastle  at 
my  age,  for  nothing  ;  you  have  formed 
an  improper  acquaintance." 

"  I,  who  ?     Is  it  Jack  Adams  ?  " 

"  Worse  than  any  Jack  Adams  ! " 

"Who  can  that  be?  Jcnkyns, 
mother,  because  he  does  the  same 
things  as  Jack,  and  pretends  to  be 
religious." 

"It  is  a  female,  —  a  fishwife.  0 
my  son !  " 

""  Christie  Johnstone  an  improper 
acquaintance,"  said  he  ;  "  why  !  I 
was  good  for  nothing  till  I  knew  her ; 
she  has  made  me  so  good,  moth- 
er; so  steady,  so  industrious;  you 
will  never  have  to  find  fault  with  me 
again." 

"  Nonsense  :  —  a  woman  that  sells 
fish  in  the  streets  !  " 

"  But  you  have  not  seen  her.  She 
is  beautiful,  her  mind  is  not  in  fish  ; 
her  mind  grasps  the  beautiful  and  the 
good, — she  is  a  companion  for  prin- 
ces !  What  am  I  that  she  wastes  a 
thought  or  a  ray  of  music  on  me  ? 
Heaven  bless  her.  She  reads  out- 
best  authors,  and  never  forgets  a 
word  ;  and  she  tells  me  beautiful  sto- 
ries, —  sometimes  they  make  me  cry, 
for  her  voice  is  a  music  that  goes 
straight  to  my  heart." 

"A  woman  that  docs  not  even  wear 
the  clothes  of  a  lady." 

"  It  is  the  only  genuine  costume  in 
these  islands  not  beneath  a  painter's 
notice." 

"  Look  at  me,  Charles ;  at  your 
mother." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  he,  nervously. 

"  You  must  part  witli  her,  or  kill 
inc." 


126 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


lie  started  from  his  seat  and  began 
to   flutter  up    and    down  the   room  ; 

Eoor  excitable  creature.  "  Part  with 
er ! "  cried  he  ;  "  I  shall  never  be  a 
painter  if  I  do ;  what  is  to  keep  my 
heart  warm  when  the  sun  is  hid,  when 
die  birds  are  silent,  when  difficulty 
looks  a  mountain,  and  success  a  mole- 
hill 1  What  is  an  artist  without  love  ? 
How  is  he  to  bear  up  against  his  dis- 
appointments from  within,  his  morti- 
fication from  without  \  the  great  ideas 
he  has  and  cannot  grasp,  and  all  the 
forms  of  ignorance  that  sting  him, 
from  stupid  insensibility  down  to  clev- 
er, shallow  criticism  1  " 

"  Come  back  to  common  sense," 
said  the  old  lady,  coldly  and  grimly. 

He  looked  uneasy :  common  sense 
had  often  been  quoted  against  him, 
and  common  sense  had  always  proved 
right. 

"  Come  hack  to  common  sense. 
She  shall  not  he  your  mistress,  and 
she  cannot  bear  your  name ;  you 
must  part  some  day,  because  you  can- 
not come  together,  and  now  is  the 
best  time." 

"  Not  be  together?  all  our  lives,  all 
our  lives,  ay,"  cried  he,  rising  into 
enthusiasm,  "  hundreds  of  years  to 
come  will  we  two  be  together  before 
men's  eyes,  —  I  will  be  an  immortal 
painter,  that  the  world  and  time  may 
cherish  the  features  I  have  loved.  1 
love  her,  mother,"  added  he,  with  a 
tearful  tenderness  that  ought  to  have 
reached  a  woman's  heart;  then  flush- 
ing, trembling,  and  inspired,  he  burst 
out,  "And  I  wish  I  was  a  sculptor 
and  a  poet  too,  that  Christie  might 
live  in  stone  and  verse,  as  well  as  col- 
ors, and  all  who  love  an  art  might 
say, '  This  woman  cannot  die,  Charles 
Gatty  loved  her.' " 

He  looked  in  her  face  ;  he  could 
not  believe  any  creature  could  be  in- 
sensible to  his  love,  arid  persist  to  rob 
him  of  it. 

The  old  woman  paused,  to  let  his 
eloquence  evaporate. 

The  pause  chilled  him;  then  gently 
and  slowly,  but  emphatically,  she 
upeke  to  him  thus :  — 


"  Who  has  kept  yon  on  her  small 
means  ever  since  you  were  ten  years 
and  seven  months  old  %  " 

"  You  should  know,  mother,  dear 
mother." 

"  Answer  me,  Charles." 

"  My  mother." 

"  Who  has  pinched  herself,  in  every 
earthly  thing,  to  make  you  an  immor- 
tal painter,  and,  above  all,  a  gentle- 
man ?  " 

"  My  mother." 

"  Who  forgave  you  the  little  faults 
of  youth,  before  you  could  ask  par- 
don ?  " 

"  My  mother  !  O  mother,  I  ask 
pardon  now  for  all  the  trouble  I  ever 
gave  the  best,  the  dearest,  the  tender- 
est  of  mothers." 

"  Who  will  go  home  to  Newcastle, 
a  broken-hearted  woman,  with  the  one 
hope  gone  that  has  kept  her  up  in 
poverty  and  sorrow  so  many  weary 
years,  if  this  goes  on  ?  " 

"  Nobody,  1  hope." 

"  Yes,  Charles  ;  your  mother." 

"  Q  mother  ;  you  have  been  always 
my  best  friend." 

""  And  am  this  day." 

"  Do  not  be  my  worst  enemy  now : 
it  is  for  me  to  obey  you  ;  but  it  is  for 
you  to  think  well  before  you  drive  me 
to  despair." 

And  the  poorwomanish  heart  leaned 
his  head  on  the  table,  and  began  to 
sorrow  over  his  hard  fate. 

Mrs.  Gatty  soothed  him.  "  It  need 
not  be  done  all  in  a  moment:  it 
must  be  done  kindly,  but  firmly.  I 
will  giveyou  as  much  time  as  you  like." 

This  bait  took :  the  weak  love  to 
temporize. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  he  honestly 
intended  to  part  with  Christie  John- 
stone ;  but  to  pacify  his  mother  ho 
promised  to  begin  and  gradually  un- 
tie  the  knot. 

"  My  mother  will  go,"  whispered 
his  deceitful  heart,  "  and,  when  she  is 
away,  perhaps  I  shall  find  out  that  in 
spite  of  every  effort  I  cannot  resign 
my  treasure." 

He  gave  a  sort  of  half-promise  for 
the  sake  of  peace. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


127 


His  mother  instantly  sent  to  the  inn 
'  for  her  boxes. 

"  There  is  a  room  in  this  same 
house,"  said  she.  "  I  will  take  it ;  I 
will  not  hurry  you,  but  until  it  is 
done,  I  stay  here,  if  it  is  a  twelve- 
month about." 

He  turned  pale. 

"And  now  hear  the  pood  news  I 
have  brought  you  from  Newcastle." 

Oh  !  these  little  iron  wills,  how  is  a 
great  artist  to  fight  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  days  against  such  an 
antagonist'? 

Every  day  saw  a  repetition  of  these 
dialogues,  in  which  genius  made  gal- 
lant hursts  into  the  air,  and  strong, 
hard  sense  caught  him  on  his  descent, 
and  dabbed  glue  on  his  gauzy  wings. 

Old  age  and  youth  see  life  so  differ- 
ently. 

To  yotith,  it  is  a  story-book,  in 
which  we  are  to  command  the  inci- 
dents, and  be  the  bright  exceptions  to 
one  rule  after  another. 

To  age  it  is  an  almanac,  in  which 
everything  will  happen  just  as  it  has 
happened  so  many  times. 

To  youth,  it  is  a  path  through  a 
sunny  meadow. 

To  age,  a  hard  turnpike  : 

Whose  travellers  must  be  all  sweat 
and  dust,  when  they  are  not  in  mud 
and  drenched : 

Which  wants  mending  in  many 
places,  and  is  mended  with  sharp 
stones. 

Gatty  would  not  yield  to  go  down 
to  Newhaven,  and  take  a  step  against 
his  love,  but  he  yielded  so  far  as  to 
remain  passive,  and  sec  whether  this 
creature  was  necessary  to  his  exist- 
ence or  not. 

Mrs.  G.  scouted  the  idea. 

"  He  was  to  work,  and  he  would 
soon  forget  her." 

Poor  boy  !  be  wanted  to  work;  his 
debt  weighed  on  him  ;  a  week's  reso- 
lute labor  might  finish  bis  first  picture 
and  satisfy  his  creditor.  The  subject 
was  an  interior.  He  set  to  work,  he 
stuck  to  work,  he  glued  to  work,  bis 
body,  — but  his  heart  1 

Ah,  my  poor  fellow,  a  much  slower 


horse  than  Gatty  will  go  by  you,  rid- 
den as  you  are  by  a  leaden  heart. 

Tu  nihil  invita  facies  pingesve  Minerva. 

It  would  not  lower  a  mechanical 
dog's  efforts,  but  it  must  yours. 

He  was  unhappy.  He  heard  only 
one  side  for  days  ;  that  side  was  rec- 
ommended by  his  duty,  tilial  affection, 
and  diffidence  of  his  own  good  sense. 

He  was  brought  to  see  his  proceed- 
ings were  eccentric,  and  that  it  is 
destruction  to  be  eccentric. 

He  was  made  a  little  ashamed  of 
what  he  had  been  proud  of. 

He  was  confused  and  perplexed; 
he  hardly  knew  what  to  think  or  do  ; 
he  collapsed,  and  all  his  spirit  was 
fast  leaving  him,  and  then  he  felt  in- 
clined to  lean  on  the  first  thing  he 
could  find,  and  nothing  came  to  hand 
but  his  mother. 

Meantime,  Christie  Johnstone  was 
also  thinking  of  him,  but  her  single 
anxiety  was  to  find  this  eighty  pounds 
for  him. 

It  is  a  Newhaven  idea  that  the  fe- 
male is  the  natural  protector  of  the 
male,  and  this  idea  was  strengthened 
in  her  case. 

She  did  not  fully  comprehend  his 
character  and  temperament,  but  she 
saw,  by  instinct,  that  she  was  to  be 
the  protector. 

Besides,  as  she  was  twenty-one,  and 
he  only  twenty-two,  she  felt  the  dif- 
ference between  herself,  a  woman, 
and  him,  a  boy,  and  to  leave  him  to 
struggle  unaided  out  of  his  difficulties 
seemed  to  her  heartless. 

Twice  she  opened  her  lips  to  engage 
the  chnritable  "Vile  Count"  in  his 
cause,  but  shame  closed  them  again  ; 
this  would  be  asking  a  personal  favor, 
and  one  on  so  large  a  scale. 

Several  days  passed  thus  ;  she  had 
determined  not  to  visit  him  without 
good  news. 

She  then  began  to  be  surprised,  she 
heard  nothing  from  him. 

And  now  she  felt  something  that 
prevented  her  calling  on  him. 

But  Jean  Carnie  was  to  be  married, 
and  the  next  day  the  wedding  party 


128 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


were  to  spend  in  festivity  upon  the 
island  of  Inch  Coombe. 

Siie  bade  Jean  eall  on  him,  and, 
without  mentioning  her,  invite  him  to 
this  party,  from  which,  he  must  know, 
she  would  not  be  absent. 

Jean  Carnie  entered  his  apartment, 
and  at  her  entrance  his  mother,  who 
took  for  granted  this  was  his  sweet- 
heart, whispered  in  his  ear  that  he 
should  now  take  the  first  step,  and 
left  him. 

What  passed  between  Jean  Carnie 
and  Charles  Gatty  is  for  another  chap- 
ter. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  young  Viscount  with  income 
and  person  cannot  lie  perdu  three 
miles  from  Edinburgh. 

First  one  discovers  him,  then  an- 
other, then  twenty,  then  all  the  world, 
as  the  whole  clique  is  modestly  called. 

Before,  however,  Lord  Ipsden  was 
caught,  he  had  acquired  a  browner 
tint,  a  more  elastic  step,  and  a  stouter 
heart. 

The  Aberford  prescription  had  done 
wonders  for  him. 

He  caught  himself  passing  one 
whole  day  without  thinking  of  Lady 
Barbara  Sinclair. 

Hut  even  Aberford  had  misled 
him  ;  there  were  no  adventures  to  be 
found  in  the  Firth  of  Forth  ;  most  of 
the  days  there  was  no  wind  to  speak 
of;  twice  it  blew  great  guns,  and  the 
men  were  surprised  at  his  Lordship  go- 
ing out,  but  nobody  was  in  any  dan- 
ger except  himself;  the  fishermen  had 
all  slipped  into  port  before  matters 
were  serious. 

He  found  the  merchantmen  that 
could  sail  creeping  on  with  three  reefs 
in  their  mainsail ;  and  the  Dutchmen 
lying  to  and  breasting  it,  like  ducks 
in  a  pond,  and  with  no  more  chance 
&f  harm. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  he  did 
observe  a  little  steam-tug,  going 
about  a  knot  an  hour,  and  rolling  like 
a  washing-tub.     He  ran  down  to  her, 


and  asked  if  he  could  assist  her ;  she 
answered  through  the  medium  of  a 
sooty  animal  at  her  helm,  that  she 
was  (like  our  universities)  "satisfied 
with  her  own  progress  "  ;  she  added, 
being  under  intoxication,  "  that,  if  any 
danger  existed,  her  scheme  was  to 
drown  it  in  the  bo-o-owl  "  ;  and  two 
days  afterwards  he  saw  her  puffing 
and  panting,  and  fiercely  dragging  a 
gigantic  three-decker  out  into  deep 
water,  like  an  industrious  flea  pulling 
his  phaeton. 

And  now  it  is  my  office  to  relate 
how  Mr.  Flucker  Johnstone  comport- 
ed himself  on  one  occasion. 

As  the  yacht  worked  alongside 
Granton  Fier,  before  running  out,  the 
said  Flucker  calmly  and  scientifically 
drew  his  Lordship's  attention  to  three 
points  :  — 

The  direction  of  the  wind,  —  the 
force  of  the  wind,  —  and  his  opinion, 
as  a  person  experienced  in  the  Firth, 
that  it  was  going  to  be  worse  instead 
of  better  ;  in  reply,  he  received  an  or- 
der to  step  forward  to  his  place  in  the 
cutter,  — the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
jib-boom.  On  this,  Mr.  Flucker  in- 
stantly burst  into  tears." 

His  Lordship,  or,  as  Flucker  called 
him  ever  since  the  yacht  came  down, 
"  the  Skipper,"  deeming  that  the  high- 
er appellation,  inquired,  with  some  sur- 
prise, what  was  the  matter  with  the 
boy. 

One  of  the  crew,  who,  by  the  by, 
squinted,  suggested,  "  It  was  a  slight 
illustration  of  the  passion  of  fear." 

Flucker  confirmed  the  theory  by 
gulping  out :  "  We  '11  never  see  New- 
haven  again." 

On  this  the  skipper  smiled,  and  or- 
dered him  ashore,  somewhat  peremp- 
torily. 

Straightway  he  began  to  howl,  and, 
saying,  "  It  was  better  to  be  drowned 
than  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
place,"  went  forward  to  his  place ; 
on  his  safe  return  to  port,  this  young 
gentleman  was  very  severe  on  open 
boats,  which,  he  said  "  bred  woman- 
ish notions  in  hearts  naturally  daunt- 
less.    Give  me  a  lid  to  the  pot,"  add- 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


129 


ed  he,  "  and  I  '11  sail  with  Old  Nick, 
let  the  wind  blow  high  or  low." 

The  Aberford  was  wrong  when  he 
called  love  a  cutaneous  disorder. 

There  are  cutaneous  disorders  that 
take  that  name,  but  they  are  no  more 
love  than  verse  is  poetry  ; 

Than  patriotism  is  love  of  country ; 

Than  theology  is  religion  ; 

Than  science  is  philosophy ; 

Than  paintings  are  pictures  ; 

Than  reciting  on  the  boards  is  act- 
ing ; 

Than  physic  is  medicine  ; 

Than  bread  is  bread,  or  gold  gold, 
- —  in  shops. 

Love  is  a  state  of  being ;  the  be- 
loved object  is  our  centre  ;  and  our 
thoughts,  affections,  schemes,  and 
selves  move  hut  round  it. 

We  may  diverge  hither  or  thither, 
but  the  golden  thread  still  liolds  us. 

Is  fair  or  dark  beauty  the  fairest  ? 
The  world  cannot  decide;  but  love 
shall  decide  in  a  moment. 

A  halo  surrounds  her  we  love,  and 
makes  beautiful  to  us  her  movements, 
her  looks,  her  virtues,  her  faults,  her 
nonsense,  her  affectation,  and  herself; 
and  that 's  love,  doctor  ! 

Lord  Ipsden  was  capable  of  loving 
like  this  ;  but,  to  do  Lady  Barbara 
justice,  she  hud  done  much  to  freeze 
J  he  germ  of  noble  passion  ;  she  had 
not  killed,  but  she  had  benumbed 
it. 

"  Saunders,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  one 
morning  after  breakfast,  "  have  you 
entered  everything  in  vour  diary?  " 

"  Yes,  my  Lord." 

"  All  these  good  people's  misfor- 
tunes «  " 

"  Yes,  my  Lord." 

"  Do  yon  think  you  have  spelt  their 
names  nght  1  " 

"  Where  it  was  impossible,  my 
Lord,  I  substituted  an  English  appel- 
lation, hidentical  in  meaning." 

"  Have  you  entered  and  described 
my  first  interview  with  Christie  John- 
Stone,  and  somebody  something?  " 

"  Most  minutely,  my  Lord." 

"  How  I  turned  Mr.  Burke  into 
poetrv, —  how  she  listened  with  her 
6* 


eyes  all  glistening, —  how  they  made 
me  talk,  —  how  she  dropped  a  tear, 
he  !  he  !  he  !  at  the  death  of  the  first 
baron,  —  how  shocked  she  was  at  the 
king  striking  him  when  he  was  dying, 
to  make  a  knight-banneret  of  the  poor 
old  fellow?'" 

"  Your  Lordship  will  find  all  the 
particulars  exactly  related,"  said 
Saunders,  with  dry  pomp. 

"  How  she  found  out  that  titles  are 
but  breath,  —  how  I  answered  —  some 
nonsense  ?  " 

"  Your  Lordship  will  find  all  the 
topics  included." 

"  How  she  took  me  for  a  madman  ? 
And  you  for  a  prig  ? " 

*'  The  latter  circumstance  eluded 
my  memory,  my  Lord." 

"  But  when  I  told  her  I  must  re- 
lieve only  one  poor  person  by  day, 
she  took  my  hand." 

"  Your  Lordship  will  find  all  the 
items  realized  in  this  book,  my  Lord." 

"  What  a  beautiful  book  !  " 

"  Alba  are  considerably  ameliorat- 
ed, mv  Lord." 

"Alba?" 

"  Plural  of  album,  my  Lord,"  ex- 
plained the  refined  factotum,  "  more 
delicate,  I  conceive,  than  the  vulgar 
reading." 

Viscount  Ipsden  read  from 

"  Mr.  Saunders's  Album. 

"  To  illustrate  the  inelegance  of  tho 
inferior  classes,  two  juvenile  vendors 
of  the  piscatory  tri!>e  were  this  day 
ushered  in,  and  instantaneously,  with- 
out the  accustomed  preliminaries, 
plunged  into  a  familiar  conversation 
with  Lord  Viscount  Ipsden. 

"  Their  vulgarity,  shocking  and  re- 
pulsive to  myself,  appeared  to  afford 
his  Lordship  a  satisfaction  greater  than 
he  derives  from  the  graceful  ameni- 
ties of  fashionable  association  —  " 

"  Saunders,  I  suspect  you  of  some- 
thing" 

"  Me,  mv  Lord  !  " 
"Yes.     Writing  in  an  Annual." 
"  1  do,  my  Lord,"  said  he,  with  bo' 
I 


130 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


nipnant  hauteur.  "  It  appears  every 
month, — '  The  Polytechnic'  " 

"  I  thought  so  !  you  are  polysyl- 
labic, Saunders;  en  route  !  " 

"  In  this  hallucination  I  fintl  it  dif- 
ficult to  participate  ;  associated  from 
infancy  with  the  aristocracy,  I  shrink, 
like  the  sensitive  plant,  from  contact 
with  anything  vulgar." 

"  I  see !  I  begin  to  understand  you, 
Saunders.  Order  the  dog-cart,  and 
"Wordsworth's  mare  for  leader  ;  we'll 
give  her  a  trial.  You  are  an  ass, 
Saunders." 

"  Yes,  my  Lord  ;  I  will  order  Rob- 
ert to  tell  James  to  come  tor  your 
Lordship'scommands  about  your  Lord- 
ship's vehicles.  ( What  could  he  intend 
by  a  recent  observation  of  a  discour- 
teous character  ?  ) " 

His  Lordship  soliloquized. 

"  I  never  observed  it  before,  but 
Saunders  is  an  ass  !  La  Johnstone  is 
one  of  Nature's  duchesses,  and  she  has 
made  me  know  some  poor  people  that 
'  will  be  richer  than  the  rich  one  day  : 
and  she  has  taught  me  that  honey  is  to 
be  got  from  bank-notes,  —  by  merely 
giving  them  away." 

Amongst  the  objects  of  charity  Lord 
Ipsden  discovered  was  one  Thomas 
Harvey,  a  maker  and  player  of  the 
violin.  This  man  was  a  person  of 
great  intellect;  he  mastered  every 
subject  ho  attacked.  By  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  all  the  points  that  vari- 
ous (ine-toncd  instruments  had  in  com- 
mon, he  bad  arrived  at  a  theory  of 
sound  ;  he  made  violins  to  correspond, 
and  was  remarkably  successful  in  in- 
suring that  which  had  been  too  hastily 
ascribed  to  accident,  —  a  fine  tone. 

This  man,  who  was  in  needy  cir- 
cumstances, demonstrated  to  his  Lord- 
ship that  ten  pounds  would  make  his 
fortune ;  because  with  ten  pounds  he 
could  set  up  a  shop,  instead  of  work- 
ing out  of  the  world's  sight  in  a  room. 

Lord  Ipsden  gave  him  ten  pounds  ! 

A  week  after,  be  met  Harvey,  more 
ragged  and  dirty  than  before. 

Harvey  had  been  robbed  by  a  friend 
whom  he  had  assisted.    Poor  Harvey  ! 


Lord  Ipsden  gave  him  ten  pomiCts 
more  ! 

Next  week,  Saunders,  entering  Har- 
vey's house,  found  him  in  bed  at  noon, 
because  he  had  no  clothes  to  wear. 

Saunders  suggested  that  it  would  bo 
better  to  give  his  wife  the  next  money, 
with  strict  orders  to  apply  it  usefully. 

This  was  done ! 

The  next  day,  Harvey,  finding  his 
clothes  upon  a  chair,  his  tools  re- 
deemed from  pawn,  and  a  beefsteak 
ready  for  his  dinner,  accused  his  wife 
of  having  money,  and  meanly  refusing 
him  the  benefit  of  it.  She  acknowl- 
edged she  had  a  little,  and  appealed 
to  the  improved  state  of  things  as  a 
proof  that  she  knew  better  than  he  the 
use  of  money.  He  demanded  the 
said  money.  She  refused,  —  lie  leath- 
ered her,  —  she  put  him  in  prison. 

This  was  the  best  place  for  him. 
The  man  was  a  drunkard,  and  all  the 
riches  of  Egypt  would  never  have 
made  him  better  off. 

And  here,  gentlemen  of  the  lower 
classes,  a  word  with  you.  How  can 
you,  with  your  small  incomes,  hope 
to  be  well  off,  if  you  are  more  extrava- 
gant than  those  who  have  large  ones? 

"  Us  extravagant  1 "  you  reply. 

Yes  !  your  income  is  ten  shillings 
a  week ;  out  of  that  you  spend  three 
shillings  in  drink  ;  ay  !  you,  the  sobei- 
ones.  You  can't  afford  it,  my  boys. 
Find  me  a  man  whose  income  is  a 
thousand  a  year ;  well,  if  he  imitates 
you,  and  spends  three  hundred  upon 
sensuality,  I  bet  you  the  odd  seven 
hundred  he  does  not  make  both  ends 
meet ;  the  proportion  is  too  great. 
And  two  thirds  of  the  distress  of  the 
lower  orders  is  owing  to  this,  —  that  theu 
are  more  mad///  prodigal  than  the  rich  ; 
in  the,  worst,  lowest,  and  most  dangerous 
item  of  all  human  prodigal  it//  ! 

Lord  Ipsden  went  to  see  Mrs.  Har- 
vey ;  it  cost  him  much  to  go ;  she 
lived  in  the  Old  Town,  and  he  hated 
disagreeable  smells  ;  he  also  knew  from 
Saunders  that  she  had  two  black  eyes, 
and  he  hated  women  with  black  eyes 
of  that  sort.  But  this  £ood  creature 
did   go;    did  relieve  Mrs.   Harvey; 


CHk^T:E   JOHNSTONE. 


131 


and  bare-headed  suffered  himself  to  be 
bedewed  ten  minutes  by  her  tearful 
twaddle. 

For  once  Virtue  was  rewarded  : 
returning  over  the  North  Bridge,  he 
met  somebody  whom,  but  for  his 
charity,  he  would  not  have  met. 

He  came  in  one  bright  moment 
plump  upon  —  Lady  Barbara  Sin- 
clair. She  flushed,  he  trembled,  and 
in  two  minutes  he  had  forgotten  ev- 
ery human  event  that  had  passed 
since  he  was  by  her  side. 

She  seemed  pleased  to  see  him, 
too;  she  ignored  entirely  his  obnox- 
ious proposal ;  he  wisely  took  her 
cue,  and  so,  on  this  secret  understand- 
ing, they  were  friends.  He  made  his 
arrangements,  and  dined  with  her  fam- 
ily. It  was  a  family  party.  In  the 
evening  Lady  Barbara  allowed  it  to 
transpire  that  she  had  made  inquiries 
about  him. 

(lie  was  highly  flattered.)  And  she 
had  discovered  he  was  lying  hid  some- 
where in  the  neighborhood. 

"Studying  the  guitar?"  inquired 
she. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  studying  a  new 
class  of  the  community;  Do  you 
know  any  of  what  they  call  the 
'  bwer  classes  '  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Monstrous  agreeable  people,  are 
they  not?  " 

"  No,  very  stupid  !  I  only  know 
two  old  women,  —  except  the  servants, 
who  have  no  characters.  They  imi- 
tate 11-,  I  suspect,  which  does  not  say 
much  for  their  taste." 

"  But  some  of  my  friends  are  young 
women  ;  that  makes  all  the  difference." 

"  It  does !  and  you  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  If  you  want  a  low  order  of 
mind,  why  desert  our  own  circle  f  " 

"  Mv  t minis  are  only  low  in  sta- 
tion ;  they  have  rather  lofty  minds, 
some  of  them." 

"  Well,  amuse  yourself  with  these 
lofty  minds.  Amusement  is  the  end 
of  being,  yon  know,  and  the  aim  of 
all  the  men  of  this  day." 

"  We  imitate  the  ladies,"  said  he, 
slyly. 


"  You  do,"  answered  she,  very  dry- 
ly ;  and  so  the  dialogue  went  on,  and 
Lord  Ipsden  found  the  pleasure  of 
being  with  his  cousin  compensate  him 
fully  for  the  difference  of  their  opin- 
ions ;  in  fact,  he  found  it  simply 
amusing  that  so  keen  a  wit  as  his 
cousin's  could  be  entrapped  into  the 
humor  of  decrying  the  time  one  hap- 
pens to  live  in,  and  admiring  any 
epoch  one  knows  next  to  nothing 
about,  and  entrapped  by  the  notion  of 
its  originality,  above  all  things ;  the 
idea  being  the  stale  commonplace  of 
asses  in  every  age,  and  the  manner  of 
conveying  the  idea  being  a  mere  imi- 
tation of  the  German  writers,  not  the 
good  ones,  Lien  entemhi,  but  the  quill- 
drivers,  the  snobs  of  the  Teutonic 
pen. 

But  he  was  to  learn  that  follies  are 
not  always  laughable,  that  eadem  sen- 
tire  is  a  bond,  and  that,  when  a  clever 
and  pretty  woman  chooses  to  be  a 
fool,  her  lover  if  he  is  wise  will  be  a 
greater,  —  if  he  can. 

The  next  time  they  met,  Lord  Ips- 
den found  Lady  Barbara  occupied 
with  a  gentleman  whose  first  sen- 
tence proclaimed  him  a  pupil  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Carlyle,  and  he  had  the  mor- 
tification to  find  that  she  had  neither 
an  ear  nor  tin  eye  for  him. 

Human  opinion  has  so  many  shades, 
that  it  is  rare  to  find  two  people 
agree. 

But  two  people  may  agree  wonder- 
fully, if  they  will  but  let  a  third  think 
for  them  both. 

Thus  it  was  that  these  two  ran  so 
smoothly  in  couples. 

Antiquity,  they  agreed,  was  the 
time  when  the  world  was  old,  its  hair 
gray,  its  head  wise.  Every  one  that 
said,  "  Lord,  Lord  !  "  two  hundred 
years  ago  was  a  Christian.  There 
were  no  earnest  men  now  ;  Williams, 
tho  missionary,  who  lived  and  died 
for  the  Gospel,  was  not  earnest  in  re- 
ligion ;  but  Cromwell,  who  packed  a 
jury,  and  BO  murdered  his  prisoner, — 
Cromwell,  in  whose  month  was  heav- 
en, and  in  his  heart  temporal  sover- 
eignty,—  was  the  pattern  of  earnest 


132 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


religion,  or,  at  all  events,  second  in 
sincerity  to  Mahomet  alone,  in  the 
absence  of  details  respecting  Satan,  of 
whom  we  know  only  that  his  mouth 
is  a  Scripture  concordance,  and  his 
hands  the  hands  of  Mr.  Carlyle's 
saints. 

Then  they  went  back  a  century  or 
two,  and  were  eloquent  about  the 
great  antique  heart,  and  the  beauty  of 
an  age  whose  samples  were  Abbot 
Sampson  and  Joan  of  Arc. 

Lord  Ipsden  hated  argument;  but 
jealousy  is  a  brass  spur,  it  made  even 
this  man  fluent  for  once. 

He  suggested  "  that  five  hundred 
years  added  to  a  world's  life  made  it 
just  five  hundred  years  older,  not 
younger,  —  and  if  older,  grayer, — 
and  if  grayer,  wiser. 

"  Of  Abbot  Sampson,"  said  he, 
"  whom  I  confess  both  a  great  and  a 
good  man,  his  author,  who  with  all 
his  talent  belongs  to  the  class  muddle- 
head,  tells  us  that  when  he  had  been 
two  years  in  authority  his  red  hair 
had  turned  gray,  fighting  against  the 
spirit  of  his  age  ;  how  the  deuce,  then, 
could  he  be  a  sample  of  the  spirit  of 
his  age  ? 

"  Joan  of  Arc  was  burnt  by  accla- 
mation of  her  age,  and  is  admired  by 
our  age.  Which  fact  identifies  an 
age  most  with  a  heroine,  to  give  her 
your  heart,  or  to  give  her  a  blazing 
fagot  and  death  ? 

"  Abbot  Sampson  and  Joan  of 
Arc,"  concluded  he,  "  prove  no  more 
in  favor  of  their  age,  and  no  less 
against  it,  than  Lot  does  for  or  against 
Sodom.  Lot  was  in  Sodom,  but  not 
of  it ;  and  so  were  Sampson  and  Joan 
in,  but  not  of,  the'  villauous  times 
they  lived  in. 

"  The  very  best  text-book  of  true 
religion  is  the  New  Testament,  and  I 
gather  from  it,  that  the  man  who  for- 
gives his  enemies  whilst  their  axe  de- 
scends on  his  head,  however  poor 
a  creature  he  may  be  in  other  respects, 
is  a  better  Christian  than  the  man 
who  has  the  God  of  Mercy  forever  on 
his  lips,  and  whose  hands  are  swift  to 
shed  blood. 


"  The  earnest  men  of  former  agea 
are  not  extinct  in  this,"  added  he. 
"  Whenever  a  scaffold  is  erected  out- 
side a  prison-door,  if  you  are  earnest 
in  pursuit  of  truth,  and  can  put  up 
with  disgusting  objects,  you  shall  see 
a  relic  of  ancient  manners  hung. 

"  There  still  exist,  in  parts  of 
America,  rivers  on  whose  banks  are 
earnest  men  who  shall  take  your 
scalp,  the  wife's  of  your  bosom,  and 
the  innocent  child's  of  her  bosom. 

"  In  England  we  are  as  earnest  as 
ever  in  pursuit  of  heaven,  and  of  in- 
nocent worldly  advantages.  If,  when 
the  consideration  of  life  and  death 
interposes,  we  appear  less  earnest  in 
pursuit  of  comparative  trifles  such  as 
kingdoms  or  dogmas,  it  is  because 
cooler  in  action  we  are  more  earnest 
in  thought,  —  because  reason,  expe- 
rience, and  conscience  are  things  that 
check  the  unscrupulousness  or  beast- 
ly earnestness  of  man. 

"  Moreover,  he  who  has  the  sense  to 
see  that  questions  have  three  sides  is 
no  longer  so  intellectually  as  well  as 
morally  degraded  as  to  be  able  to  cut 
every  throat  that  utters  an  opinion 
contrary  to  his  own. 

"  If  the  phrase '  earnest  man  '  means 
man  imitating  the  beasts  that  are  deaf 
to  reason,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  civili- 
zation and  Christianity  will  really  ex- 
tinguish the  whole  race  for  the  benefit 
of  the  earth." 

Lord  Ipsden  succeeded  in  annoying 
the  fair  theorist,  but  not  in  convincing 
her. 

The  mediaeval  enthusiasts  looked 
on  him  as  some  rough  animal  that 
had  burst  into  sacred  grounds  uncon- 
sciously, and  gradually  edged  away 
from  him. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Lord  Ipsden  had  soon  the  mortifi- 
cation of  discovering  that  this  Mr.  *  *  * 
was  a  constant  visitor  at  the  house ; 
and,  although  his  cousin  gave  him 
her  ear  in  this  man's  absence,  on  the 
arrival  of  her  fellow-enthusiast  he  had 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


133 


ever  the  mortification  of  finding  him- 
self de  trofj. 

Once  or  twice  he  demolished  this 
personage  in  argument,  and  was  re- 
warded by  finding  himself  more  de 
trap. 

But  one  day  Lady  Barbara,  being 
in  a  cousinly  humor,  expressed  a  wish 
to  sail  in  his  Lordship's  yacht,  and 
tli is  hint  soon  led  to  a  party  being  or- 
ganized, and  a  sort  of  picnic  on  the 
island  of  Inch  Coombe  ;  his  Lordship's 
cutter  being  the  mode  of  conveyance 
to  and  from  that  snot. 

Now  it  happened  on  that  very  day 
Jean  Caruie's  marriage  was  cele- 
brated on  that  very  island  by  her  re- 
lations and  friends. 

So  that  we  shall  introduce  our  read- 
ers to 

THE   RIVAL  PICNICS. 

We  begin  with  Lessens  conune  ilfaut. 
Picnic  No.  1. 

The  servants  were  employed  in 
putting  away  dishes  into  hampers. 

There  was  a  calm  silence. 

"  Hem  !  "  observed  Sir  Henry  Tal- 
bot. 

"  Eh  1  "  replied  the  Honorable  Tom 
Hitherington. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Miss  Vcre,  "  have 
you  brought  anv  work  7  " 

"  No,  my  dear." 

"At  a  "picnic,"  said  Mr.  Hither- 
ington, "isn't  it  the  thing  for  some- 
body —  aw  — to  do  something  ?  " 

"  Ipsden,"  said  Lady  Barbara, 
"  there  is  an  understanding  between 
you  and  Mr.  Hitherington.  I  con- 
demn vou  to  turn  him  into  English." 

"Yes,  Lady  Barbara;  I'll  tell  you, 
he  means,  —  do  vou  mean  anything, 
Tom  ? " 

Hitherington.  "  Can't  anybody  guess 
what  I  mean  ?  " 


Lady  Barbara.  "  Guess  first  your- 
self, you  can't  be  suspected  of  being 
in  the  secret." 

Hither.  What  I  mean  is,  that  peo- 
ple sing  a  song,  or  run  races,  or  preach 
a  sermon,  or  do  something  funny  at 
a  picnic,  —  aw  —  somebody  gets  up 
and  does  something." 

Lady  Bar.  "  Then  perhaps  Misg 
Vere,  whose  singing  is  famous,  will 
have  the  complaisance  to  sing  to 
us." 

Miss  Vere.  "I  should  be  happy, 
Lady  Barbara,  but  I  have  not  brought 
my  music." 

Lady  Bar.  "  O,  we  are  not  critical ; 
the  simplest  air,  or  even  a  fragment 
of  melody  ;  the  sea  and  the  sky  will 
be  a  better  accompaniment  than 
BroadwoiMl   ever   made." 

Miss  V.  "I  can't  sing  a  note  with- 
out book." 

Sir  H.  Talbot.  "  Your  music  is  in 
vour  soul, — not  at  your  fingers' 
ends." 

Lord  Ipsden,  to  Lady  Bar.  "  It  is  in 
her  book,  and  not  in  her  soul." 

Lady  Bar.,  to  Lord  Ips.  "  Th"n  it 
has  chosen  the  better  situation  of  the 
two." 

l/)s.  "  Miss  Vere  is  to  the  fine  art  of 
music  what  the  engrossers  are  to  the 
black  art  of  law  ;  it  all  filters  through 
them  without  leaving  any  sediment ; 
and  so  the  music  of  the  day  passes 
through  Miss  Vere's  mind,  but  none 
remains  —  to  stain  its  virgin  snow." 
He  bows,  she  smiles. 

Lady  Bar.,  to  herself.  "  Insolent  : 
and  the  little  dunce  thinks  he  is  com- 
plimenting her." 

Jps.  "  Perhaps  Talbot  will  come  to 
our  rescue, —  he  is  a  fiddler." 

Tal.   "An  amateur  of  the  violin." 

//is.    "  It  is  all  the  same  thing." 

lAidy  Bar.  "  I  wish  it  may  provo 
so." 


Tal. 


(Grave.) 


Bis. 


Bis. 


/C\ 


164 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


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CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


135 


Miss  V.   "  Beautiful." 

Mrs.  Verc.    "Charming." 

Hither.    "  Superb  !  " 

Ips.  "  You  are  aware  that  good 
music  is  a  thing  to  be  wedded  to  im- 
mortal verse,  shall  I  recite  a  bit  of 
poetry  to  match  Talbot's  strain  ?  " 

Miss  V.    "0  yes  !  how  nice." 

Ips.  (rhetor kail;].)  "A.  B.  C.  D. 
E.  F.  G.  H.  I.  J.  K.  L.  M.  N.  O.  P. 
Q.  R.  S.  T.  U.  V.  W.  X.  Y.  Z.  Y.  X. 
W.  V.  U.  T.  S.  O.  N.  M.  L.  K.  J.  I. 
H.  G.  F.  A.  M.  little  p.  little  t." 

Lady  Bar.  "  Beautiful !  Superb  ! 
Ipsden  has  been  taking  lessons  on  the 
thinking  instrument." 

Hither.  "  He  has  been  perdu 
amonjrst  vulgar  people." 

Tul.  "  And  expects  a  pupil  of  Herz 
to  play  him  tunes  !  " 

Lad//  Bar.  "  What  arc  tunes,  Sir 
Henry?" 

Tid.  "  Something  I  don't  play, 
Laily  Barbara." 

Lady  Bur.  "  I  understand  you ; 
something  wc  ought  to  like." 

Ips.  "  I  have  a  Strailivarius  violin 
nt  home  :  it  is  yours,  Talbot,  if  you 
can  define  a  tune." 

Tal.  "  A  tune  is  —  everybody 
knows  what." 

Lady  Bar.  "  A  tune  is  a  tune,  that 
is  what  you  meant  to  say." 

Tal.   "  Of  course  it  is." 

Lady  Bar.  "  Be  reasonable.  Ips- 
den ;  no  man  can  do  two  things  at 
once  ;  how  can  the  pupil  of  Hera  con- 
demn a  tiling  and  know  what  it  means 
contemporaneously  ? " 

Ips.  "  Is  the  drinking-song  in  '  Der 
Freisctratz '  a  tune  ?  " 

Lady  Bar.    "  It  is." 

Ips,  "  And  the  melodies  of  Handel, 
are.  they  tunes  <  " 

Lady  Bar.  [pathetically.)  "  They 
are!    They   are!" 

Ips.  "  And  the  ' Russian  Anthem,' 
and  the,  '  Marseillaise,'  ami  '  Ah,  Per- 
dona '  ?  " 

Tal.    "  And  Yankee  Doodle?  " 

Lady  llu,-.  "  So  that  Sir  Henry, 
who  prided  himself  on  his  ignorance, 
has  a  wide  field  lor  its  dominion." 

Tal.    "  All   good  violin  players  do 


like    me ;    they  prelude,     not    plaj* 
tunes." 

Ips.  "  Then  Heaven  be  thanked  for 
our  blind  fiddlers.  You  like  syllables 
of  sound  in  unmeaning  rotation,  and 
you  despise  its  words,  its  purposes,  its 
narrative  feats ;  carry  out  your  prin- 
ciple, it  will  show  you  where  you  are.  _ 
Buy  a  dirty  palette  for  a  picture,  and 
dream  the  alphabet  is  a  poem." 

Lady  Bar.,  to  herself.  "  Is  this  my 
cousin  Richard  ?  " 

Hither.  "  Mind,  Ipsden,  you  are  a 
man  of  property,  and  there  are  such 
things  as  commissions  de  lunatico." 

Lady  Bar.  "  His  defence  will  be  that 
his  friends  pronounce  him  insane." 

Ips.  "  No  ;  I  shall  subpoena  Talbot's 
fiddle,  cross-examination  will  get  noth- 
ing out  of  that  but,  do,  re,  mi,  fa." 

Ladij  Bar.  "  Yes,  it  will ;  fa,  mi, 
re.do.'" 

Tal.    "  Violin,  if  you  please." 

Lady  Bar.  "Ask  Fiddle's  pardon, 
directly." 

Sound  of  fiddles  is  heard  in  the  distance. 

Tal.  "  How  lucky  for  you,  there  are 
fiddles  and  tunes,  and  the  natives  you 
are  said  to  favor,  why  not  join  them  ?  " 

Ips.  {shaking  his  head  solemnly.)  "  I 
dread  to  encounter  another  prelude." 

Hither.  "  Come,  I  know  you  would 
like ;  it  is  a  wedding-party,  —  two 
sea  monsters  have  been  united.  The 
sailors  and  fishermen  are  all  blue  cloth 
and  wash-leather  gloves." 

Miss  V.    "  He  !  he!" 

Tal.  "  The  fishwives  unite  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow  —  " 

Lady  Bar.  "  (And  wc  all  know  how 
hideous  they  are)  — to  vulgar,  bloom- 
ing cheeks,  staring  white  teeth,  and 
sky-blue  eyes. 

Mrs.  V.  "  How  satirical  you  are, 
especially  you,  Lady  Barbara." 

Here  Lord  Ipsden,  after  a  word  to 
Lady  Barbara,  the  answer  to  which 
did  not  appear  to  be  favorable,  rose, 
gave  a  little  yawn,  looked  steadily  at 

his  companions  without  seeing  them, 
and  departed  without  seeming  awaro 
that  he  was  leaving  anybody  behind 
him. 


136 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Hither.  "  Let  us  go  somewhere 
where  we  can  quiz  the  natives  with- 
out being  too  near  them." 

Lady  Bar.  "  I  am  tired  of  this  un- 
broken solitude,  I  must  go  and  think 
to  the  sea,"  added  she,  in  a  mock 
soliloquy  ;  and  out  she  glided  with  the 
same  unconscious  air  as  his  Lordship 
had  worn. 

The  others  moved  off  slowly  to- 
gether. 

"Mamma,"  said  Miss  Vere,  "I 
can't  understand  half  Barbara  Sinclair 
says." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,  my  love," 
replied  mamma ;  "  she  is  rather  eccen- 
tric, and  I  fear  she  is  spoiling  Lord 
Ipsden." 

"  Poor  Lord  Ipsden,"  murmured 
the  lovely  Vere,  "  he  used  to  be  so 
nice,  and  do  like  everybody  else. 
Mamma,  I  shall  bring  some  work  the 
next  time." 

"  Do,  my  love." 

Picnic  No.  2. 

In  a  house,  two  hundred  yards 
from  this  scene,  a  merry  dance,  suc- 
ceeding a  merry  song,  had  ended,  and 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  an  interest- 
ing story ;  Christie  Johnstone  was 
the  narrator.  She  had  found  the  tale 
in  one  of  the  Viscount's  books,  —  it 
had  made  a  great  impression  on  her. 

The  rest  were  listening  intently  :  in 
a  room  which  had  lately  been  all 
noise,  not  a  sound  was  now  to  be 
heard  but  the  narrator's  voice. 

"  Aweel,  lasses,  here  are  the  three 
wee  kists  set,  the  lads  are  to  chusc,  — 
the  ane  that  chuses  reicht  is  to  get 
Porsha,  an'  the  lave  to  get  the  bag, 
and  dee  baitchelars  ;  — Flucker  John- 
stone, you  that 's  sae  clever,  —  are  ye 
for  gowd,  or  siller,  or  leed  ?  " 

\st  Fishwife.    "  Gowd  for  me  !  " 

2d  ditto.  "  The  white  siller  's  my 
taste." 

Flucker.  "  Na !  there 's  aye  some 
deevelish  trick  in  thir  lassie's  stories. 
I  shall  He  to,  till  the  ither  lads  hae 
chused  ;  the  inair  part  will  put  thein- 
eels  out.  ane  will  hit  it  off  rcicbt  may- 


be, then  I  shall  gie  him  a  hidin'  an' 
carry  off  the  lass.     You-hoo  !  " 

Jean  Curnie.  "  That 's  you,  Fluck- 
er." 

Christie  Johnstone.  "  And  div  ye 
really  think  we  arc  gawn  to  let  you 
see  a'  the  world  chuse  ?  Na,  lad,  ye 
are  puttcn  oot  o'  the  room,  like  wit- 
nesses." 

Flucker.  "  Then  I  'd  toss  a  penny ; 
for  gien  ye  trust  to  luck,  she  whiles 
favors  ye,  but  gien  ye  commence  to 
reason  and  argefy— *ye  're  done  !  " 

Christie.  "  The  suitors  had  na  yom 
wit,  my  manny,  or  maybe  they  had 
na  a  penny  to  toss,  sae  ane  chused 
the  gowd,  ane  the  siller  ;  but  they  got 
an  awfu'  affront.  The  gold  kist  had 
just  a  skull  intil  't,  and  the  siller  a 
deed  cuddy's  head !  " 

Chorus  of  Females.    "  He  !  he !  he !  " 

Ditto  of  Males.  "  Haw !  haw  !  haw ! 
haw  !     Ho  ! " 

Christie.  "An'  Porsha  puttit  the 
pair  of  gowks  to  the  door.  Then 
came  Bassanio,  the  lad  fra  Veencece, 
that  Porsha  loed  in  secret.  Veeneece, 
lasses,  is  a  wonderful  city ;  the  streets 
o'  't  are  water,  and  the  carriages  are 
boats,  —  that 's  in  Chambers'." 

Flucker.  "  Wha  are  ye  making  a 
fool  o'  ? " 

Christie.   "  What 's  wrang  ?  " 

Flucker.  "  Yon  's  just  as  big  a  lee 
as  ever  I  heerd." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his 
mouth  ere  he  had  reason  to  regret 
them  ;  a  severe  box  on  the  ear  was 
administered  by  his  indignant  sister. 
Nobody  pitied  him. 

Christie.  "  I  '11  laern  ye  t'  affront 
me  before  a'  the  company." 

Jean  Carnie.  "  Suppose  it 's  a  lee, 
there  's  nae  silver  to  pay  for  it,  Fluck- 
er." 

Christie.  "  Jean,  I  never  telt  a  lee 
in  a'  my  days." 

Jean.  "  There 's  ane  to  begin  wi' 
then.     Go  ahead,  Custy." 

Christie.  "  She  bade  the  music  play 
for  him,  for  music  brightens  thoucht; 
ony  way,  he  chose  the  leed  kist. 
Open'st  and  was  n't  there  Porsha's 
pictur,  and  a  posy,  that  said. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


137 


•If  you  be  well  pleased  with  this, 

Ami  hold  your  fortune  for  your  bliss  ; 
Turn  you  where  your  leddy  iss, 
And  greet  her  wi'  a  loving  —  '  "  (Pause.) 

"  Kess,"  roared  the  company. 

Chorus,  led  by  Flwker.    "  Huiraih  !  " 

Christie  (pathetically).  "  Fhicker, 
behave !  " 

Sandy  Liston  (drunk).  "  Hur-raih  !  " 
He  then  solemnly  reflected.  "  Na ! 
but  it 's  na  hurraih,  decency  requires 
amen  first  an'  hurraih  afterwards ; 
here  's  kissin  plenty,  but  I  hear  nae 
word  o'  the  minister.  Ye  '11  obsairve, 
young  woman,  that  kissin  's  the  pro- 
logue to  sin,  and  I  'm  a  decent  mon, 
an'  a  gray-headed  mon,  an'  your  licht 
stories  arc  no  for  me  ;  sae  if  the  min- 
ister 's  no  expeckit  I  shall  retire, — 
an'  tak  my  quiet  gill  my  lane." 

Jean  (Jamie.  "  And  div  ye  really 
think  a  decent  cummer  like  Custy 
wad  let  the  lad  and  lass  misbehave 
thirscls  ?  Na  !  lad,  the  minister  's  at 
the  door,  but  "  (sinking  her  voice  to 
a  confidential  whisper)  "  I  daurna  let 
him  in,  for  fear  he  'd  see  ye  hue  putten 
ttie  enemy  in  your  mooth  sae  aerly. 
(That 'sCusty's  word.") 

"Jemmy  Drysel,"  replied  Sandy, 
addressing  vacancy,  for  Jemmy  was 
mysteriously  at  work  in  the  kitchen, 
"  ye  hac  gotten  a  thoughtfu'  wife." 
(Then,  with  a  strong  revulsion  of 
feeling.)  "  Dinna  let  the  blakguttrd  * 
in  here,"  cried  he,  "  to  spoil  the  voting 
folk's  sporrt." 

Christie.  "Aweel,  lassies,  comes  a 
letter  to  Bassanio  ;  he  reads  it,  and 
turns  as  pale  as  death." 

.1  Fishwife.   "  Gude  help  us." 

Christie.  "Pooraha  behooved  token 
hi^  grief,  wha  had  a  better  reicht ' 
'  Hire  's  a  letter,  leddy,'  says  he, 
'  the  paper  's  the  boedy  of  my  i'reend, 
like,  and  every  word  in  it  a  gaping 
wound.'  " 

A  Fisherman.    "  Maircy  on  us." 

Christie.    "  Lad,  it  was  fra  pair  An- 

*  At  present  this  is  a  spondee  in  England, 
—  a  trochee  In  Scotland.  The  pronunciation 
of  ihi*  important  word  ought  to  !»•  fixed,  rep- 
resenting, as  it  does,  so  large  ;i  portion  of  the 

community  in  both  couiitri'.-s. 


tonio,  ye  mind  o'  him,  lasses.  Hcch  ! 
the  ill  luck  o'  yon  man,  no  a  ship 
come  hame ;  ane  foundered  at  sea, 
coming  fra  Tri-po-lis ;  the  pirates 
scuttled  another,  an'  ane  ran  ashore 
on  the  Goodwins,  near  Bright-helm- 
stane,  that 's  in  England  itsel',  I  daur 
say :  sae  he  could  na  pay  the  three 
thoosand  ducats,  an'  Shy  lock  had 
grippit  him,  an'  sought  the  pund  o' 
flesh  aff  the  breest  o'  him,  puir  body." 

Sandy  Liston.  "  He  would  na  be 
the  waur  o'  a  wee  bit  hiding,  yon 
thundering  urang-utang  ;  let  the  man 
alane,  ye  cursed  old  cannibal." 

Christie.  "  Poorsha  keepit  her  man 
but  ae  hoor  till  they  were  united,  an' 
then  sent  him  wi'  a  puckle  o'  her  ain 
siller  to  Veeneece,  and  Antonio, — 
think  o'  that,  lassies,  —  pained  on 
their  wedding-day." 

Lizzy  Johnstone,  a  Fishwife,  aged  12. 
"  Ilech  !  hcch  !  it 's  lamentable. 

Jean  Carnie.  "  I  'm  saying,  mair- 
riage  is  quick  wark,  in  some  pairts, 
—  here  there 's  an  aw  fa'  trouble  to  get 
a  man." 

A  younq  Fishwife.   "  Ay,  is  there." 

Omnes'  "  Haw  !  haw  ! haw  !  "  (The 
fishwife  hides.) 

Christie.  "  Fill  your  taupscls.  lads 
and  lasses,  and  awa  to  Veneeee." 

Sandy  Liston  (sturdily).  "  I '11  no 
gang  to  sea  this  day." 

Christie.  "Noo,  we  are  in  the  hall 
o' judgment.  Here  are  set  the  judges, 
awl'u'  to  behold  ;  there,  on  his  throne, 
presides  the  Juke" 

Flacker,  "  She  's  awa  to  her  Enng- 
lish." 

Lizzy  Johnstone.  "  Did  we  come  to 
Veeneece  to  speak  Scoetch,  ye  useless 
fule  ?  " 

Christie.  "  Here,  pale  and  hopeless, 
but  resigned,  stands  the  broken  mair- 
ehant,  Antonio  ;  there,  wi'  stales  and 
knives,  and  revenge  in  his  murderin' 
eye,  stands  the  crewel  Jew  Shylock." 

"  Aweel."  muttered  Sandy,  consid- 
erately, "  I  '11  no  mak  a  disturbance 
on  a  wedding-day." 

Christii'.  "They  wait  for  Bell — I 
dinna  mind  Ins  mind  —  a  laerned  law- 
yer, ony  way  ;  he  's  sick,  but  sends 


138 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


ane  mnir  laerned  still,  and,  wlien  this 
ane  comes,  he  looks  not  older  nor 
wiser  than  mvsel." 

FLwcker.   "No  possible  !  " 

Christie.  "  Ye  needna  be  sae  sarcy, 
Flacker,  for  when  he  comes  to  his 
wark  he  soon  lets  'em  ken,  —  runs  his 
een  like  lightening  ower  the  boend. 
"  This  bond  's  forfeit.  Is  Antonio  not 
able  to  dischairge  the  money  ?  ' 
'  Ay  !  "  cries  Bassanio,  '  here 's  the 
sum  thrice  told.'  Says  the  young 
judge,  in  a  bit  whisper  to  Shylock, 
'  Shylock,  there  's  thrice  thy  money 
offered  thee.  Be  mairceful,  says  he, 
out  loud.  'Wha'll  mak  me'?'  says 
the  Jew  body.  '  Mak  ye ! '  says  he ; 
'  maircy  is  no  a  thing  ye  strain 
through  a  sieve,  mon  ;  it  droppeth  like 
the  gentle  dew  fra'  heaven  upon  the 
place  beneath ;  it  blesses  him  that 
gives  and  him  that  taks  ;  it  becomes 
the  king  better  than  his  throne,  and 
airthly  power  is  maist  like  God's  pow- 
er when  maircy  seasons  justice.' ' 

Robert  llaiv)  Fisherman.  "  Dinna 
speak  like  that  to  me,  onybody,  or  I 
shall  gie  ye  my  boat,  and  fling  my 
nets  intil  it,  as  ye  sail  awa  wi'  her." 

Jean  Carnie.  "  Sae  he  let  the  puir 
decvil  go.  Oh  !  ye  ken  wha  could 
stand  up  against  siccan  a  shower  o' 
Ennglisn  as  thaat." 

Christie.  "  He  just  said,  '  My  deeds 
upon  my  heed.  I  claim  the  law,'  says 
he ;  '  there  is  no  power  in  the  tongue 
o'  man  to  alter  me.  I  stay  here  on 
my  boend.'  " 

Sandy  Liston.  "  I  hae  sat  quiet !  — 
quiet  I  hae  sat  against  my  will,  no  to 
disturb  Jamie  Drysel's  weddin' ;  but 
ye  carry  the  game  ower  far,  Shylock, 
my  lad.  I  '11  just  give  yon  bluidy- 
minded  uiang-titang  a  hidin',  and 
bring  Tony  off',  the  glide,  puir-spir- 
itcd  creature  :  and  him,  an'  me,  an' 
Bassanee,  an'  Porshee,  we  '11  all  hae 
a  gill  thegither." 

He  rose,  and  was  instantly  seized 
by  two  of  the  company,  from  whom 
he  burst  furiously,  after  a  struggle, 
and  the  next  moment  was  heard  to 
fall  clean  from  the  top  to  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs.     Flucker  and  Jean  ran 


out ;  the  rest  appealed  against  the  in- 
terruption. 

Christie.  "  Hech  !  he  's  killed ;  Sandy 
Liston  's  brake  his  neck." 

"  What  aboot  it,  lassy  '!  "  said  a 
young  fisherman  ;  "  it 's  Antonio  I  'm 
feared  for;  save  him,  lassy,  if  poes- 
sible ;  but  I  doot  ye  '11  no  get  him 
clear  o'  yon  deevelich  heathen. 

"  Auld  Sandy 's  cheap  sairved," 
added  he,  with  all  the  indifference  a 
human  tone  could  convey. 

"  O  Cursty,"  said  Lizzy  Johnstone, 
with  a  peevish  accent,  "  dinna  break 
the  bonny  yarn  for  naething." 

Flucker  (returning).  "He's  a' 
reicht." 

Christie.     "  Is  he  no  dead  ?  " 

Flucker.  "  Him  deed  1  he  's  sober, 
—  that 's  a'  the  change  I  see." 

Christie.  "  Can  he  speak  ?  I  'm 
asking  ye." 

Flucker.    "  Yes,  he  can  speak." 

Christie.  "  What  does  he  say,  puip 
body  1  " 

Flucker.  "  He  sat  up,  an'  sought  a 
gill  fra'  the  wife  —  puir  body  ! " 

Christie.  "  Hech,  hech  !  he  was  my 
pupil  in  the  airt  o'  sobriety  !  —  aweel, 
the  young  judge  rises  to  deliver  the 
sentence  of  the  coort.  Silence  ! " 
thundered  Christie.  A  lad  and  a 
lass  that  were  slightly  flirting  were 
discountenanced. 

Christie.  "  A  pund  o'  that  same 
mairchant's  flesh  is  thine  !  the  coort 
awards  it,  and  the  law  does  give  it." 

A  young  Fishwife.  "  There,  I  thoucht 
sae  ;  he 's  gaun  to  cut  him,  he  's  gaun 
to  cut  him;  I'll  no  can  bide."  (Ex- 
ibat. ) 

Christie.  "  There  's  a  fulish  golo- 
shen.  '  Have  by  a  doctor  to  stop  tho 
blood.'  —  'I  see  nae  doctor  in  the 
boend,'  says  the  Jew  body." 

Flucker.  "  Bait  your  hook  wi'  a 
boend,  and  ye  shall  catch  yon  carle's 
saul,  Satin,  my  lad." 

Christie  (with  dismal  pathos).  "O 
Flucker,  dinna  speak  evil  o'  deegne- 
ties  —  that's  maybe  fishing  for  your- 
sel'  the  noo  !  — '  An'  ye  shall  cut  the 
flesh  frae  off  his  breest'  — '  A  sen- 
tence,' says  Shylock, '  come,  prepare.' " 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


139 


Christie  made  a  dash  en  Shyloch, 
and  the  company  trembled. 

Christie.  "  '  Bide  a  wee,'  says  the 
judge,  '  this  boend  gies  ye  na  a  drap 
o'  bluid  ;  the  words  expressly  are,  a 
puiid  o'  flesh  ! ' " 

(A  Dramatic  Pause.) 

Jean  Carnie  (drawing  her  breath). 
"That's  into  your  mutton,  Shylock." 

Christie  (with  dismal  pathos).  "O 
Jean  !  yon 's  an  awfu'  voolgar  expras- 
sion  to  come  fra'  a  woman's  mooth." 

"  Could  ye  no  hae  said,  '  intil  his 
bacon  '  t  "  said  Lizzy  Johnstone,  con- 
firming the  remonstrance. 

Christie.  "  Then  tak  your  boend, 
an'  your  pund  o'  flesh,  but  in  cutting 
o'  't,  if  thou  dost  shed  one  drop  of 
Christian  bluid,  thoudiest!" 

Jean  Carnie.    "  Hech  !  " 

Christie.  "  Thy  goods  are  by  the 
laws  of  Veneece  con-fls-cate,  confis- 
cate ! " 

Then,  like  an  artful  narrator,  she 
began  to  wind  up  the  story  more  rap- 
idly. 

"  Sae  Shylock  got  to  be  no  sae 
saucy  :  '  Pay  the  boend  thrice,'  Says 
he,  '  and  let  the  puir  deevil  go.'  — 
'  Here  it 's,'  says  Bassanio.  —  Na !  the 
young  judge  wadna  let  him.  —  'He 
has  refused  it  in  open  court ;  no  a 
bawbee  for  Shylock  but  just  the  for- 
feiture; an'  hedaur  na  tak  it.'  — '  I'm 
awa','  says  he.  •  '  The  deivil  tak  ye 
a'.'  —  Na !  he  wasna  to  win  clear  sae  ; 
ance  they  'd  gotten  the  Jew  on  the 
hep,  they  worried  him,  like  good 
Christians,  that's  a  fact.  The  judge 
bad  8  law  that  fitted  him,  for  conspir- 
ing ■gainst  the  life  of  a  citizen  ;  an' 
he  behooved  to  give  up  boose  an'  lands, 
and  be  a  Christian  ;  yon  was  a  soor 
drap,  —  he  tamed  no  weel,  puir  auld 
villain,  an'  scairtit ;  an'  the  lawyers 
sent  ane  o'  their  weary  parchments 
till  his  hoosc,  and  the  mux  aulil  hea- 
then signed  awa'  his  siller,  an'  Abra- 
ham, an'  Isaac,  an' Jacob,  on  the  heed 
o'  't.  I  pity  him,  an  auld,  auld  man  ; 
and  his  dochter  had  rin  off  wi'  a 
Christian  lad, — they  ca'  her  Jessica, 


and  did  n't  she  steal  his  very  diamond 
ring  that  his  ain  lass  gied  him  when 
he  was  young,  an'  maybe  no  sae  hard- 
hairted'?" 

Jean  Carnie.  "  O  the  jaud  !  sup- 
pose he  was  a  Jew,  it  was  na  her  busi- 
ness to  clean  him  oot." 

A  young  Fishwife.  "  Aweel,  it  was 
only  a  Jew  body,  that 's  my  comfort." 

Christie.  "  Ye  speak  as  a  Jew  was 
na  a  man  ;  has  not  a  Jew  eyes,  if  ye 
please  ?  " 

Lizzy  Johnstone.  "  Ay,  has  he  !  — 
and  the  awfuest  langneb  atweenem." 

Christie.  "  Has  not  a  Jew  affections, 
paassions,  organs  1 " 

Jean.  "Na!  Christie;  thir  lads 
comes  fr'  Italy  !  " 

Christie.  "  If  you  prick  him,  does 
he  not  bleed  1  if  you  tickle  him,  does 
na  he  laueh 1  " 

A  young  Fishwife  [pertly).  "  I  never 
kittlet  a  Jew,  for  my  pairt,  —  sae  I  '11 
no  can  tell  ye." 

Christie.  "  If  you  poison  him,  does 
he  not  die  t  and  if  you  wrang  him," 
(with  fury,)  "  shall  he  not  revenge?  " 

Lizzy  Johnstone.  "  Oh  !  but  ye  're  a 
fearsome  lass." 

Christie.  "  Wha  '11  give  me  a  sang 
for  my  bonny  yarn  1 " 

Lord  Ipsden,  who  had  been  an  un- 
observed auditor  of  the  latter  part  of 
the  tale,  here  inquired  whether  she  had 
brought  her  book. 

"  What'n  buik  ?  " 

"  Your  music-book  !  " 

"Here 's  my  music-book,"  said  Jean, 
roughly  tapping  her  head. 

"And  here's  mines,"  said  Christie, 
bird-ly,  touching  her  bosom. 

"  Richard,"  said  she,  thoughtfully, 
I  wish  ye  may  no  hae  been  getting  in 
voolgar  company  :  div  ye  think  we 
hae  minds  like  rinning  water  1 " 

Fluch  r  (avec malice).  "And  tongues 
like  the  mill-clack  abune  it?  Be- 
cause if  ye  think  sae,  captain,  — ye  're 
no  far  wrang  !  " 

( 'Inistie.  "  Na  !  we  hae  na  muckle 
gowd  maybe  ;  but  our  minds  are 
gowden  vessels." 

Jean.    "Aha!  lad." 

Christie.   "  They  arc  not  saxpenny 


140 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


sieves,  to  let  music  an'  metre  through, 
and  leave  us  none  the  wiser  or  better. 
Diima  gang  in  low  voolgar  company, 
or  you  a  lost  laddy." 

Ipsden.  "  Vulgar,  again !  every- 
body has  a  different  sense  for  that 
word,  I  think.     What  is  vulgar  ?  " 

Christie.  "  Voolgar  folk  sit  on  an 
chair,  ane,  twa,  whiles  three  hours, 
eatin'  an'  abune  a'  drinkin',  as  still  as 
hoegs,  or  gruntin'  puir  every-day 
clashes,  goessip,  rubbich  ;  when  ye  are 
aside  them,  ye  might  as  weel  be  aside 
a  cuddy ;  they  canna  gie  ye  a  sang, 
they  canna  gie  ye  a  story,  they  canna 
think  ye  a  thoucht,  to  save  their  use- 
less lives  ;  that 's  voolgar  folk." 

She  sings.    "A  caaller  herrin' !  " 

Jean.    "  A  caaller  herrin' ! " 

Omnes. 

"  Come  buy  my  bonny  caaller  herrin', 
Six  a  penny  caaller  from  the  sea,"  &c. 

The  music  chimed  in,  and  the  mo- 
ment the  song  was  done,  without 
pause,  or  anything  to  separate  or  chill 
the  succession  of  the  arts,  the  fiddles 
diverged  with  a  gallant  plunge  into 
"  The  Dusty  Miller."  The  dancers 
found  their  feet  by  an  instinct  as  rap- 
id, and  a  rattling  reel  shook  the  floor 
like  thunder,  jean  Carnie  assumed 
the  privilege  of  a  bride,  and  seized  his 
Lordship  ;  Christie,  who  had  a  mind 
to  dance  with  him  too,  took  Flucker 
captive,  and  these  four  were  one  reel ! 
There  were  seven  others. 

The  principle  of  reel  dancing  is  ar- 
ticulation ;  the  foot  strikes  the  ground 
for  every  accented  note  (and,  by  the 
by,  it  is  their  weakness  of  accent 
which  makes  all  English  reel  and 
hornpipe  players  such  failures). 

And  in  the  best  steps  of  all,  which 
it  has  in  common  with  the  hornpipe, 
such  as  the  quick  "  heel  and  toe," 
"  the  sailor's  fling,"  and  the  "  double 
shuffle,"  the  foot  strikes  the  ground 
for  every  single  note  of  the  instrument. 

All  good  dancing  is  beautiful. 

But  this  articulate  dancing,  com- 
pared with  the  loose,  lawless  diffluence 
of  motion  that  goes  by  that  name, 
gives  me  (I  must  confess  it)  as  much 


more  pleasure  as  articulate  singing  \* 
superior  to  tunes  played  on  the  voice 
by  a  young  lady : 

Or  the  clean  playing  of  my  mother 
to  the  piano-forte  splashing  of  my 
daughter ;  though  the  latter  does  at- 
tack the  instrument  as  a  washerwoman 
her  soapsuds,  and  the  former  works 
like  a  lady. 

Or  skating  to  sliding  : 

Or  English  verse  to  dactyls  in  Eng- 
lish : 

Or  painting  to  daubing : 

Or  preserved  strawberries  to  straw- 
berry jam. 

What  says  Goldsmith  of  the  two 
styles  ? 

"  They  swam,  sprawled,  frisked, 
and  languished  ;  but  Olivia's  foot 
was  as  pat  to  the  music  as  its  echo." 
—  Vicar  of  Wakefield. 

Newhaven  dancing  aims  also  at 
fun  ;  laughter  mingles  with  agility ; 
grotesque,  yet  graceful  gestures  are 
flung  in,  and  little  inspiring  cries 
Aunty  out. 

His  Lordship  soon  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  it.  Deep  in  the  mystery  of 
the  hornpipe,  he  danced  one  or  two 
steps  Jean  and  Christie  had  never 
seen,  but  their  eyes  were  instantly  on 
his  feet,  and  they  caught  in  a  minute 
and  executed  these  same  steps. 

To  see  Christie  Johnstone  do  the 
double-shuffle  with  her  arms  so  sau- 
cily akimbo,  and  her  quick  elastic 
foot  at  an  angle  of  forty-five,  was  a 
treat. 

The  dance  became  inspiriting,  in- 
spiring, intoxicating;  and,  when  the 
fiddles  at  last  left  off,  the  feet  went  on 
another  seven  bars  by  the  enthusias- 
tic impulse. 

And  so,  alternately  spinning  yarns, 
singing  songs,  dancing,  and  making 
fun,  and  mingling  something  of  heart 
and  brain  in  all,  these  benighted  crea- 
tures made  themselves  happy  instead 
of  peevish,  and  with  a  day  of  stout, 
vigorous,  healthy  pleasure,  refreshed, 
indemnified,  and  warmed  themselves 
for  many  a  day  of  toil. 

Such  were  the  two  picnics  of  Inch 
Coombe,    and    these    rival     cliques, 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


141 


Igreeing  in  nothing  else,  would  have 
agreed  in  this  :  each,  if  allowed  (but 
We  won't  allow  either)  to  judge  the 
Dther,  would  have  pronounced  the 
lame  verdict :  — 

"  lis  ne  savent  pas  vivre  ces  gens-la." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Two  of  our  personages  left  Inch 
Coombe  less  happy  than  when  they 
came  to  it. 

Lord  Ipsden  encountered  I>.dy 
Barbara  with  Mr.  *  *  * ,  who  h-xl 
joined  her  upon  the  island. 

He  found  them  discoursing,  as  usu- 
al, about  the  shams  of  the  present 
day,  and  the  sincerty  rjt  Cromwell 
and  Mahomet,  and  ^'  found  himself 
de  trop. 

They  made  him,  for  the  first  time, 
regret  the  loss  of  those  earnest  times 
when,  "  to  avoid  the  inconvenience  of 
both  addressing  the  same  lady,"  you 
tould  cut  ».  rival's  throat  at  once,  and 
be  smiled  on  by  the  fair  and  society. 

That  i  book-maker  should  blas- 
pheme high  civilization,  by  which 
alone  he  exists,  and  one  of  whose 
diseases  and  Hying  pains  he  is,  neither 
(Surprised  nor  moved  him  ;  but  that 
nny  human  being's  actions  should  be 
affected  by  such  tempestuous  twaddle 
•vas  ridiculous. 

And  that  the  witty  Lady  Barbara 
Should  be  caught  by  this  chaff' was  in- 
tolerable  ;  he  began  to  feel  bitter. 

He  had  the  blessings  of  the  poor, 
the  good  opinion  of  the  world  ;  every 
living  creature  was  prepossessed  in 
Ins  favor  but  one,  and  that  one  de- 
spised him;  it  was  a  diabolical  preju- 
dice ;  it  was  the  spiteful  caprice  of  his 
fate. 

His  heart,  for  a  moment,  was  in 
danger  of  deteriorating.  He  was  mis- 
erable; the  Devil  suggested  to  him, 
"make  others  miserable  too";  and 
ho  listened  to  the  advice. 

There  was  a  fine  freeze,  but  in- 
stead of  sailing  on  a  wind,  as  he  might 


have  done,  he  made  a  series  of  tacks, 
and  all  were  ill. 

The  earnest  man  first ;  and  Fluck- 
er  announced  the  skipper's  insanity  to 
the  whole  town  of  Newhaven,  for,  of 
course,  these  tacks  were  ^11  marine 
solecisms. 

The  other  discontented  Picnician 
was  Christie  Johnstone.  Gatty  never 
came;  and  this,  coupled  with  five  or 
six  days'  previous  neglect,  could  no 
longer  pass  nnnoticed. 

Her  gaycty  failed  her  before  the 
afte*~;oon  was  ended ;  and  the  last 
t-*o  hours  were  spent  by  her  alone, 
.patching  the  water  on  all  sides  for 
him. 

At  last,  long  after  the  departure  of 
his  Lordship's  yacht,  the  Newhaven 
boat  sailed  from  Inch  Coombe  with 
the  wedding  party.  There  was  now 
a  strong  breeze,  and  the  water  every 
now  and  then  came  on  board  :  so  the 
men  set  the  foresail  with  two  reefs, 
and  drew  the  mainsail  over  the  wo- 
men ;  and  there,  as  they  huddled  to- 
gether in  the  dark,  Jean  Carnie  dis- 
covered that  our  gay  story-teller's 
eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 

Jean  said  nothing;  she  embraced 
her  ;  and  made  them  flow  faster. 

But,  when  they  came  alongside  the 
pier,  Jean,  who  was  the  first  to  get 
her  head  from  under  the  sail,  whipped 
it  back  again,  and  said  to  Christie  :  — 

"  Here  he  is,  Christie  ;  dinna  speak 
till  him." 

And  sure  enough  there  was,  in  the 
twilight,  with  a  pale  face  and  an  un- 
easy look,  —  Mr.  Charles  Gatty  ! 

He  peered  timidly  into  the  boat, 
and,  when  he  saw  Christie,  an  "  Ah  !  " 
that  seemed  to  mean  twenty  different 
things  at  once,  burst  from  his  bosom. 
He  held  out  his  arm  to  assist  her. 

She  cast  on  him  one  glance  of  mute 
reproach,  and,  placing  her  foot  on  tho 
boat's  gunwale,  sprang  like  an  ante- 
lope upon  the  pier,  without  accepting 
bis  assistance. 

Before  f^oinj;  further,  we  must  go 
back  for  this  boy,  and  conduct  him 
from  where  wc  left  him  up  to  the 
present  point. 


142 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


The  moment  he  found  himself  alone 
with  Jean  Carnie,  in  his  own  house, 
he  began  to  tell  her  what  trouble  he 
was  in  ;  how  his  mother  had  convinced 
him  of  his  imprudence  in  falling  in 
love  with  Christie  Johnstone ;  and 
how  she  insisted  on  a  connection  be- 
ing broken  off,  which  had  given  him 
his  first  glimpse  of  heaven  upon  earth, 
and  was  contrary  to  common  sense. 

Jean  heard  him  out,  and  then,  with 
the  air  of  a  lunatic-asylum  keeper  to 
a  rhodomontading  patient,  told  him 
"  he  was  one  fool,  and  his  mother 
was  another."  First  she  took  him  up 
on  the  score  of  prudence. 

"  You,"  said  she,  "  are  a  beggarly 
painter,  without  a  rap ;  Christie  has 
houses,  boats,  nets,  and  money  ;  you 
are  in  debt ;  she  lays  by  money  every 
week.  It  is  not  prudent  on  her  part 
to  take  up  with  you,  —  the  better 
your  bargain,  my  lad." 

Under  the  head  of  common  sense, 
which  she  maintained  was  all  on  the 
same  side  of  the  question,  she  calmly 
inquired :  — 

"  How  could  an  old  woman  of  six- 
ty be  competent  to  judge  how  far 
human  happiness  depends  on  love, 
when  she  has  no  experience  of  that 
passion,  and  the  reminiscences  of  her 
youth  have  become  dim  and  dark  ? 
You  might  as  well  set  a  judge  in 
court,  that  has  forgotten  the  law,  — 
common  sense,"  said  she,  "  the  old 
wife  is  sixty,  and  you  are  twenty,  — 
what  can  she  do  for  you  the  forty  years 
you  may  reckon  to  outlive  her?  Who 
is  to  keep  you  through  those  weary 
years  but  the  wife  of  your  own  choice, 
not  your  mother's  ?  You  English 
does  na  read  the  Bible,  or  ye  'd  ken 
that  a  lad  is  to  '  leave  his  father  and 
mother,  and  cleave  until  his  wife,' " 
added  she;  then  with  great  contempt 
she  repeated,  "  common  sense,  in- 
deed !  ye  're  fou  wi'  your  common 
sense ;  ye  hae  the  name  o'  't  pat  cneuch, 
—  but  there  's  na  muckle  o'  that  mair- 
chandisc  in  your  hams." 

Gatty  was  astonished  :  what !  was 
there  really  common  sense  on  the  side 
of  bliss  1  and  when  Jean  told  him  to 


join  her  party  at  Inch  Coombe,  ot 
never  look  her  in  the  face  again,  scales 
seemed  to  fall  from  his  eyes  ;  and,  with 
a  heart  that  turned  in  a  moment  fiom 
lead  to  a  feather,  he  vowed  he  would 
be  at  Inch  Coombe. 

He  then  begged  Jean  on  no  account 
to  tell  Christie  the  struggle  he  had 
been  subjected  to,  since  his  scruples 
were  now  entirely  conquered. 

Jean  acquiesced  at  once,  and  said  : 
"  Indeed,  she  would  be  very  sorry  to 
give  the  lass  that  muckle  pain." 

She  hinted,  moreover,  that  her  nee- 
bor's  spirit  was  so  high,  she  was  quite 
capable  of  breaking  with  him  at  once 
upon  such  an  intimation  ;  and  she, 
Jean,  was  "  nae  mischief-maker." 

In  the  energy  of  his  gratitude,  he 
kissed  this  dark-browed  beauty,  pro- 
fessing to  see  in  her  a  sister. 

And  she  made  no  resistance  to  this 
way  of  showing  gratitude,  but  mut- 
tered between  her  teeth,  "  He  's  just  a 
bairn ! " 

And  so  she  went  about  her  business. 

On  her  retreat,  his  mother  returned 
to  him,  and,  with  a  sad  air,  hoped 
nothing  that  that  rude  girl  had  said 
had  weakened  his  filial  duty. 

"  No,  mother,"  said  he. 

She  then,  without  explaining  how 
she  came  acquainted  with  Jean's  ar- 
guments, proceeded  to  demolish  them 
one  by  one. 

"  If  your  mother  is  old  and  experi- 
enced," said  she,  "  benefit  by  her  age 
and  experience.  She  has  not  forgot- 
ten love,  nor  the  ills  it  leads  to,  when 
not  fortified  by  prudence.  Scripture 
says  a  man  shall  cleave  to  his  wife 
when  he  has  left  his  parents  ;  but  in 
making  that,  the  most  important  step 
of  life,  where  do  you  read  that  he  is  to 
break  the  fifth  commandment  ?  But  I 
do  you  wrong,  Charles,  you  never 
could  have  listened  to  that  vulgar  girl 
when  she  told  you  your  mother  was 
not  your  best  friend." 

'•  N — no,  mother,  of  course  not." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  to  that  place 
to  break  my  heart,  and  undo  all  you 
have  done  this  week." 

"  I  should  like  to  go,  mother." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


143 


"You  will  break  my  heart  if  you 
ao." 

"  Christie  will  feel  herself  slighted, 
and  she  has  not  deserved  this  treat- 
ment from  me." 

"  The  other  will  explain  to  her,  and 
if  she  is  as  good  a  girl  as  you  say  —  " 

"  She  is  an  angel !  " 

"  How  can  a  fishwife  be  an  angel  ? 
Well,  then,  she  will  not  set  a  sou  to 
disobey  his  mother." 

"  I  don't  think  she  would !  but  is 
all  the  goodness  to  be  on  her  side  ?  " 

"  No,  Charles,  you  do  your  part ; 
deny  yourself,  be  an  obedient  child, 
and  your  mother's  blessing  and  the 
blessing  of  Heaven  will  rest  upon 
you." 

In  short,  he  was  not  to  go  to  Inch 
Coombe. 

He  stayed  at  home,  his  mother  set 
him  to  work  ;  he  made  a  poor  hand 
of  it,  he  was  so  wretched.  She  at  last 
took  compassion  on  him,  and  in  the 
evening,  when  it  was  now  too  late  for 
a  Bail  to  Inch  Coombe,  she  herself 
recommended  a  walk  to  him. 

The  poor  hoy's  feet  took  him  to- 
wards Newhaven,  not  that  he  meant 
to  go  to  his  love,  but  he  could  not  for- 
bear from  looking  at  the  place  which 
held  her. 

He  was  about  to  return,  when  a 
spacious  blue  jacket  hailed  him. 
Somewhere  inside  this  jacket  was 
Master  Flacker,  who  had  returned  in 
the  yacht,  leaving  his  sister  on  the  isl- 
and. 

Gatty  instantly  poured  out  a  flood 
of  questions. 

The  bad  dish  boy  reciprocated  flu- 
ency :  he  informed  him  "  that  his  sis- 
ter had  been  the  star  of  a  goodly  com- 
pany, and  that,  her  own  lad  having 
stayed  away,  she  had  condescended  to 
make  a  conquest  of  the  skipper  him- 
self. 

"  He  had  come  in  quite  at  the  tao:- 
end  of  one  of  her  stories,  but  it  had 
been  sufficient  to  do  his  business,  — 
he  had  danced  with  her,  had  even 
whistled  whilst  she  snug.  (Ilech,  it 
was  boiiny  !  ) 

"  And  when    the  cutter  sailed,  lie, 


Flucker,  had  seen  her  perched  on 
a  rock,  like  a  mermaid,  watching  their 
progress,  which  had  been  slow,  be- 
cause the  skipper,  infatuated  with  so 
sudden  a  passion,  had  made  a  series 
of  ungrammatical  tacks." 

For  his  part  he  was  glad,  said  the 
gracious  Flucker  ;  the  lass  was  a  pridc- 
i'ul  hussy,  that  had  given  some  twenty 
lads  a  sore  heart  and  him  many  a  sore 
back  ;  and  he  hoped  his  skipper,  with 
whom  he  naturally  identified  himself 
rather  than  with  his  sister,  would 
avenge  the  male  sex  upon  her." 

In  short,  he  went  upon  this  tack  till 
he  drove  poor  Gatty  nearly  mad. 

Here  was  a  new  feeling  superadded ; 
at  first  he  felt  injured,  but  on  reflection 
what  cause  of  complaint  had  he  1 

He  had  neglected  her ;  he  might 
have  been  her  partner, — he  had  left 
her  to  find  one  where  she  could. 

Fool,  to  suppose  that  so  beautiful  a 
creature  would  ever  be  neglected  — 
except  by  him  ! 

It  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 

He  determined  to  see  her,  to  ask  her 
forgiveness,  to  tell  her  everything,  to 
beg  her  to  decide,  and,  for  his  part,  ho 
would  abide  by  her  decision. 

Christie  Johnstone,  as  wo  have  al- 
ready related,  declined  his  arm,  sprang 
like  a  deer  upon  the  pier,  and  walked 
towards  her  home,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant. 

Gatty  followed  her,  disconsolately, 
hardly  knowing  what  to  do. 

At  last,  observing  that  she  drew 
near  enough  to  the  wall  to  allow  room 
for  another  on  the  causeway,  he  had 
just  nous  enough  to  creep  alongside, 
and  pull  her  sleeve  somewhat  tim- 
idly. 

"  Christie,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  What  can  ye  hae  to  say  till  me  ?  " 

"  Christie,  I  am  very  unhappy  ;  and 
I  want  to  tell  you  why,  but  I  have 
hardly  the  Btrength  or  the  courage." 

"  Ye  shall  come  hen  my  boose  if  yo 
are  unhappy,  and  we  '11  hear  your  sto- 
ry ;  come  away." 

"  He  had  never  been  admitted  into  her 
bouse  before. 

They  found  it  clean  as  a  snowdrift. 


144 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


They  found  a  bright  fire,  and  Fluck- 
er  frying  innumerable  steaks. 

The  baddish  boy  had  obtained  them 
in  his  sister's  name  and  at  her  ex- 
pense, at  the  flesher's,  and  claimed 
credit  for  his  affection. 

Potatoes  he  had  boiled  in  their  jack- 
ets, and  so  skilfully,  that  those  jackets 
hung  by  a  thread. 

Christie  laid  an  unbleached  table- 
cloth, that  somehow  looked  sweeter 
than  a  white  one,  as  brown  bread  is 
sweeter  than  white. 

But  lo,  Gatty  could  not  eat ;  so  then 
Christie  would  not,  because  he  refused 
her  cheer. 

The  baddish  boy  chuckled,  and  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  nice  brown 
steaks  with  their  rich  gravy. 

On  such  occasions  a  solo  on  the 
knife  and  fork  seemed  better  than  a 
trio  to  the  gracious  Flucker. 

Christie  moved  about  the  room,  do- 
ing little  household  matters ;  Gatty's 
eye  followed  her. 

Pier  beauty  lost  nothing  in  this  small 
apartment ;  she  was  here,  like  a  bril- 
liant in  some  quaint,  rough  setting, 
which  all  earth's  jewellers  should  de- 
spise, and  all  its  poets  admire,  and  it 
should  show  off  the  stone  and  not 
itself. 

Her  beauty  filled  the  room,  and  al- 
most made  the  spectators  ill. 

Gatty  asked  himself  whether  he 
could  really  have  beeu  such  a  fool  as 
to  think  of  giving  up  so  peerless  a 
creature. 

Suddenly  an  idea  occurred  to  him, 
a  bright  one,  and  not  inconsistent  with 
a  true  artist's  character,  —  he  would 
decline  to  act  in  so  doubtful  a  case : 
he  would  float  passively  down  the  tide 
of  events,  —  he  would  neither  desert 
her,  nor  disobey  his  mother  ;  he  would 
take  everything  as  it  came,  and  to  be- 
gin, as  he  was  there,  he  would  for  the 
present  say  nothing  but  what  he  felt, 
and  what  he  felt  was  that  he  loved  her. 

lie  told  her  so  accordingly. 

She  replied,  concealing  her  satisfac- 
tion, "  that,  if  he  liked  her,  he  would 
not  have  refused  to  eat  when  she  asked 
him." 


But  our  hero's  appetite  had  returned 
with  his  change  of  purpose,  and  he  in- 
stantly volunteered  to  give  the  re- 
quired proof  of  affection. 

Accordingly  two  pound  of  steaks  fell 
before  him. 

Poor  boy,  he  had  hardly  eaten  a 
genuine  meal  for  a  week  past. 

Christie  sat  opposite  hiin,  and  every 
time  he  looked  off  his  plate  he  saw 
her  rich  blue  eyes  dwelling  on  him. 

Everything  contributed  to  warm  his 
heart,  he  yielded  to  the  spell,  he  be- 
came contented,  happy,  gay. 

Flucker  ginger-cordialled  him,  his 
sister  bewitched  him. 

She  related  the  day's  events  in  a 
merry  mood. 

Mr.  Gatty  burst  forth  into  singing. 

He  sung  two  light  and  sombre  tri- 
fles, such  as  in  the  present  day  are 
deemed  generally  encouraging  to  spir- 
its, and  particularly  in  accordance 
with  the  sentiment  of  supper,  —  they 
were  about  Death  and  Ivy  Green. 

The  dog's  voice  was  not  very  pow- 
erful, but  sweet  and  round  as  honey 
dropping  from  the  comb. 

His  two  hearers  were  entranced,  for 
the  creature  sang  with  an  inspiration 
good  singers  dare  not  indulge. 

He  concluded  by  informing  Christie 
that  the  ivy  was  symbolical  of  her,  and 
the  oak  prefigured  Charles  Gatty,  Esq. 

He  might  have  inverted  the  simile 
with  more  truth. 

In  short,  he  never  said  a  word  to 
Christie  about  parting  with  her,  but 
several  about  being  buried  in  the  same 
grave  with  her,  sixty  years  hence,  for 
which  the  spot  he  selected  was  West- 
minster Abbey. 

And  away  he  went,  leaving  golden 
opinions  behind  him. 

The  next  day  Christie  was  so  affect- 
ed with  his  conduct,  coming  as  it 
did  after  an  apparent  coolness,  that 
she  conquered  her  bashfulness  and 
called  on  the  "  Vile  Count,"  and  with 
some  blushes  and  hesitation  inquired, 
"  Whether  a  painter  lad  was  a  fit  sub- 
ject of  charity." 

"  Why  not  7  "  said  his  Lordship. 

She  then  told  him  Gatty's  case,  and 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


145 


he  instantly  promised  to  see  that  art- 
ist's pictures,  particularly  ane  "  awfu' 
bonny  ane  "  ;  the  hero  of  which  she 
described  as  an  English  minister 
blessing  the  bairns  with  one  hand, 
and  giving  orders  to  kill  the  puir 
Scoetch  with  the  other. 

"  C'est  egal,"  said  Christie  in 
Scotch,  "  it 's  awfu'  bonny." 

Gatty  reached  home  late ;  his  moth- 
er had  retired  to  rest. 

But  the  next  morning  she  drew 
from  him  what  had  happened,  and 
then  ensued  another  of  those  dialogues 
which  I  am  ashamed  again  to  give  the 
reader. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  she  once  more 
prevailed,  though  with  far  greater  dif- 
ficulty ;  time  was  to  be  given  him  to 
unsew  a  connection  which  he  could 
not  cut  asunder,  and  he,  with  tearful 
eyes  and  a  heavy  heart,  agreed  to 
take  some  step  the  very  first  opportu- 
nity. 

This  concession  was  hardly  out  of 
his  mouth,  ere  his  mother  made  him 
kneel  down  and  bestowed  her  blessing 
upon  him. 

He  received  it  coldly  and  dully,  and 
expressed  a  languid  hope  it  might 
prove  a  charm  to  save  him  from  de- 
spair ;  and  sad,  bitter,  and  dejected, 
breed  himself  to  sit  down  and  work 
on  the  picture  that  was  to  meet  his 
unrelenting  creditor's  demand. 

He  was  working  on  his  picture,  and 
his  mother,  with  her  needle  at  the  ta- 
ble, when  a  knock  was  heard,  and  gay 
as  a  lark,  and  fresh  as  the  dew  on  the 
shamrock,  Christie  Johnstone  stood  in 
person  in  the  apartment. 

She  was  evidently  the  bearer  of 
good  tidings  ;  but,  before  she  could 
express  them,  .Mrs.  Gatty  beckoned 
hereon  aside,  and  announcing,  "  she 
should  be  within  hearing,"  bade  bins 
take  the  occasion  that  so  happily  pre- 
sented itself,  and  make  the  first  Step. 

At  another  time,  Christie,  who  had 
learned  from  Jean    the  arrival  of  Mis. 

Gatty,  would  have  been  •track  with 
th'  old  lady's  silence-;  but  she  came 
to  bell  the  depressed  painti  r  thai  the 

charitable  Viscount  was  about  to  visit 
7 


him  and  his  picture;  and  she  was  so 
full  of  the  good  fortune  likely  to  en- 
sue, that  she  was  neglectful  of  minor 
considerations. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  cer- 
tain interruptions  prevented  her  from 
ever  delivering  herself  of  the  news  in 
question. 

First,  Gatty  himself  came  to  her, 
and,  casting  uneasy  glances  at  the 
door  by  which  his  mother  had  just 
gone  out,  said  :  — 

"  Christie ! " 

"  My  lad  !  " 

"  I  want  to  paint  your  likeness." 

This  was  for  a  souvenir,  poor  fellow ! 

"  Hech  !  I  wad  like  fine  to  be  paint- 
ed." 

"  It  must  be  exactly  the  same  size 
as  yourself,  and  so  like  you,  that, 
should  we  be  parted,  I  may  seem  not 
to  be  quite  alone  in  the  world." 

Here  he  was  obliged  to  turn  his 
head  away. 

"  But  we  '11  no  pairt,"  replied  Chris- 
tie, cheerfully.  "  Suppose  ye  're  puir, 
I  'm  rich,  and  it 's  a'  one  ;  dinna  be 
so  cast  down  for  auchty  pund." 

At  this,  a  slipshod  servant  entered, 
and  said  :  — 

"  There  's  a  fisher  lad,  inquiring  for 
Christie  Johnstone." 

"  It  will  be  Flucker,"said  Christie; 
"  show  him  ben.  What 's  wrang  the 
noo,  I  wonder  !  " 

The  baddish  boy  entered,  took  up 
a  position,  and  remained  apparently 
passive,  hands  in  pockets. 

<  'hristie.    "  Awed,  what  est  ?  " 
Flucker.    "  Custy." 

Christie.  "  What 's  your  will,  my 
inanny  1  " 

Flucker.  "  Custy,  I  was  at  Inch 
Keith  the  day." 

Christie.  "  And  hac  ye  really  come 
to  Edinbro'  to  tell  me  thaat  1 " 

Flucker  (dryly).  "  Oh  !  ye  ken  the 
lasses  are  a  hantle  wiser  than  we  are, 
—  will  ye  hear  me?  South  Inch  Keith, 
I  played  a  howl  i'  the  water,  just  for 
divaiiMon,  —  ami  I  eatched  twarree 
fish!" 

<  'hristie.   "  Floonders,  I  bet." 
Flucker.      "  Does    floonders    swim 

J 


146 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


high  1  I  '11  let  you  see  his  gills,  and 
if  ye  are  a  reieht  fishwife  ye  '11  smell 
bluid." 

Here  he  opened  his  jacket,  and 
showed  a  bright  little  fish. 

In  a  moment  all  Christie's  noncha- 
lance gave  way  to  a  fiery  animation. 
She  darted  to  Flucker's  side. 

"  Ye  hae  na  been  sac  daft  as  tell  ?  " 
asked  she. 

Flucker  shook  his  head  contemptu- 
ously. 

"  Ony  birds  at  the  island,  Flucker  ?  " 

"  Sea-maws,  plenty,  and  a  bird  I 
dinna  ken  ;  he  moonted  sae  high,  then 
doon  like  thunder  intil  the  sea,  and 
gart  the  water  flee  as  high  as  Hainan, 
and  porpoises  as  big  as  my  boat." 

"  Forr-poises,  fulish  laddy,  —  ye  hae 
seen  the  herrin  whale  at  his  wark,  and 
the  solant  guse  ye  hae  seen  her  at 
wark  ;  and  beneath  the  sea,  Flucker, 
every  coedfish  and  doegfish,  and  fish 
that  has  teeth,  is  after  them  ;  and  half 
Scotland  wad  be  at  Inch  Keith  Island 
if  they  kenned  what  ye  hae  tell 't  me, 
—  dinna  speak  to  me." 

During  this,  Gatty,  who  did  not 
comprehend  this  sudden  excitement, 
or  thought  it  childish,  had  tried  in 
vain  to  win  her  attention. 

At  last  he  said,  a  little  peevishly, 
"  Will  you  not  attend  to  me,  and  tell 
me  at  least  when  you  will  sit  to  me  1  " 

"  Set !  "  cried  she.  "  When  there  's 
nae  wark  to  be  done  stanning." 

And  with  this  she  was  gone.  —  At 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  said  to  her 
brother  :  — 

"  Puir  lad  !  I  '11  sune  draw  auchty 
punds  fra'  the  sea  for  him,  with  my 
feythcr's  nets." 

As  she  disappeared,  Mrs.  Gatty  ap- 
peared. 

"  And  this  is  the  woman  whose 
mind  was  not  in  her  dirty  business," 
cried  she. 

"  Docs  not  that  open  your  eyes, 
Charles  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Charles,"  added  she,  ten- 
derly, "  there  's  no  friend  like  a  moth- 
er." 

And  off  she  carried  the  prize,  — 
his  vanity  had  been  mortified. 


And  so  that  happened  to  Christie 
Johnstone  which  has  befallen  many 
a  woman,  —  the  greatness  of  her  love 
made  that  love  appear  small  to  her 
lover. 

"  Ah  !  mother,"  cried  he,  "  I  must 
live  for  you  and  my  art ;  I  am  not  so 
dear  to  her  as  I  thought." 

And  so,  with  a  sad  heart,  he  turned 
away  from  her ;  whilst  she,  with  a 
light  heart,  darted  away  to  think  and 
act  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

It  was  some  two  hours  after  this 
that  a  gentleman,  plainly  dressed,  but 
whose  clothes  seemed  a  part  of  him- 
self (whereas  mine  I  have  observed 
hang  upon  me ;  and  the  liev.  Josiah 
Splitall's  stick  to  him),  —  glided  into 
the  painter's  room,  with  an  inquiry 
whether  he  had  not  a  picture  or  two 
disposable. 

"  I  have  one  finished  picture,  sir," 
said  the  poor  boy  ;  "  but  the  price  is 
high  !  " 

He  brought  it,  in  a  faint-hearted 
way ;  for  lie  had  shown  it  to  five 
picture-dealers,  and  all  five  agreed  it 
was  hard. 

He  had  painted  a  lime-tree,  distant 
fifty  yards,  and  so  painted  it  that  it 
looked  something  like  a  lime-tree  fifty 
yards  off. 

"  That  was  mesquin,"  said  his 
judges  ;  "  the  poetry  of  painting  re- 
quired abstract  trees,  at  metaphysi- 
cal distance,  not  the  various  trees  of 
nature,  as  they  appear  under  positive 
accidents." 

On  this  Mr.  Gatty  had  deluged 
them  with  words. 

"  When  it  is  art,  truth,  or  sense 
to  fuse  a  cow,  a  horse,  and  a  critic 
into  one  undistinguishable  quadruped, 
with  six  legs,  then  it  will  be  art  to 
melt  an  ash,  an  elm,  and  a  lime, 
things  that  differ  more  than  quadru- 
peds, into  what  you  call  abstract  trees, 
that  any  man  who  has  seen  a  tree,  as 
well  as  looked  at  one,  would  call 
drunken  stinging-nettles.     You,  who 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


147 


never  look  at  nature,  how  can  you 
judge  the  arts,  which  are  all  but  cop- 
ies of  nature  ?  At  two  hundred  yards' 
distance,  full-grown  trees  are  more 
distinguishable  than  the  animal  tribe. 
Paint  me  an  abstract  human  being, 
neither  man  nor  a  woman,"  said  he, 
"  and  then  I  will  agree  to  paint  a 
tree  that  shall  be  no  tree;  and,  if  no 
man  will  buy  it,  perhaps  the  father  of 
lies  will  take  it  off  my  hands,  and 
hang  it  in  the  only  place  it  would  not 
disgrace." 

In  short,  he  never  left  off  till  he  had 
crushed  the  non-buyers  with  eloquence 
and  satire;  but  he  could  not  crush 
them  into  buyers,  —  they  beat  him  at 
the  passive  retort. 

Poor  Gatty,  when  the  momentary 
excitement  of  argument  had  subsided, 
drank  the  bitter  cup  all  must  drink 
awhile,  whose  hark  is  alive  and  strong 
enough  to  stem  the  current  down 
which  the  dead,  weak  things  of  the 
world  are  drifting,  many  of  them  into 
safe  harbors. 

And  now  he  brought  out  his  pic- 
ture with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  Now,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  this 
gentleman  will  talk  me  dead,  and 
leave  me  no  richer  in  coin,  and  poorer 
in  time  and  patience." 

The  picture  was  placed  in  a  light, 
the  visitor  sat  down  before  it. 

A  long  pause  ensued. 

"  Has  he  fainted  ?  "  thought  Gatty, 
ironically  ;  "  he  does  n't  gabble." 

"  If  you  do  not  mind  painting  be- 
fore me,"  said  the  visitor,  "  I  should 
be  glad  if  you  would  continue  whilst 
I  look  into  this  picture." 

Gatty  painted. 

The  visitor  held  his  tongue. 

At  first  the  silence  made  the  artist 
uneasy,  but  by  degrees  it  began  to 
j^ive  him  pleasure  ;  whoever  this  was, 
it  was  not  one  of  the  flies  that  had 
hitherto  stung  him,  nor  the  jackdaws 
that  hail  chattered  hitn  dead. 

Glorious  silence  I  he  began  to  paint 
under  its  influence  like  one  inspired. 

Half  an  hour  passed  thus. 

"  What  is  the  price  of  this  work  of 
art '(  " 


"  Eighty  pounds." 

"  I  take  it,"  said  his  visitor,  quietly. 

What,  no  more  difficulty  than 
that?  He  felt  almost  disappointed 
at  gaining  his  object  so  easily. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir ;  much 
obliged  to  you,"  he  added,  for  he  re- 
fleeted  what  eighty  pounds  were  to 
him  just  then. 

"  It  is  my  descendants  who  are 
obliged  to  you,"  replied  the  gentle- 
man ;  "  the  picture  is  immortal ! " 

These  words  were  an  epoch  in  the 
painter's  life. 

The  grave,  silent  inspection  that 
had  preceded  them,  the  cool,  deliber- 
ate, masterly  tone  in  which  they  were 
said,  made  them  oracular  to  him. 

Words  of  such  import  took  him  by 
surprise. 

He  had  thirsted  for  average  praise 
in  vain. 

A  hand  had  taken  him,  and  placed 
him  at  the  top  of  the  tree. 

He  retired  abruptly,  or  he  would 
have  burst  into  tears. 

He  ran  to  his  mother. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  paint- 
er; I  always  thought  so  at  bottom, 
but  I  suppose  it  is  the  height  of  my 
ideas  makes  me  discontented  with  my 
work." 

"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  critic  in  my  room.  I 
had  no  idea  there  was  a  critic  in  the 
creation,  and  there  is  one  in  my  room." 

"  lias  he  bought  your  picture,  my 
poor  boy  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gattv,  distrust- 
fully. 

To  her  surprise  he  replied  :  — 

"Yes!  he  has  got  it;  only  eighty 
pounds  for  an  immortal  picture." 

Mrs.  Gatty  was  overjoyed,  Gatty 
was  a  little  sad  ;  but,  reviving,  he 
professed  himself  glad ;  the  picture 
was  going  to  a  judge. 

"  It  is  not  much  money,"  said  he, 
"  but  the  man  has  spoken  words  that 
are  ten  thousand  pounds  to  me." 

He  returned  to  the  room  ;  his  vis- 
itor, hat  in  hand,  was  about  to  go;  a 
few  winds  were  spoken  about  the  art 
of  painting,  this  led  to  a  conversation* 
ami  then  to  a  short  discussion. 


148 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


The  new-comer  soon  showed  Mr. 
Charles  Gatty  liis  ignorance  of  facts. 

This  man  had  sat  quietly  before  a 
multitude  of  great  pictures,  new  and 
old,  in  England. 

He  cooled  down  Charles  Gatty, 
Esq.,  monopolist  of  nature  and  truth. 

He  quoted  to  him  thirty  painters  in 
Germany,  who  paint  every  stroke  of  a 
landscape  in  the  open  air,  and  forty 
in  various  nations  who  had  done  it  in 
times  past. 

"  You,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "  appear 
to  hang  on  the  skirts  of  a  certain 
clique,  who  handle  the  brush  well, 
but  draw  ill,  and  look  at  nature 
through  the  spectacles  of  certain  igno- 
rant painters  who  spoiled  canvas  four 
hundred  years  ago. 

"  Go  no  further  in  that  direction. 

"  Those  boys,  like  all  quacks,  have 
one  great  truth  which  they  disfigure 
With  more  than  one  falsehood. 

"  Hold  fast  their  truth,  which  is  a 
truth  the  world  has  always  possessed, 
though  its  practice  has  been  confined 
to  the  honest  and  laborious  few. 

"  Eschew  their  want  of  mind  and 
taste. 

"  Shrink  with  horror  from  that  pro- 
fane culte  de  luideur,  that '  love  of  the 
lop-sided,'  they  have  recovered  from 
the  foul  receptacles  of  decayed  art.'  " 

He  reminded  him  further,  that 
"  Art  is  not  imitation,  but  illusion  ; 
that  a  plumber  and  glazier  of  our  day 
and  a  mediaeval  painter  are  more 
alike  than  any  two  representatives  of 
general  styles  that  can  be  found  ;  and 
for  the  same  reason,  namely,  that  with 
each  of  these  art  is  in  its  infancy  ; 
these  two  sets  of  bunglers  have  not 
learned  how  to  produce  the  illusions 
of  art." 

To  all  this  he  added  a  few  words  of 
compliment  on  the  mind,  as  well  as 
mechanical  dexterity,  of  the  purchased 
picture,  bade  him  good  morning,  and 
glided  away  like  a  passing  sunbeam. 

"A  mother's  blessing  is  a  great 
thing  to  have,  and  to  deserve,"  said 
Mrs.  Gatty,  who  had  rejoined  her 
son. 

"  It  is,  indeed,"  said  Charles.     He 


could  not  help  being  struck  by  the 
coincidence. 

He  had  made  a  sacrifice  to  his 
mother,  and  in  a  few  hours  one  of  his 
troubles  had  melted  away. 

In  the  midst  of  these  reflections  ar- 
rived Mr.  Saunders  with  a  note. 

The  note  contained  a  check  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  with  these 
lines,  in  which  the  writer  excused 
himself  for  the  amendment :  "I -am  a 
painter  myself,"  said  he,  "  and  it  is 
impossible  that  eighty  pounds  can 
remunerate  the  time  expended  on  this 
picture,  to  say  nothing  of  the  skill." 

We  have  treated  this  poor  boy's  pic- 
ture hitherto  with  just  contempt,  but 
now  that  it  is  gone  into  a  famous  collec- 
tion, mind,  we  always  admired  it ;  we 
always  said  so,  we  take  our  oath  we 
did  ;  if  we  have  hitherto  deferred  fram- 
ing it,  that  was  merely  because  it  was 
not  sold. 

Mr.  Gattt's  Picture,  at  present 
in  the  Collection  of  Lord  Irs> 
den  ! 

There  was,  hundreds  of  years  ago, 
a  certain  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  used 
to  fight  in  person  against  the  Scotch, 
and  defeat  them.  When  he  was  not 
with  his  flock,  the  northern  wolves 
sometimes  scattered  it ;  but  when  the 
holy  father  was  there,  with  his  prayers 
and  his  battle-axe,  England  won  the 
day  ! 

This  nettled  the  Scottish  king,  so  he 
penetrated  one  day,  witli  a  large  band, 
as  far  as  Durham  itself,  and  for  a 
short  time  blocked  the  prelate  up  in 
his  stronghold.  This  was  the  period 
of  Mr.  Gatty 's  picture. 

Whose  title  was  :  — 

"  Half  Church  of  God,  half  Tower 
against  the  Scot." 

In  the  background  was  the  cathe- 
dral, on  the  towers  of  which  paced  to 
and  fro  men  in  armor,  with  the  west- 
ern sun  glittering  thereon.  In  the 
centre,  a  horse  and  cart,  led  by  a  boy, 
were  carrying  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  tied 
with  a  straw  band.  In  part  of  the 
foreground  was  the  prelate,  in  a  half- 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


149 


suit  of  armor,  but*  bareheaded;  he 
was  turning  away  from  the  boy  to 
whom  his  sinking  hand  had  indicated 
his  way  into  the  holy  castle,  and  his 
benignant  glance  rested  on  a  child, 
whom  its  mother  was  holding  up  for 
his  benediction.  In  the  foreground 
the  afternoon  beams  sprinkled  gold  ok 
a  long  grassy  slope,  corresponding  to 
the  elevation  on  which  the  cathedral 
stood,  separated  by  the  river  Wear 
from  the  group;  and  these  calm  beau- 
tics  of  Nature,  with  the  mother  and 
child,  were  the  peaceful  side  of  this 
twofold  story. 

Such  are  the  dry  details.  But  the 
soul  of  its  charm  no  pen  can  fling  on 
paper.  For  the  stately  cathedral  stood 
and  lived  ;  the  little  leaves  slumbered 
yet  lived  ;  and  the  story  floated  and 
lived,  in  the  potable  gold  of  summer 
afternoon. 

To  look  at  this  painted  poem  was 
to  feel  a  thrill  of  pleasure  in  bare  ex- 
istence ;  it  went  through  the  eyes, 
where  paintings  stop,  and  warmed  the 
depths  and  recesses  of  the  heart  with 
its  sunshine  and  its  glorious  air. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  What  is  in  the  wind  this  dark 
night  ?  Six  Newhavcn  boats  and 
twenty  hoys  and  hobbledehoys,  hired 
by  the  Johnstones  at  half  a  crown 
each  for  a  night's  job." 

"  Secret  service  !  " 

"  What  is  it  for  ?  " 

"  1  think  it  is  a  smuggling  lay," 
suggested  Flucker,  "  but  we  shall 
know  all  in  good  time." 

"  Smuggling  !  "  Their  counte- 
nances fell  ;  they  had  hoped  for  some- 
thing more  nearly  approaching  the  il- 

lcgaf." 

"  Maybe  she  has  fand  the  hcrrin'," 
said  a  ten-year-old. 

"  Haw!  'haw  !   haw  !  "  went  the  oth 
ers.       "  She    lind    the    hcrrin',   when 
there's    five   lunched    fishermen  after 
then  uai.h  sides  the  Firnh." 


The  youngster  was  discomfited. 

In  fact  the  expedition  bore  no  signs 
of  fishing. 

The,  six  boats  sailed  at  sundown, 
led  by  Flucker:  he  brought  to  on  the 
south  side  of  Inch  Keith,  and  nothing 
happened  for  about  an  hour. 

Then  such  boys  as  were  awake  saw 
two  great  eves  of  light  coming  up 
from  Granton  ;  rattle  went  the  chain 
cable,  and  Lord  Ipsden's  cutter  swung 
at  anchor  in  four  fathom  water. 

A  thousand  questions  to  Flucker. 

A  single  puff  of  tobacco-smoke  was 
his  answer. 

And  now  crept  up  a  single  eye  of 
light  from  Leith;  she  came  among 
the  boats ;  the  boys  recognized  a  cra- 
zy old  cutter  from  Leith  harbor,  with 
Christie  Johnstone  on  board. 

"  What  is  that  brown  heap  on  her 
deck  ?  " 

"  A  mountain  of  nets,  —  fifty  stout 
herring-nets." 

Tunc  manifesto,  fides. 

A  yell  burst  from  all  the  boys. 

"  He 's  gaun  to  tak  us  to  Dunbar." 

"  Half  a  croown  i  ye  're  uo  Mate." 

Christie  ordered  the  boats  alongside 
her  cutter,  and  five  nets  were  dropped 
into  each  boat,  six  into  Flucker's. 

The  depth  of  water  was  given  them, 
and  they  were  instructed  to  shoot  their 
nets  so  as  to  keep  a  fathom  and  a  half 
above  the  rocky  bottom. 

A  herring  net  is  simply  a  wall  of 
meshes  twelve  feet  deep,  fifty  feet 
long;  it  sinks  to  a  vertical  position 
by  the  weight  of  net  twine,  and  is 
kept  from  sinking  to  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  by  bladders  or  corks.  These 
nets  are  tied  to  one  another,  and  paid 
out  at  the  stern  of  the  boat.  Boat  and 
nets  drift  with  the  tide  ;  if,  therefore, 
the  nets  touched  the  rocks  they  would 
be  torn  to  pieces,  and  the  fisherman 
ruined. 

And  this  saves  the  herring,  —  that 
fish  lies  hours  and  hours  at  the  very 
bottom  of  the  sea  like  a  stone,  and  the 
poor  fisherman  shall  drive  with  his 
nets  a  yard  or  two  over  a  square  mile 
of  flgh,  ami  not  catch  a  herring  tail ; 
on  the  other  hand,  if  they  rise  to  play 


150 


CHRISTIE  JOIINSTOXE. 


for  five  minutes,  in  that  five  minutes 
they  shall  fill  seven  hundred  boats. 

At  nine  o'clock  all  the  boats  had 
shot  their  nets,  and  Christie  went 
alongside  his  Lordship's  cutter;  he 
asked  her  many  questions  about  her- 
ring fishery,  to  which  she  gave  clear 
answers,  derived  from  her  father,  who 
had  always  been  what  the  fishermen 
call  a  lucky  fisherman  ;  that  is,  he  had 
opened  his  eyes  and  judged  for  himself. 

Lord  Ipsden  then  gave  her  blue 
lights  to  distribute  among  the  boats, 
that  the  first  which  caught  herring 
might  signal  all  hands. 

This  was  done,  and  all  was  expec- 
tation. 

Eleven  o'clock  came, — no  signal 
from  any  boat. 

Christie  became  anxious  :  at  last 
she  went  round  to  the  boats ;  found 
the  boys  all  asleep  except  the  baddish 
boy  ;  waked  them  up,  and  made  them 
all  haul  in  their  first  net.  The  nets 
came  in  as  black  as  ink,  no  sign  of  a 
herring. 

There  was  hut  one  opinion  ;  there 
was  no  herring  at  Inch  Keith ;  they 
had  not  been  there  this  seven  years. 

At  last,  Flucker,  to  whom  she  came 
in  turn,  told  her  he  was  going  into 
two  fathom  water,  where  he  would  let 
out  the  bladders  and  drop  the  nets  on 
their  cursed  backs. 

A  strong  remonstrance  was  made 
by  Christie,  but  the  baddish  boy  in- 
sisted that  he  had  an  equal  right  in 
all  her  nets,  and,  setting  his  sail,  he 
ran  into  shoal  water. 

Christie  began  to  be  sorrowful ;  in- 
stead of  making  money,  she  was  going 
to  throw  it  away,  and  the  neer-do-weel 
Flucker  would  tear  six  nets  from  the 
ropes. 

Flucker  hauled  down  his  sail,  and 
unstepped  his  mast  in  two  fathom 
water  ;  but  he  was  not  such  a  fool  as 
to  risk  his  six  nets  ;  he  devoted  one 
to  his  experiment,  and  did  it  well  ; 
he  let  out  his  bladder  line  a  fathom, 
so  that  one  half  his  net  would  liter- 
ally be  higgledy-piggledy  with  the 
rocks,  unless  the  fish  were  there  en 
mouse. 


No  long  time  .was  required. 

In  five  minutes  he  began  to  haul  in 
the  net ;  first,  the  boys  hauled  in  the 
rope,  and  then  the  net  began  to  ap- 
proach the  surface.  Flucker  looked 
anxiously  down,  the  other  lads  in- 
credulously ;  suddenly  they  all  gave 
a  yell  of  triumph,  —  an  appearance  of 
silver  and  lightning  mixed  had  glanced 
up  from  the  bottom  ;  in  came  the  first 
two  yards  of  the  net,  —  there  were 
three  herrings  in  it.  These  three 
proved  Flucker's  point  as  well  as 
three  million. 

They  hauled  in  the  net.  Before 
they  had  a  quarter  of  it  in,  the  net 
came  up  to  the  surface,  and  the  sea 
was  alive  with  molten  silver.  The 
upper  half  of  the  net  was  empty,  but 
the  lower  half  was  one  solid  mass  of 
fish. 

The  boys  could  not  find  a  mesh, 
they  had  nothing  to  handle  but  fish. 

At  this  moment  the  easternmost 
boat  showed  a  blue  light. 

"  The  fish  are  rising,"  said  Flucker, 
"  we  '11  na  risk  nae  mair  nets." 

Soon  after  this  a  sort  of  song  was 
heard  from  the  boat  that  had  showed 
a  light.  Flucker,  who  had  got  his  net 
in,  ran  down  to  her,  and  found,  as  he 
suspected,  that  the  boys  had  not  pow- 
er to  draw  the  weight  of  fish  over  the 
gunwale. 

They  were  singing,  as  sailors  do, 
that  they  might  all  pull  together  ;  he 
gave  them  two  of  his  crew,  and  ran 
down  to  his  own  skipper. 

The  said  skipper  gave  him  four  men. 

Another  blue  light! 

Christie  and  her  crew  came  a  little 
nearer  the  boats,  and  shot  twelve  nets. 

The  yachtsmen  entered  the  sport 
with  zeal,  so  did  his  Lordship. 

The  boats  were  all  full  in  a  few  min- 
utes, and  nets  still  out. 

Then  Flucker  began  to  fear  some 
of  these  nets  would  sink  with  the 
weight  of  fish;  for  the  herring  die 
after  a  while  in  a  net,  and  a  dead  her- 
ring sinks. 

What  was  to  be  done  ? 

They  got  two  boats  alongside  the 
(ntter,  and  unloaded  them  into  her  as 


CKRISTIK   JOHNSTONE. 


151 


well  as  they  could;  but  before  they 
could  half  do  this  the  other  boats 
bailed  them. 

They  came  to  one  of  them ;  the 
boys  were  struggling  with  a  thing 
which  no  stranger  would  have 
dreamed  was  a  net. 

Imagine  a  white  sheet,  fifty  feet 
long,  varnished  with  red-hot  silver : 
there  were  twenty  barrels  in  this  sin- 
gle net.  By  dint  of  fresh  hands  they 
got  half  of  her  in,  and  then  the  mesh- 
es began  to  break  ;  the  men  leaned 
over  the  gunwale,  and  put  their  arms 
round  blocks  and  masses  of  fish,  and 
so  Hung  them  on  board  ;  and  the  cod- 
fish and  dog-fish  snapped  them  almost 
out  of  the  men's  hands  like  tigers. 

At  last,  they  came  to  a  net,  which 
was  a  double  wall  of  herring;  it  had 
been  some  time  in  the  water,  and 
many  of  the  fish  were  dead ;  they 
tried  their  best,  but  it  was  impracti- 
cable ;  they  laid  hold  of  the  solid  her- 
ring, and  when  they  lifted  up  a  hun- 
dred-weight clear  of  the  water,  away 
it  all  tore,  and  sank  back  again. 

They  were  obliged  to  cut  away  this 
net,  with  twenty  pounds  sterling  in 
her.  They  cut  away  the  twine  from 
the  head-ropes,  and  net  and  fish  went 
to  the  bottom. 

All  hands  were  now  about  the  cut- 
ter ;  Christie's  nets  were  all  strong 
and  new ;  they  had  been  some  time 
in  the  water;  in  hauling  them  up  her 
side,  quantities  offish  fell  out  of  the 
net  into  the  water,  but  there  were 
enough  left. 

She  averaged  twelve  barrels  a  net. 

Sued  of  the  yawls  as  were  not  quite 
full  crept  between  the  cutter  and  the 
nets,  and  caught  all  they  wanted. 

The  projector  of  this  fortunate  spec- 
ulation suddenly  announced  that  she 
was  very  sleepy. 

Flacker  rolled  her  up  in  a  sail,  and 
she  slept  the  sleep  of  infancy  on  board 
her  cutter. 

When  she  awoke  it  was  seven 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  her  cut- 
ter was  creeping  with  a  smart  breeze, 
about  two  miles  an  hour,  a  mile  from 
Newhaven  pier. 


The  yacht  had  returned  to  Gran- 
ton,  and  the  yawls,  very  low  in  the 
water,  were  creeping  along  like  snails, 
with  both  sails  set. 

The  news  was  in  Edinburgh  long 
before  they  landed. 

They  had  been  discerned  under 
Inch  Keith  at  the  dawn. 

And  the  manner  of  their  creeping 
along,  when  there  was  such  a  breeze, 
told  the  tale  at  once  to  the  keen,  ex- 
perienced eyes  that  are  sure  to  be 
scanning  the  sea. 

Donkey-carts  came  rattling  down 
from  the  capital. 

Merchants  came  pelting  down  to 
Newhaven  pier. 

The  whole  story  began  to  be  put 
together  by  bits,  and  comprehended. 

Old  Johnstone's  cleverness  was  re- 
called to  mind. 

The  few  fishermen  left  at  Newhaven 
were  ready  to  kill  themselves. 

Their  wives  were  ready  to  do  the 
same  good  office  for  La  Johnstone. 

Four  Irish  merchants  agreed  to 
work  together,  and  to  make  a  show 
of  competition,  the  better  to  keep  the 
price  down  within  bounds. 

It  was  hardly  fair,  four  men  against 
one  innocent  unguarded  female. 

But  this  is  a  wicked  world. 

Christie  landed,  and  proceeded  to 
her  own  house ;  on  the  way  she  was 
met  by  Jean  Carnie,  who  debarrassed 
her  of  certain  wrappers,  and  a  hand- 
kerchief she  had  tied  round  her  head, 
and  informed  her  she  was  the  pride 
of  Newhaven. 

She  next  met  these  four  little  mep 
chants,  one  after  another. 

And  since  we  ought  to  dwell  as  lit- 
tle as  possible  upon  scenes  in  which 
unguarded  innocence  is  exposed  to 
artful  conspiracies,  we  will  put  a  page 
or  two  into  the  brute  form  of  dramatic 
dialogue,  and  so  sail  through  it  quick' 
er. 

\st  Merchant.  "Where  are  ye  go- 
ing, Meggie  1 " 

( 'hristie  .Johnstone.  "  If  onybody 
asks  ye,  say  ye  dinna  ken." 

1st  M,r."  "  Will  ye  sell  your  fish  1  " 

Christie.    "  Suner  than  gic  them." 


152 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


1st  Mer.  "  You  will  be  asking  fif- 
teen sliillin'  the  cran." 

Christie.    "  And  ten  to  that." 
1st  Mer.   "  Good  morning." 
2rf  Mer.    "  Would  lie  not  go  over 
fifteen  shillings  ?     O,  the  thief  o' the 
world  !  —  I  '11  give  sixteen." 

3d  Mer.   "  But  I  'II  give  eighteen." 
2d  Mer.    "  More  fool  you  !     Take 
him  up,  my  girl." 

Christie.  "  Twenty-five  is  my  price 
the  day." 

3d  Mer.  "  You  will  keep  them  till 
Sunday  week  and  sell  their  bones." 

[Exeunt  the  three  Merchants. 
Enter  4th  Merchant. 

4th  Mer.  "  Are  your  fish  sold  ? 
I'll  give  sixteen  shillings." 

( hristie.  "  I  'm  seeking  twenty- 
five,  an'  I'm  olFered  eighteen." 

4th  Mer.    "  Take  it."  [Exit. 

Christie.  "  They  hae  putten  their 
heads  thegither." 

Here  Flucker  came  up  to  her,  and 
told  her  there  was  a  Leith  merchant 
looking  for  her.  "  And,  Custy,"  said 
he,  there 's  plenty  wind  getting  up, 
your  fish  will  be  sair  hashed ;  put 
them  off  your  hands,  I  rede  ye." 

Christie.  "  Ay,  lad  !  Flucker,  hide, 
an'  when  I  play  my  hand  sae,  ye '11 
run  in  an'  cry,  '  Cirsty,  the  Irishman 
will  pic  ye  twenty-two  schellin  the 
cran.' " 

Flucker.  "  Ye  ken  mair  than  's  in 
the  catechcesm,  for  as  releegious  as  ye 
are." 

The  Leith  merchant  was  Mr.  Mil- 
ler, and  this  is  the  way  he  worked. 

Miller  (in  a  mellifluous  voice).  "  Are 
ye  no  fatigued,  my  doear  ?  " 

Christie  (affecting fatigue).  "  Indeed, 
sir,  and  I  am." 

Miller.  "  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure 
to  deal  wi'  ye  7  " 

Christie.  "  If  it 's  your  pleasure, 
sir.  I  'm  seekin'  twenty-five  schel- 
lin." 

Miller  (pretending  not  to  hear).  "  As 
you  are  a  beginner,  I  must  offer  fair ; 
twenty  schellin  you  shall  have,  and 
that 's  three  shillings  above  Dunbar." 

Christie.      "  Wad   ye   even   carted 


hcrrin  with  my  fish  caller  fra'  the  sea? 
and  Dunbar,  —  O  fine !  ye  ken  there  's 
nae  herrin  at  Dunbar  the  morn  ;  this 
is  the  Dunbar  schule  that  slipped 
westward  :  I  'm  the  mairket,  ye  '11 
hae  to  buy  o'  me  or  gang  to  your 
bed  "  (here  she  signalled  to  Flucker). 
"  I  '11  no  be  oot  o'  mine  lang." 

Enter  Flucker  hastily,  crying :  "  Cirs- 
ty, the  Irishman  will  gie  ye  twenty- 
two  schellin." 

"  I  '11  no  tak  it,"  said  Christie. 

"  They  are  keen  to  hae  them,"  said 
Flucker  ;  and  hastily  retired,  as  if  to 
treat  further  with  the  small  mer- 
chants. 

On  this,  Mr.  Miller,  pretending  to 
make  for  Leith,  said,  carelessly, 
"  Twenty-three  shillings,  or  they  are 
not  for  me." 

"  Tak  the  cutter's  freight  at  a  hun- 
dre'  cran,  an'  I  'm  no  caring,"  said 
Christie. 

"  They  are  mine !  "  said  Mr.  Miller, 
very  sharply.  "  How  much  shall  I 
give  you  the  day  ?  " 

"  Auchty  pund,  sir,  if  you  please,  — 
the  lave  when  you  like;  I  ken  ye, 
Mr.  Miller." 

Whilst  counting  her  the  notes,  the 
purchaser  said  slyly  to  her  :  — 

"There's  more  than  a  hundred 
cran  in  the  cutter,  my  woman." 

"A  little,  sir,"  replied  the  vendor; 
"  but,  ere  I  could  count  them  till  ye 
by  baskets,  they  would  lose  seven  or 
eight  cran  in  book,*  your  gain,  my 
loss." 

"  You  are  a  vara  intelligent  young 
person,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  gravely. 

"  Ye  had  measured  them  wi'  your 
walking-stick,  sir;  there's  just  ae 
scale  ve  didna  wipe  off,  though  ye  are 
a  caiefu'  mon,  Mr.  Miller  ;  sae  I  laid 
the  bait  for  ye  an'  fine  ye  took  it." 

Miller  took  out  his  snuff-box,  and 
tapping  it  said  :  — 

"  Will  ye  go  into  partnership  with 
me,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Ay,  sir  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  When 
I  'm  aulder  an'  ye  're  younger." 

At  this  moment  the  four  merchants, 
belie vmg  it  useless  to  disguise  their 

*Eulk. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


153 


co-operation,  returned  to  see  what 
could  be  done. 

"  We  shall  give  you  a  guinea  a 
barrel." 

"  Why,  ye  offered  her  twenty-two 
shillings  before." 

"  That  we  never  did,  Mr.  Miller." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  "  went  Flucker. 

Christie  looked  down  and  blushed. 

Eyes  met  eyes,  and  without  a  word 
spoken  all  was  comprehended  and  si- 
lently approved.  There  was  no  non- 
sense uttered  about  morality  in  con- 
nection with  dealing. 

Mr.  Miller  took  an  enormous  pinch 
of  snuff",  and  drew  for  the  benefit  of 
all  present  the  following  inference  :  — 

Mr.  Miller's  Apothegm. 

"Friends  and  neighbors!  when  a 
man's  heed  is  gray  with  age  and 
thoucht  (pause),  he  's  just  fit  to  go 
to  schule  to  a  young  lass  o'  twenty." 

There  was  a  certain  middle-aged 
fishwife,  called  Becny  Liston,  a  tenant 
of  Christie  Johnstone's  ;  she  had  not 
paid  her  rent  for  some  time,,  and  she 
bad  not  been  pressed  for  it;  Whether 
this,  or  the  whiskey  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  taking,  rankled  in  her  mind,  certain 
it  is  she  had  always  an  ill  word  for  her 
landlady. 

She  now  met  her,  envied  her  suc- 
cess, and  called  out  in  a  coarse 
tone  :  — 

"<>,  ye 're  a  gallant  quean;  ye '11 
be  waur  than  ever  the  noo." 

"  What 's  wrang,  if  ye  please  ?  " 
said  the  Johnstone,  sharply. 

Header,  did  you  ever  see  two  fallow 
bucks  commence  a  duel  ? 

They  si  rut  round,  eight  yards  apart, 
tails  up,  look  carefully  another  way  to 
make  the  other  think  it  all  means 
nothing,  and,  being  both  equally  sly, 
their  horns  come  together  as  if  by 
concert. 

Even  so  commenced  this  duel  of 
tongues  between  these  two  heroines. 

Becny  Liston,  looking  at  everybody 
out  Christie,  addressed  the  natives 
who  were  congregating  thus :  — 

"  Did  ever  ye  hear  o'  a  decent  lass 
taking    the    lieirin'  001    o'   the  men's 
7* 


mooths'? —  is  yon  a  woman's  pairt, 
I  'm  asking  ye  ?  " 

On  this,  Christie,  looking  carefully 
at  all  the  others  except  Beeny,  in- 
quired with  an  air  of  simple  curiosi- 
ty :  — 

"  Can  onybody  tell  me  wha  Liston 

Carnie's  drunken  wife  is  speakin'  till  ? 
no  to  ony  decent  lass,  though.  Na ! 
ye  ken  she  wad  na  hae  th'  impu' 
denee !  " 

"  0,  ye  ken  fine  I  'm  speakin'  till 
yoursel'." 

Here  the  horns  clashed  together. 

"  To  me,  woman  ?  "  (with  admirably 
acted  surprise.)  "  Oo,  ay!  it  will  be 
for  the  twa  years'  rent  you  're  awin 
me.     Giest ! " 

Beeny  Liston.  "  Ye  're  just  the  im- 
pudentest  girrl  i'  the  toon,  an'  ye  hae 
proved  it  the  day  "  (her  arms  akimbo), 

Christie  (arms  akimbo).  "  Me,  im- 
pudent 1  how  daur  ye  speak  against 
my  charackter,  that 's  kenned  for  de- 
cency o'  baith  sides  the  Firrth." 

Beeny  (contemptuously).  "0,  ye  're 
sly  enough  to  beguile  the  men,  but  we 
ken  ye." 

Christie.  "  I  'm  no  sly,  and  "  (draw- 
in/  near  and  hissing  the  words)  "I'm  no 
like  the  woman  Jean  an'  I  saw  in  Rose 
Street,  dead  drunk  on  the  causeway, 
while  her  mon  was  working  for  her  at 
sea.  If  ye  're  no  ben  your  hoose  in 
ac  minute,  I  '11  say  that  will  gar  Lis- 
ton Cairnie  fling  ye  ower  the  pier-head, 
ye  fool-moothed  drunken  leear  — 
Scairt!"* 

If  my  reader  has  seen  and  heard 
Mademoiselle  Rachel  utter  her  famous 
Soric:,  in  "  Virginie,"  he  knows  ex- 
actly with  what  a  gesture  and  tone 
the  Johnstone  uttered  this  word. 

Beeny  (in  a  voice  of  whining  sur- 
prise).  "Hech!  what  a  spite  Flucker 
Johnstone's  dochtcr  has  taen  against 
us." 

(  bristle.    "  Scairt !  " 

Beeny  (in  a  coaxing  voice,  and  mov- 
ing n  step).  "Aweel!  what's  a'  your 
paession,  my  boenny  woman  !  " 
( 'hristie.  '"  Scairt !  " 

*  A   local   word  ;    a  corruption   from   ilia 
li  Sortez. 


154 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Beeny  retired  before  the  thunder 
and  lightning  of  indignant  virtue. 

Then  all  the  fishboys  struck  up  a 
dismal  chant  of  victory. 

"  Yoo-hoo —  Custy's  won  the  day 

—  Beeny  's  sc&irlit,"  going  up  on  the 
last  syllable. 

Christie  moved  slowly  away  towards 
her  own  house,  but  before  she  could 
reach  the  door  she  began  to  whimper, 

—  little  fool. 

Thereat  chorus  of  young  Athenians 
chanted : — 

"  Yu-hoo  !  come  back,  Beeny,  ye  '11 
maybe  win  yet.  Custy  's  away  gree- 
tin"  (f/ointj  vp  on  the  last  syllable). 

"  I  m  no  greetin,  ye  rude  bairns," 
said  Christie,  bursting  into  tears,  and 
retiring  as  soon  as  she  had  effected 
that  proof  of  her  philosophy. 

It  was  about  four  hours  later ; 
Christie  had  snatched  some  repose. 
The  wind,  as  Flucker  prognosticated, 
had  grown  into  a  very  heavy  gale, 
and  the  Firth  was  brown  and  boil- 
ing. 

Suddenly  a  clamor  was  heard  on 
the  shore,  and  soon  after  a  fishwife 
made  her  appearance,  with  rather  a 
singular  burden. 

Her  husband,  ladies  ;  rien  que  cela. 

She  had  him  by  the  scruff  of  the 
neck  ;  he  was  dos-a-dos,  with  his  boot- 
ed legs  kicking  in  the  air,  and  his  fists 
making  warlike  but  idle  demonstra- 
tions, and  his  mouth  uttering  ineffect- 
ual bad  language. 

This  worthy  had  been  called  a  cow- 
ard by  Sandy  Liston,  and  being  about 
lo  fight  with  him,  and  get  thrashed, 
Mis  wife  had  whipped  him  up,  and 
carried  him  away;  she  now  flung 
him  down,  at  some  risk  of  his  equilib- 
rium. 

"  Ye  are  not  fit  to  feicht  wi'  Sandy 
Liston,"  said  she  ;  "  if  ye  arc  for  feicht- 
in,  here  's  for  ye." 

As  a  comment  to  this  proposal,  she 
tucked  up  the  sleeves  of  her  short 
gown.  He  tried  to  run  by  her;  she 
caught  him  by  the  bosom,  and  gave 
him  a  violent  push,  that  sent  him  sev- 
eral paces  backwards  ;  he  looked  half 
fierce,  half  astounded;  ere  he  could 


quite  recover  himself,  his  little  servant 
forced  a  pipe  into  his  hand,  and  he 
smoked  contented  and  peaceable. 

Before  tobacco  the  evil  passions  fall, 
they  tell  me. 

The  cause  of  this  quarrel  soon  ex- 
plained itself ;  up  came  Sandy  Liston, 
cursing  and  swearing. 

"  What !  ye  hae  gotten  till  your 
wife's  ;  that 's  the  place  for  ye ;  —  to 
say  there  's  a  brig  in  distress,  and  ye  '11 
let  her  go  on  the  rocks  under  your 
noses  :  but  what  are  ye  afraid  o'  1 
there  's  na  danger?  " 

"  Nae  danger  !  "  said  one  of  the  re- 
proached, "  are  ye  fou  ?  " 

"  Ye  are  fou  wi'  fear  yoursel* ;  of 
a'  the  beasts  that  crawl  the  airth,  a 
cooward  is  the  ugliest,  I  think." 

"  The  wifes  will  no  let  us,"  said 
one,  sulkily. 

"  It 's  the  woman  in  your  hairts 
that  keeps  ye,"  roared  Sandy,  hoarse- 
ly ;  '.'  curse  ye,  ye  are  sure  to  dee  ane 

day,  and  ye  are  sure  to  be !  "  (a 

past  participle)  "  soon  or  late,  what 
signifies  when  1  Oh  !  curse  the  hour 
ever  I  was  born  amang  sic  a  cooard- 
ly  crew."     (  Gun  at  sea.) 

"There!" 

"  She  speaks  till  ye,  hersel' ;  she 
cries  for  maircy  ;  to  think  that,  of  a' 
that  hear  ye  cry,  Alexander  Liston  is 
the  only  mon  mon  enough  to  answer." 
(Gun.) 

"  You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Alexander 
Liston,"  said  a  clear,  smart  voice, 
whose  owner  had  mingled  unobserved 
with  the  throng ;  "  there  are  always 
men  to  answer  such  occasions  ;  now, 
my  lads,  your  boats  have  plenty  of 
beam,  and,  well  handled,  should  live 
in  any  sea  ;  who  volunteers  with  Al- 
exander Liston  and  me  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  Lord  Ipsden. 

The  fishwives  of  Newhaven,  more 
accustomed  to  measure  men  than  poor 
little  Lady  Barbara  Sinclair,  saw  in 
this  man  what  in  point  of  fact  he 
was,  —  a  cool,  daring  devil,  than  whom 
none  more  likely  to  lead  men  into 
mortal  danger,  or  pull  them  through 
it,  for  that  matter. 

They  recognized  their  natural  ene» 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


155 


my,  and  collected  together  against  him, 
like  hens  at  the  sight  of  a  hawk. 

"  And  would  you  really  entice  our 
men  till  their  death  ?  " 

"  My  life  's  worth  as  much  as  theirs, 
I  suppose." 

"  Nae !  your  life  !  it 's  na  worth  a 
button  ;  when  you  dee,  your  next  kin 
will  dance,  and  w  ha  '11  greet  ?  but  our 
men  hae  wife  and  bairns  to  look  till." 
(  Gun  at  sea. ) 

"  Ah !  I  did  n't  look  at  it  in  that 
light,"  said  Lord  Ipsden.  He  then 
demanded  paper  and  ink;  Christie 
Johnstone,  who  had  come  out  of  her 
house,  supplied  it  from  her  treasures, 
and  this  cool  hand  actually  began  to 
convey  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds  away,  upon  a  sheet  of  paper 
blowing  in  the  wind  ;  when  he  had 
named  his  residuary  legatee,  and  dis- 
posed of  certain  large  bequests,  he 
came  to  the  point,  — 

"  Christie  Johnstone,  what  can  these 
people  live  on  ?  two  hundred  a  year  t 
living  is  cheap  here,  —  confound  the 
wind  !  " 

"  Twa  hundred  ?  Fifty  !  Vile 
Count." 

"  Don't  call  me  Vile  Count.  I  am 
Ipsden,  and  my  name  's  Richard. 
Now,  then,  lie  smart  with  yournames." 

Three  men  stepped  forward,  gave 
their  names,  had  their  widows  provided 
lor,  and  went  for  their  sou'westers, 
&c. 

"  Stay,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  writing: 
"To  Christina  Johnstone,  out  of  re- 
speet  for  her  character,  one  thousand 
pounds." 

"  Richard !  dinna  gang,"  cried 
Christie,  "  0,  dinna  gang,  dinna  gang, 
dinna  gang  ;  it 's  no  your  business." 

"  Will  yon  lend  me  your  papa's 
Flashing  jacket  and  sou'wester,  my 
d ear  !  If  I  was  sure  to  be  drowned, 
1  'd  go  !  " 

Christie  ran  in  for  them. 

In  the  mean  time,  discomposed  by 

the  wind,  and  by  feelings  whose  exist- 
ence neither  he,  nor  I,  nor  any  one 

suspected,  Saunders,  after  a  sore  strug- 
gle between  the  frail  man  and  the  per- 
fect domestic,  blurted  out :  — 


"  My  Lord,  I  beg  your  Lordship's 
pardon,  but  it  blows  tempestuous." 

"  That  is  why  the  brig  wants  us," 
was  the  reply. 

"  My  Lord,  I  beg  your  Lordship's 
pardon,"  whimpered  Saunders. 

"  But,  O  my  Lord,  don't  go  ;  it 's 
all  very  well  for  fishermen  to  be 
drowned  ;  it  is  their  business,  but  not 
yours,  my  Lord." 

"  Saunders,  help  me  on  with  this 
coat." 

Christie  had  brought  it. 

"  Yes,  my  Lord,"  said  Saunders, 
briskly,  his  second  nature  reviving. 

His  Lordship,  whilst  putting  on  the 
coat  and  hat,  undertook  to  cool  Mr. 
Saunders's  aristocratic  prejudices. 

"  Should  Alexander  Lis  ton  and  I  be 
drowned,"  said  he,  coolly,  "  when  our 
bones  come  ashore,  you  will  not  know 
which  are  the  fisherman's,  and  which 
the  Viscount's."  So  saying,  he  joined 
the  enterprise. 

"  I  shall  pray  for  ye,  lad,"  said 
Christie  Johnstone,  and  she  retired  for 
that  purpose. 

Saunders,  with  a  heavy  heart,  to  the 
nearest  tavern,  to  prepare  an  account 
of  what  he  called  "  Heroism  in  High 
Life,"  large  letters,  and  the  usual  signs 
of  great  astonishment !!!!!!  for  the 
"  Polytechnic  Magazine." 

The  commander  of  the  distressed 
vessel  had  been  penny-wise.  He  had 
declined  a  pilot  off  the  Isle  of  May, 
trusting  to  tall  in  with  one  close  to  the 
port  of  Leith  ;  but  a  heavy  gale  and 
fog  had  come  on  ;  he  knew  himself  in 
the  vicinity  of  dangerous  rocks  ;  and, 
to  make  matters  worse,  bis  ship,  old 
and  sore  battered  by  a  long  and 
stormy  voyage,  was  leaky;  and,  unless 
a  pilot  came  alongside,  his  fate  would 
be,  either  to  founder,  or  run  upon  the 
rocks,  where  he  must  expect  to  go  to 
pieces  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

The  Newhaven  boat  lay  in  com- 
paratively' smooth  water,  on  the  leo 
side  of  the  pier. 

Our  adventurers  got  into  her, 
Stepped  the  mast,  set  a  small  sail,  and 
ran  out!  Sandy  Lis  ton  held  the  sheet, 
passed   once  round    the  belaying-pin, 


156 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


and  whenever  a  larger  wave  than 
usual  came  at  them,  he  slacked  the 
sheet,  and  the  boat,  losing  her  way, 
rose  gently,  like  a  cork,  upon  seas  that 
had  seemed  about  to  swallow  her. 

But  seen  from  the  shore  it  was 
enough  to  make  the  most  experi- 
enced wince ;  so  completely  was  this 
wooden  shell  lost  to  sight,  as  she  de- 
scended from  a  wave,  that  each  time 
her  reappearance  seemed  a  return 
from  the  dead. 

The  weather  was  misty,  —  the  boat 
was  soon  lost  sight  of;  the  story  re- 
mains ashore. 


CHAPTER,    XIV. 

It  was  an  hour  later ;  the  natives  of 
the  New  Town  had  left  the  pier,  and 
were  about  their  own  doors,  when 
three  Buckhavea  fishermen  came 
slowly  up  from  the  pier ;  these  men 
had  arrived  in  one  of  their  large  tish- 
ing-boats,  which  defy  all  weather. 

The  men  came  slowly  up ;  their 
petticoat  trousers  were  drenched,  and 
their  neck  -  handkerchiefs  and  hair 
were  wet  with  spray. 

At  the  foot  of  the  New  Town  they 
stood  still  and  whispered  to  each 
other. 

There  was  something  about  these 
men  that  drew  the  eye  of  Newhaven 
upon  them. 

In  the  first  place  a  Buckhaven  man 
rarely  communicates  with  natives  of 
Newhaven,  except  at  the  pier,  where 
he  brings  in  his  cod  and  liiijj  from  the 
deep  sea,  flings  them  out  like  stones, 
and  sells  them  to  the  fishwives  ;  then 
up  sail  and  away  for  Fifeshire. 

But  these  men  evidently  came 
ashore  to  speak  to  some  one  in  the 
town. 

They  whispered  together ;  some- 
thing appeared  to  be  proposed  and 
demurred  to  ;  but  at  last  two  went 
slowly  back  towards  the  pier,  and  the 
eldest  remained,  with  a  fisherman's 
long  mackintosh  coat  in  his  hand 
which  the  others  had  given  him  as 
they  left  hi  in. 


With  this  in  his  hand,  the  Buckha- 
ven fisherman  stood  in  an  irresolute 
posture  ;  he  looked  down,  and  seemed 
to  ask  himself  what  course  be  should 
take. 

"  What 's  wrang  1  "  said  Jean  Car- 
nie,  who,  with  her  neighbors,  had  ob- 
served the  men  ;  "  I  wish  yon  man 
may  na  hae  ill  news." 

"  What  ill  news  wad  he  hae  ?  "  re- 
plied another. 

"Are  ony  freends  of  Liston  Carnie 
here  1 "  said  the  fisherman. 

"  The  wife 's  awa'  to  Granton, 
Beeny  Liston  they  ca'  her,  —  there  's 
his  house,"  added  Jean,  pointing  up 
the  row. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  fisherman,  "  I  ken 
he  lived  there." 

"  Lived  there !  "  cried  Christie 
Johnstone  :  "  O,  what 's  this  1  " 

"  Freends,"  said  the  man,  gravely, 
"  his  boat  is  driving  keel  uppermost 
in  Kircauldy  Bay  ;  —  we  passed  her 
near  enough  to  read  the  name  upon 
her." 

"  But  the  men  will  have  won  to 
shore,  please  God  ?  " 

The  fisherman  shook  his  head. 

"  She  '11  hae  coupit  a  mile  wast 
Inch  Keith,  an'  the  tide  rinning  aff  the 
island  an'  a  heavy  sea  gaun.  This  is 
a'  Newhaven  we  '11  see  of  them  "  (hold- 
ing up  the  coat)  "  till  they  rise  to  the 
top  in  three  weeks'  time." 

The  man  then  took  the  coat,  which 
was  now  seen  to  be  drenched  with 
water,  and  hung  it  up  on  a  line  not 
very  far  from  its  unfortunate  owner's 
house  :  then,  in  the  same  grave  and 
subdued  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken 
all  along,  he  said,  "  We  are  sorry  to 
bring  siccan  a  tale  into  your  toon," 
and  slowly  moved  off  to  rejoin  his 
comrades,  who  had  waited  for  him  at 
no  great  distance.  They  then  passed 
through  the  Old  Town,  and  in  five 
minutes  the  calamity  was  known  to 
the  whole  place. 

After  the  first  stupor,  the  people  in 
the  New  Town  collected  into  knots, 
and  lamented  their  hazardous  calling, 
and  feared  for  the  lives  of  those  that 
had  just  put  to  sea  in  this  fatal  gale 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


15? 


for  the  rescue  of  strangers,  and  the 
older  ones  failed  not  to  match  this 
present  sorrow  with  others  within 
their  recoUection. 

In  the  middle  of  this,  Flucker 
Johnstone  came  hastily  in  from  the 
Old  Town,  and  told  them  he  had 
seen  the  wife,  Becny  Liston,  coming 
through  from  Granton. 

The  sympathy  of  all  was  instantly 
turned  in  this  direction. 

"  She  would  hear  the  news." 

"  It  would  fall  on  her  like  a  thun- 
der-clap." 

"  What  would  hecome  of  her  1  " 

Every  eye  was  strained  towards 
the  Old  Town,  and  soon  the  poor  wo- 
man was  seen  about  to  emerge  from 
it ;  but  she  was  walking  in  her  usual 
way,  and  they  felt  she  could  not  cany 
her  person  so  if  she  knew. 

At  the  last  house  she  was  seen  to 
stop  and  speak  to  a  fisherman  and  his 
wife  that  stood  at  their  own  door. 

"  They  are  telling  her,"  was  then 
the  cry. 

Becny  Liston  then  proceeded  on 
her  way. 

Every  eye  was  strained. 

No  !  they  had  not  told  her. 

She  came  gayly  on,  the  unconscious 
object  of  every  eve  and  every  heart. 

The  hands  of  this  people  were  hard, 
and  their  tongues  rude,  but  they 
shrunk  from  telling  this  poor  woman 
of  her  bereavement,  —  they  thought 
it  kinder  she  should  know  it  under 
her  own  roof,  from  her  friends  or 
neighbors,  than  from  comparative 
strangers. 

She  drew  near  her  own  door. 

And  now  a  knot  collected  round 
Christie  Johnstone,  and  urged  her  to 
Undertake  the  sad  task 

"  You  that  speak  sa  learned,  Chris- 
tie, vc  should  tell  her;  we  daur  na." 

"  How  can  I  tell  her  ?  "  said  Chris- 
tic,  taming  pale.  "How  will  I  tell 
her  ?     I  se  try." 

She  took  one  trembling  step  to 
meet  the  woman. 

Beeny's  eye  fell  upon  her. 

"  Ay  !  here  'a  the  Queen  o'  New- 
ha'  en,"  cried  she,  in  a  loud  and  rather.  , 


coarse  voice.  "  The  men  will  hat.  ta 
leave  the  place  now  y'  are  turned  fish- 
erman, I  daur  say." 

"  O,  dinna  fleicht  on  me !  dinna 
fleicht  on  me  !  "  cried  Christie,  trem- 
bling. 

"  Maircy  on  us,"  said  the  other, 
"  auld  Flucker  Johnstone's  doehter 
turned  humble.     What  next  1 " 

"  I  'm  vexed  for  speaking  back  till 
ye  the  morn,"  faltered  Christie. 

"  Hett,"  said  the  woman,  carelessly, 
"  let  yon  flea  stick  i'  the  wa'.  I  fancy 
I  began  on  ye.  Aweel,  Cirsty,"  said 
she,  falling  into  a  friendlier  tone ; 
"  it 's  the  place  we  live  in  spoils  us,  — 
Newhaven  's  an  impudent  toon,  as 
sure  as  deeth. 

"  I  passed  through  the  Auld  Toon 
the  noo,  — a  place  I  never  speak  in  ; 
an'  if  they  did  na  glower  at  me  as  I 
had  been  a  strange  beast. 

"  They  cam'  to  their  very  doors  to 
glower  at  me ;  if  ye  '11  believe  me,  I 
thoucht  shame. 

"  At  the  hinder  end  my  paassion  got 
up,  and  I  faced  a  wife  East-by,  and  I 
said,  '  What  gars  ye  glower  at  me 
that  way,  ye  ignorant  woman  ?  \  ye 
would  na  think  it,  she  answered  like 
honey  itsel' :  '  I  'm  askin'  your  paarr- 
don,'  says  she ;  and  her  mon  by  her 
side  said,  '  Gang  hame  to  your  aim 
boose,  my  woman,  and  Gude  help  ye, 
and  help  us  a'  at  our  need,'  the  decent 
mon.  '  It 's  just  there  I  'm  for,'  said 
I,  '  to  get  my  mon  his  breakfast.'  " 

All  who  heard  her  drew  their 
breath  with  difficulty. 

The  woman  then  made  for  her  own 
house,  but  in  goiny;  up  the  street  she 
parsed  the  wet  coat  hanging  on  the 
line. 

She  stopped  directly. 

They  all  trembled,  —  they  had  for- 
gotten the  coat,  —  it  was  all"  over  ;  the 
coat  would  tell  the  talc. 

"  Aweel,"  said  she,  "  I  could  sweer 
that  's  Liston  Carnie's  coat,  a  droukit 
wi'  the  rain  "  ;  then  she  looked  again 
at  it,  and  added,  slowly,  "  if  1  did  na 
ken  he  has  bis  away  wi'  him  at  the 
piloting."  And  in  another  moment 
she    wad  in  her  own  house,    leaving 


158 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE, 


them  all  standing  there  half  stupe- 
fied. 

Christie  had  indeed  endeavored  to 
speak,  but  her  tongue  had  cloven  to 
her  mouth. 

Whilst  they  stood  looking  at  one 
another,  and  at  Beeny  Liston's  door, 
a  voice  that  seemed  incredibly  rough, 
loud,  and  harsh  jarred  upon  them ; 
it  was  Sandy  Liston,  who  came  in 
from  Lcith,  shouting  :  — 

"  Fifty  pounds  for  salvage,  lasses  ! 
is  na  thaat  better  than  staying  cooard- 
like  aside  the  women  '?  " 

"  Whisht !  whisht !  "  cried  Christie. 
"  We  are  in  heavy  sorrow  ;  puir  Lis- 
ton Cairnie  and  his  son  Willy  lie  deed 
at  the  boitom  o'  the  Firrth." 

"  Gude  help  us  !  "  said  Sandy,  and 
his  voice  sank. 

"  An',  O  Sandy,  the  wife  does  na 
ken,  and  it 's  hairt  breaking  to  see 
her,  and  hear  her ;  we  carina  get  her 
tell 't ;  ye  're  the  auldest  nion  here  ; 
ye  '11  tell  her,  will  ye  no,  Sandy 

"  No,  me,  that  1  will  not  !  " 

"  O  yes  ;  ye  are  kenned  for 
stoot   heart,    an'  cooragc  ;   ye 
fra'.  facing  the  sea  an'  wind  in 
yawl." 

"  The  sea  and  the  wind,"  cried  he, 

contemptuously  ;  "  they  be ,  I  'm 

used  wi'  them  ;  but  to  look  a  woman 
i'  the  face,  an'  tell  her  her  mon  and 
her  son  are  drowned  since  yestreen,  I 
hae  na  coorage  for  that." 

All  further  debate  was  cut  short  by 
the  entrance  of  one  who  came  ex- 
pressly to  discharge  the  sad  duty  all 
hid  found  so  difficult-  It  was  the 
Presbyterian  clergyman  of  the  place  ; 
he  waved  them  "back.  "  I  know,  I 
know,"  said  he,  solemnly. 

"  Where  is  the  wife  ?  " 

She  came  out  of  her  house  at  this 
moment,  as  it  happened,  to  purchase 
something  at  Drysale's  shop,  which 
was  opposite. 

"  Beeny,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  I 
have  sorrowful  tidings." 

"  Tell  me  them,  sir,"  said  she,  un- 
moved. "  Is  it  a  deeth  ?  "  added  she, 
quietly. 

"  It  is  !  —  death,  sudden  and  tcrri- 


? " 

your 
come 
a  bit 


ble;  in  your  own  house  I  must  tell  it 
you  —  (and  may  God  show  me  how 
to  break  it  to  her)." 

He  entered  her  house. 

"  Aweel,"  said  the  woman  to  the 
others,  "it  maun  be  some  far- awa cous- 
in, or  the  like,  for  Liston  an'  me  hae 
nae  near  freends.  Meg,  ye  idle  hizzy," 
screamed  she  to  her  servant,  who  was 
one  of  the  spectators,  "  your  pat  is  no 
on  yet ;  div  ye  think  the  men  will  no 
be  hungry  when  they  come  in  fra'  the 
sea  1  " 

"  They  will  never  hunger  nor  thirst 
ony  mair,"  said  Jean,  solemnly,  as 
the  bereaved  woman  entered  her  own 
door. 

There  ensued  a  listless  and  fearful 
silence. 

Every  moment  some  sign  of  bitter 
sorrow  was  expected  to  break  forth 
from  the  house,  but  none  came  ;  and 
amidst  the  expectation  and  silence  the 
waves  dashed  louder  and  louder,  as  it 
seemed,  against  the  dike,  conscious 
of  what  they  had  done. 

At  last,  in  a  moment,  a  cry  of  ago- 
ny arose,  so  terrible  that  all  who 
heard  it  trembled,  and  more  than  one 
woman  shrieked  in  return,  and  fled 
from  the  door;  at  which,  the  next 
moment,  the  clergyman  stood  alone, 
collected,  but  pale,  and  beckoned. 
Several  women  advanced. 

"  One  woman,"  said  he. 

Jean  Carnie  was  admitted ;  and 
after  a  while  returned. 

"  She  is  come  to  hersel',"  whis- 
pered she ;  "  I  am  no  weel  mysel'." 
And  she  passed  into  her  own  house. 

Then  Flucker  crept  to  the  door  to 
see. 

"O,  dinna  spy  on  her,"  cried 
Christie. 

"O  yes,  Flucker,"  said  many 
voices. 

"  He  is  kneelin',"  said  Flucker. 
"  He  has  her  hand,  to  gar  her  kneel 
tae,  —  she  winna,  —  she  does  na  see 
him,  nor  hear  him ;  he  will  hae  her. 
He  has  won  her  to  kneel,  —  he  is 
prayin,  an'  grcetin  aside  her.  I  can- 
na see  noo,  my  een  's  blinded." 

"  He  's  a  gude  mon,"  said  Christie, 


CHRISTIE   JOHXSTONE. 


159 


"  O,  what   wad   we  do  without  the 
ministera  .' " 

Sandy  Liston  had  been  leaning  sor- 
rowfully against  the  wall  of  the  next 
house  ;  he  now  broke  out :  — 

"  An  auld  shipmate  at  the  whale- 
fishing  !  !  !  an'  noow  we  '11  never  lift 
the  dredging  sang  thegither  again,  in 
yon  dirty  deteh  that 's  droowned  him  ; 
I  maun  hae  whiskey,  an'  forget  it  a'." 

He  made  for  the  spirit-shop  like  a 
madman  ;  but  ere  he  could  reach  the 
door  a  hand  was  laid  on  him  like  a 
vice.  Christie  Johnstone  had  literally 
sprung  on  him.  She  hated  this  hor- 
rible vice,  —  had  often  checked  him  ; 
and  now  it  seemed  so  awful  a  moment 
for  such  a  sin,  that  she  forgot  the  wild 
and  savage  nature  of  the  man,  who 
had  struck  his  own  sister,  and  serious- 
ly hurt  her,  but  a  month  before, — 
she  saw  nothing  but  the  vice  and  its 
victim,  and  she  seized  him  by  the 
collar,  with  a  grasp  from  which  he 
in  vain  attempted  to  shake  himself 
loose. 

"  No  !  yc  '11  no  gang  there  at  siccan 
a  time." 

"  Hands  off,  yc  daft  jau  1,"  roared 
he,  "  or  there  '11  be  another  deeth  i' 
the  toon." 

At  the  noise  Jean  Carnie  ran  in. 

"  Let  the  ruffian  go,"  cried  she,  in 
dismay.  "0  Christie,  dinua  put  your 
hand  on  a  lion's  mane." 

"Yes,  I'll  put  my  hand  on  his 
mane,  ere  I  '11  let  him  mak  a  beast 
o'  himselV 

"  Sandy,  if  ye  hurt  her,  I  '11  find 
twenty  lads  that  will  lay  yc  deed  at 
her  feet." 

"  Hand  your  whisht,"  said  Christie, 
very  sharply,  "  lie  's  no  to  be  threat- 
ened." 

Sandy  Liston,  black  and  white  with 
rage,  ground  his  teeth  together,  and 
said,  lifting  his  hand,  "  Wull  ye  let 
mc  go,  or  must  I  tak  my  hand  till 
yc  > " 

"No!"  said  Christie,  "  I  '11  no  let 
ye  go,  sae  look  me  ?  the  face;  Mucker  'a 
dochter,  your  auld  comrade,  that  saved 
your  life  at  Holy  lsle,thinko'  his  face, — 
an'  look  in  mines,  —  ob»'  strike  mc  .'  .'  .'  " 


They  glared  on  one  another,  —  ha 
fiercely  and  unsteadily;  she  firmly  aud 
proudly. 

Jean  Carnie  said  afterwards,  "  Her 
eyes  were  like  coals  of  fire." 

"  Ye  are  doing  what  nae  mon  i' 
the  toon  daur ;  ye  are  a  bauld,  un- 
wise lassy." 

"  It 's  you  mak  me  bauld,"  was  the 
instant  reply.  "  I  saw  ye  face  the 
mad  sea,  to  save  a  ship  fra'  the  rocks, 
an'  will  I  fear  a  mon's  hand,  when 
I  cau  save "  (rising  to  double  her 
height)  "  my  feyther's  auld  freend 
fra'  the  puir  mon's  enemy,  the  enemy 
o'  mankind,  the  cursed,  cursed  drink  ? 
O  Sandy  Liston,  hoow  could  ye  think 
to  put  an  enemy  in  your  mooth  to 
steal  awa  your  brains  !  " 

"  This  's  no  Newhaven  chat ;  w  ha 
Iairns  ye  sic  words  o'  power  ?  " 

"  A  deed  mon  !" 

"  I  would  na  wonder,  y'  are  no 
canny  ;  she 's  ta'en  a'  the  poowcr  oot 
o'  my  body,  I  think."  Then  sudden- 
ly descending  to  a  tone  of  abject  sub- 
mission, "What's  your  pleesure, 
Flucker  Johnstone's  dochter'? " 

She  instantly  withdrew  the  offen- 
sive grasp,  and,  leaning  affectionately 
on  his  shoulder,  she  melted  into  her 
rich  Ionic  tones. 

"  It 's  no  a  time  for  sin  ;  ye  '11  sit 
by  my  fire,  an'  j^et  your  dinner ;  a 
bonny  haggis  hae  I  for  you  an'  Fluck- 
er, an'  we  '11  improve  this  sorrowfu' 
judgment;  an'  ye '11  tell  me  o'  auld 
times,  —  o'  my  feyther  dear,  that  likeit 
ye  weel,  Sandy, — o'  the  storrms  yo 
liac  weathered,  side  by  side, — o'  the 
muckle  whales  ye  killed  Greenland 
way,  —  an',  abune  a',  o'  the  lives  ye 
hae  saved  at  sea,  by  your  daurin  an' 
your  skell ;  an',  O  Sandy,  will  na 
that  be  better  as  sit  an'  poor  leequid 
damnation  doown  your  throat,  an'  gio 
awa  the  sense  an'  feeling  o'  a  mon  for 
a  sair  heed  and  an  ill  name  ?  " 

"  I  'se  gang,  my  lamb,"  said  the 
rou^h  man,  quite  subdued  ;  "  I  daur 
say  whiskey  will  no  pass  my  teeth  t ho 
day." 

And  so  lie  went  quietly  away,  and 
sat  by  Christie's  fireside. 


1G0 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


Jean  and  Christie  went  towards  the 
boats. 

Jean,  after  taking  it  philosophically 
for  half  a  minute,  began  to  whimper. 
"  What 's  wrang  1 "  said  Christie. 
"  Div  ye  think  my  hairt  's  no  in  my 
mooth  wi'   you   gripping  yon  fierce 
robber  1 " 

Here  a  young  fishwife,  with  a  box 
in  her  hand,  who  had  followed  them, 
pulled  Jean  by  the  coats. 

"  Ilets,"  said  Jean,  pulling  herself 
free. 

The  child  then,  with  a  pertinacity 
these  little  animals  have,  pulled  Chris- 
tie's coats. 

"  Hets,"  said  Christie,  freeing  her- 
self more  gently. 

"  Ye  suld  mairry  Van  Amburgh," 
continued  Jean  ;  "  ye  are  just  such  a 
lass  as  he  is  a  lad." 

Christie  smiled  proudly,  was  silent, 
but  did  not  disown  the  comparison. 

The  little  fishwife,  unable  to  attract 
attention  by  pulling,  opened  her  hox, 
and  saying,  "  Lasses,  I  '11  let  ye  see 
my  presoner :  heeh  !  he 's  boenny  !  " 
pulled  out  a  mouse  by  a  string  fastened 
to  his  tail,  and  set  him  in  the  midst  for 
friendly  admiration. 

"  I  dinna  like  it,  —  I  dinna  like  it !  " 
screamed  Christie ;  "  Jean,  put  it 
away,  —  it  fears  me,  Jean  !  "  This 
she  "uttered  (her  eyes  almost  starting 
from  her  head  with  unaffected  terror) 
at  the  distance  of  about  eight  yards, 
whither  she  had  arrived  in  two  bounds 
that  would  have  done  no  discredit  to 
an  antelope. 

"  Het,"  said  Jean,  uneasily,  "  hae 
ye  coowed  yon  savage,  to  be  scared  at 
the  wee  beastie  1 " 

Christie,  looking  askant  at  the  ani- 
mal, explained :  "  A  moose  is  an 
awesome  beast,  —  it 's  no  like  a  mon  ! " 
and  still  her  eye  was  fixeil  by  fascina- 
tion upon  the  four-footed  danger. 

Jean,  who  had  riot  been  herself  in 
genuine  tranquillity,  now  turned  sav- 
agely on  the  little  Wombwclless  :  "  An' 
div  ye  really  think  ye  are  to  come  here 
wi'  a'  the  beasts  i'  the  Airk  1  Come, 
awa  ye  go,  the  pair  o'  ye." 

Tliesc  severe  words,  and  a  smart 


push,  sent  the  poor  little  biped  off  roar- 
ing, with  the  string  over  her  shoulder, 
recklessly  dragging  the  terrific  quadru- 
ped, which  made  fruitless  grabs  at  the 
shingle. — Moral.  Don't  terrify  big- 
ger folk  than  yourself. 

Christie  had  intended  to  go  up  to 
Edinburgh  with  her  eighty  pounds, 
but  there  was  more  trouble  in  store 
this  eventful  day. 

Flucker  went  out  after  dinner,  and 
left  her  with  Sandy  Liston,  who  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  yarn,  when  some 
one  came  running  in  and  told  her 
Flucker  was  at  the  pier  crying  for  her. 
She  inquired  what  was  the  matter. 
"  Come,  an'  ye  '11  see,"  was  all  the 
answer.  She  ran  down  to  the  pier. 
There  was  poor  Flucker  lying  on  his 
back ;  he  had  slipped  from  the  pier 
into  a  boat  that  lay  alongside  ;  the  fall 
was  considerable  ;  for  a  minute  he  had 
becu  insensible,  then  he  had  been 
dreadfully  sick,  and  now  he  was  be- 
ginning to  feel  his  hurt ;  he  was  in, 
great  anguish  ;  nobody  knew  the  ex- 
tent of  his  injuries  ;  he  would  let  no- 
body touch  him ;  all  his  cry  was  fbi1 
his  "sister.  At  last  she  came  ;  they  atf 
made  way  for  her  ;  he  was  crying  fot 
her  as  she  came  up. 

"  My  bairn  !  my  bairn  !  "  crietr 
she,  and  the  poor  little  fellow  smiled, 
and  tried  to  raise  himself  toward* 
her. 

She  lifted  him  gently  in  her  arms, 
—  she  was  powerful,  and  affection 
made  her  stronger  ;  she  carried  him  in 
her  arms  all  the  way  home,  and  laid 
him  on  her  own  bed.  Willy  Liston, 
her  discarded  suitor,  ran  for  the  sur- 
geon. There  were  no  bones  broken, 
but  his  ankle  was  severely  sprained, 
and  he  had  a  terrible  bruise  on  the 
loins;  his  dark,  ruddy  face  was 
streaked  and  pale  ;  but  he  never  com- 
plained after  he  found  himself  at 
home. 

Christie  hovered  round  him,  a  min- 
istering angel,  applying  to  him  with  a 
light  and  loving  hand  whatever  could 
ease  his  pain  ;  and  he  watched  her 
with  an  expression  she  had  never  no- 
ticed in  his  eye  before.  ( 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


161 


At  last,  after  two  hours'  silence,  he  l 
made  her  sit  in  full  view,  and  then  he  | 
spoke  to   her;   and   what   think  you 
was  the  subject  of  his  discourse  ? 

He  turned  to  and  told  her,  one  after 
another,  without  preface,  all  the  lov- 
ing tilings  she  had  done  to  him  ever 
since  he  was  five  years  old.  Poor  boy, 
he  had  never  shown  much  gratitude, 
but  he  had  forgotten  nothing,  literally 
nothing. 

Christie  was  quite  overcome  with 
this  unexpected  trait ;  she  drew  him 
gently  to  her  bosom,  and  wept  over 
him  ;  and  it  was  sweet  to  see  a  broth- 
er and  sister  treat  each  other  almost 
like  lovers,  as  these  two  began  to  do, 

—  they  watched  each  other's  eye  so 
tenderly. 

This  new  care  kept  the  sister  in  her 
own  house  all  the  next  day;  but  to- 
wards the  evening,  Jean,  who  knew 
her  other  anxiety,  slipped  in  and  of- 
fered to  take  her  place  for  an  hour  by 
Fiucker's  side  ;  at  the  same  time  she 
looked  one  of  those  signals  which  are 
too  subtle  for  any  but  woman  to  un- 
derstand. 

Christie  drew  her  aside,  and  learned 
that  Gatty  and  his  mother  were  just 
coming  through  from  Leith  ;  Christie 
ran  for  her  eighty  pounds,  placed  them 
in  her  bosom,  cast  a  hasty  glance  at 
a  lookinji-gla  s,  little  larger  than  an 
oyster-shell,  and  ran  out. 

"  Hech  !  What  pleased  the  auld 
wife  will  be  to  see,  he  has  a  lass  that 
can  mak  auchty  pund  in  a  morning." 

This  was  Christie's  notion. 

At  si^ht  of  them  she  took  out  the 
bank-notes,  and  with  eyes  glistening 
and  checks  flushing  she  cried  :  — 

"  O  Chairles,  ye  'II  no  gang  to  jail, 

—  I  hae  the  siller!"  and  she  offered 
him  the  money  with  both  hands,  and 
a  look  of  tenderness  and  modesty 
that  embellished  human  nature. 

Ere  he  could  speak,  his  mother  put 
out  her  hand,  and  nor  rudely,  but  very 
coldly,  repelling  Christie's  arm,  said 
in  a  freezing  manner  :  — 

"  We  are  much  obliged  to  you,  but 
my  son's  own  talents  have  rescued  him 
from  his  little  embarrassment." 


"  A  nobleman  has  bought  my  pic- 
ture," said  Gatty,  proudly. 

"  For  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds,"  said  the  old  lady,  meaning 
to  mark  the  contrast  between  that  sum 
and  what  Christie  had  in  her  hand. 

Christie  remained  like  a  statue, 
with  her  arms  extended,  and  the 
bank-notes  in  her  hand  ;  her  features 
worked,  —  she  had  much  ado  not  to 
cry  ;  and  any  one  that  had  known  the 
whole  story,"  and  seen  this  unmerited 
repulse,  would  have  felt  for  her ;  but 
her  love  came  to  her  aid,  she  put  the 
notes  in  her  bosom, sighed,  and  said: — 

"  I  would  hae  likeit  to  hae  been  tho 
first,  ye  ken,  but  I  'm  real  pleased." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  Gatty,  "  it  was 
very  kind  of  Christie  all  the  same. 
O  Christie  !  "  said  he,  in  a  tone  of 
despair. 

At  this  kind  word  Christie's  forti- 
tude was  sore  tried  ;  she  turned  away 
her  head  ;  —  she  was  far  too  delicate 
to  let  them  know  who  had  sent  Lord 
Ipsden  to  buy  the  picture. 

Whilst  she  turned  away,  Mrs  Gat- 
ty said  in  her  son's  ear  :  — 

"  Now,  I  have  your  solemn  prom- 
ise to  do  it  here,  and  at  once ;  you 
will  find  me  on  the  beach  behind  these 
boats,  —  do  it." 

The  reader  will  understand  that 
during  the  last  few  days  Mrs.  Gatty 
hail  improved  her  advantage,  and  that 
Charles  had  positively  consented  to 
obey  her  ;  the  poor  boy  was  worn  out 
with  the  struggle,  —  he  felt  he  must 
have  peace  or  die;  he  was  thin  and 
pale,  and  sudden  twitches  came  over 
him  ;  his  temperament  was  not  fit  for 
BUCh  a  battle  ;  and,  it  is  to  be  observed, 
nearly  all  the  talk  was  on  one  side. 
He  had  made  one  expiring  struggle, 
—  he  described  to  his  mother  an  art- 
ist's nature,  his  strength,  his  weak- 
ness,—  he  besought  her  not  to  be  a 
slave  to  general  rules,  but  to  inquire 
what  sort  of  a  companion  the  indi- 
vidual Gatty  needed ;  he  lashed  with 
true  but  brilliant  satire  the  sort  of  wife 
his  mother  was  ready  to  see  him  sad- 
dled with,  —  a  stupid,  unsympnthi/.ing 
creature,  whose   ten  children  would, 


1G2 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


by  nature's  law,  be  also  stupid,  and 
so  be  a  weight  on  him  till  his  dying 
day.  He  painted  Christie  Johnstone, 
mind  and  body,  in  words  as  true  and 
bright  as  his  colors ;  he  showed  his 
own  weak  points,  her  strong  ones,  and 
how  the  latter  would  fortify  the  for- 
mer. 

He  displayed,  in  short,  in  one  min- 
ute more  intellect  than  his  mother 
had  exhibited  in  sixty  years ;  and 
that  done,  with  all  his  understanding, 
wit,  and  eloquence,  he  succumbed 
like  a  child,  to  her  stronger  will,  —  he 
promised  to  break  with  Christie  John- 
stone. 

When  Christie  had  recovered  her 
composure  and  turned  round  to  her 
companions,  she  found  herself  alone 
with  Charles. 

"  Chairles,"  said  she,  gravely. 
"  Christie,"  said  he,  uneasily. 
"  Your   mother   does   na   like  me. 
O,  ye  need  na  deny  it ;  and  we  are  na 
together  as  we  used  to  be,  my  lad." 

"  She   is    prejudiced,  but   she   has 
been  the  best  of  mothers  to  me,  Chris- 
tie." 
"  Aweel." 

"  Circumstances  compel  me  to  re- 
turn to  England." 

(Ah,  coward  !  anything  but  the  real 
truth  !  ) 

"  Aweel,  Chairles,  it  will  no  be  for 
lang." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  you  will  not  be  so 
unhappy  as  I  shall,  —  at  least  I  hope 
not." 

"  Hoow  do  ye  ken  that  1 " 
"  Christie,   do  you   remember  the 
first  night  we  danced  together  t  " 
"  Ay." 

"  And  we  walked  in  the  cool  by  the 
seaside,  and  I  told  you  the  names  of 
the  stars,  and  you  said  those  were  not 
their  real  names,  but  nicknames  we 
give  them  here  on  earth.  I  loved  you 
that  first  night." 

"  And  I  fancied  you  the  first  time  I 
set  eyes  on  you." 

"  ilow  can  I  leave  you,  Christie? 
What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"I  ken  what  I  shall  do,"  answered 
Christie,  coolly ;    then,  bursting  into 


tears,   she  added,  "I  shall  dee!    I 
shall  dee !  " 

"  No  !  you  must  not  say  so ;  at 
least  I  will  never  love  any  one  but 
you." 

"  An'  I  '11  live  as  I  am  a'  my  davs 
for  your  sake.  O  England  !  I  hae 
likeit  ye  sae  weel,  ye  suld  na  rob  me 
o'  my  lad,  —  he  's  a'  the  joy  I  hae  !  " 

"  I  love  you,"  said  Gatty.  "  Do  you 
love  me  ?  " 

All  the  answer  was,  her  head  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  thought  Gatty, 
"and  I  won't!  Christie,"  said  he, 
"  stay  here,  don't  move  from  here." 
And  he  dashed  among  the  boats  in 
great  agitation. 

He  found  his  mother  rather  near 
the  scene  of  the  late  conference. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  fiercely,  like  a 
coward  as  he  was,  "  ask  me  no  more, 
my  mind  is  made  up  forever  ;  I  will 
not  do  this  scoundrelly,  heartless, 
beastly,  ungrateful  action  you  have 
been  pushing  me  to  so  long." 

"  Take  care,  Charles,  take  care," 
said  the  old  woman,  trembling  with 
passion,  for  this  was  a  new  tone  for 
her  son  to  take  with  her.  "  You  had 
my  blessing  the  other  day,  and  you 
saw  what  followed  it;  do"not  tempt 
me  to  curse  an  undutiful,  disobedient, 
ungrateful  son." 

"  I  must  take  my  chance,"  said  he, 
desperately  :  "  for  I  am  under  a 
curse  any  way  !  I  placed  my  ring  on 
her  finger,  and  held  up  my"  hand  to 
God  and  swore  she  should  be  my 
wife  ;  she  has  my  ring  and  my  oath, 
and  I  will  not  perjure  myself  even  for 
my  mother." 

"  Your  ring !  Not  the  ruby  ring  I 
gave  you  from  your  dead  father's  fin- 
ger, —  not  that !  not  that !  " 

"  Yes  !  yes  !  I  tell  you  yes !  and 
if  he  was  aiive,  and  saw  her,  and  knew 
her  goodness,  he  would  have  pity  on 
me,  but  I  have  no  friend ;  you  see 
how  ill  you  have  made  me,  but  you 
have  no  pity;  I  could  not  have  be- 
lieved it ;  but,  since  you  have  no  mer- 
cy on  me,  I  will  have  the  more  mercy 
on   myself;  I  marry  her  to-morrow, 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


1G3 


and  put  an  end  to  all  this  shuffling 
and  manoeuvring  against  an  angel ! 
I  am  not  worthy  of  her,  but  I  '11  mar- 
ry her  to-morrow.     Good  by." 

"  Stay  !  "  said  the  old  woman,  in  a 
terrible  voice ;  "  before  you  destroy 
me  and  all  I  have  lived  for,  and  suf- 
fered, and  pinched  for,  hear  me  ;  if 
that  ring  is  not  off  the  hussy's  finger 
in  half  an  hour,  and  you  my  son 
again,  I  fall  on  this  sand  and  —  " 

"  Then  God  have  mercy  upon  me, 
for  I  '11  see  the  whole  creation  lost 
eternally,  ere  I  '11  wrong  the  only 
creature  that  is  an  ornament  to  the 
world." 

He  was  desperate ;  and  the  weak, 
driven  to  desperation,  are  more  furious 
than  the  strong. 

It  was  by  Heaven's  mercy  that 
neither  mother  nor  son  had  time  to 
speak  again. 

As  they  faced  each  other,  with 
flaming  eyes  and  faces,  all  self-com- 
mand gone,  about  to  utter  hasty 
words,  and  lay  up  regret,  perhaps  for 
all  their  lives  to  come,  in  a  moment, 
as  if  she  had  started  from  the  earth, 
Christie  Johnstone  stood  between 
them ! 

Gatty's  words,  and,  still  more,  his 
hesitation,  had  made  her  quick  intel- 
ligence suspect :  she  had  resolved  to 
know  the  truth ;  the  boats  offered  ev- 
ery facility  for  listening, — she  had 
heard  every  word. 

She  stood  between  the  mother  and 
son. 

They  were  confused,  abashed,  and 
the  hot  blood  began  to  leave  their 
faces. 

She  stood  erect  like  a  statue,  her 
cheek  pale  as  ashes,  her  eyes  {.'litter- 
ing like  basilisks,  she  looked  at  neither 
of  them. 

Sir  slowly  raised  her  left  hand,  she 
withdrew  a  ruby  rin^  from  it,  and 
dropped  the  ring  on  the  sand  between 
the  two. 

She  turned  on  her  heel,  and  was 
gone  as  she  had  come,  without  a  word 
spoken. 

They  looked  at  one  another,  stupe- 
fied at  first ;  after  a  considerable  pause 


the  stern  old  woman  stooped,  picked 
up  the  ring,  and,  in  spite  of  a  certain 
chill  that  the  young  woman's  majestic 
sorrow  had  given  her,  said,  placing  it 
on  her  own  finger,  "  This  is  for  vour 
wife  !  !  !  " 

"  It  will  be  for  my  coffin,  then," 
said  her  son,  so  coldly,  so  bitterly, 
and  so  solemnly,  that  the  mother's 
heart  began  to  quake. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  calmly,  "  for- 
give me,  and  accept  your  son's  arm." 

"  I  will,  my  son  !  " 

"  We  are  alone  in  the  world  now, 
mother." 

Mrs.  Gatty  had  triumphed,  but  she 
felt  the  price  of  her  triumph  more  than 
her  victory.  It  had  been  done  in  one 
moment,  that  for  which  she  had  so 
labored,  and  it  seemed  that  had  she 
spoken  long  ago  to  Christie,  instead 
of  Charles,  it  could  have  been  done  at 
any  moment. 

Strange  to  say,  for  some  minutes 
the  mother  felt  more  uneasy  than  her 
son  ;  she  was  a  woman,  after  all,  and 
could  measure  a  woman's  heart,  and 
she  saw  how  deep  the  wound  she  had 
given  one  she  was  now  compelled  to 
respect. 

Charles,  on  the  other  hand,  had 
been  so  harassed  backwards  and  for- 
wards, that  to  him  certainty  was  re- 
lief; it.  was  a  great  matter  to  be  no 
longer  called  upon  to  decide.  His 
mother  had  said,  "  Part,"  and  now 
Christie  had  said,  "  Part "  ;  at  least 
the  affair  was  taken  out  of  his  hands, 
and  his  first  feeling  was  a  heavenly 
calm. 

In  this  state  he  continued  for  about 
a  mile,  and  he  spoke  to  his  mother 
about  his  art,  sole  object  now;  but 
after  the  first  mile  he  became  silent, 
distrait ;  Christie's  pale  face,  her  mor- 
tified air,  when  her  generous  offer  was 
coldly  repulsed,  filled  him  with  re- 
morse :  finally,  unable  to  bear  it,  yet 
not  daring  to  speak,  he  broke  sudden- 
ly from  his  mother  without  a  word, 
and  ran  wildly  back  to  Ncwhaven ; 
be  looked  back  only  once,  and  thero 
stood  his  mother,  pale,  with  her  hands 
piteously  lifted  towards  heaven. 


164 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


By  the  time  he  got  to  Newhaven 
he  was  as  sorry  for  her  as  for  Chris- 
tie. He  ran  to  the  house  of  the  lat- 
ter; Flueker  and  Jean  told  him  she 
was  on  the  beach.  He  ran  to  the 
beach  !  he  did  not  see  her  at  first,  but, 
presently  looking  back,  he  saw  her, 
at  the  edge  of  the  boats,  in  company 
with  a  gentleman  in  a  boating-dress. 
He  looked — could  he  believe  his  eyes  ? 
he  saw  Christie  Johnstone  kiss  this 
man's  hand,  who  then,  taking  her  head 
gently  in  his  two  hands,  placed  a  kiss 
upon  her  brow,  whilst  she  seemed  to 
yield  lovingly  to  the  caress. 

Gatty  turned  faint,  sick;  for  a  mo- 
ment everything  swam  before  his  eyes ; 
lie  recovered  himself,  they  were  gone. 

He  darted  round  to  intercept  them  ; 
Christie  had  slipped  away  somewhere; 
he  encountered  the  man  alone  ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Christie's  situation  requires  to  be 
explained. 

On  leaving  Gatty  and  his  mother, 
she  went  to  her  own  house.     Flueker 

—  who  after  looking  upon  her  for  years 
as  an  inconvenient  appendage,  except 
at  dinner-time,  had  fallen  in  love  with 
her  in  a  manner  that  was  half  pathetic, 
half  laughable,  all  things  considered 

—  saw  by  her  face  she  had  received  a 
blow,  and,  raising  himself  in  the  bed, 
inquired  anxiously,  "  What  ailed 
l>er?" 

At  these  kind  words,  Christie  John- 
stone laid  her  cheek  upon  the  pillow 
beside  Flucker's,  and  said  :  — 

"  O  my  laamb,  be  kind  to  your 
puir  sister  fra'  this  hoor,  for  she  has 
naething  i'  the  warld  noo  but  your- 
sel'." 

Flueker  began  to  sob  at  this. 

Christie  could  not  cry ;  her  heart  was 
like  a  lump  of  lead  in  her  bosom  ;  but 
she  put  her  arm  round  his  neck,  and 
at  the  sight  of  his  sympathy  she  pant- 
ed heavily,  but  could  not  shed  a  tear, 

—  she  was  sore  stricken. 

1  rescntly  Jean  came  in,  and.  as  the 


poor  girl's  head  ached  as  well  as  her 
heart,  they  forced  her  to  go  and  sit  in 
the  air.  She  took  her  creepie  and  sat, 
and  looked  on  the  sea;  but,  whether 
she  looked  seaward  or  landward,  all 
seemed  unreal ;  not  things,  but  hard 
pictures  of  things,  some  moving,  some 
still.  Life  seemed  ended, — she  had 
lost  her  love. 

An  hour  she  sat  in  this  miserable 
trance  ;  she  was  diverted  into  a  better, 
because  a  somewhat  less  dangerous 
form  of  grief,  by  one  of  those  trifling 
circumstances  that  often  penetrate  to 
the  human  heart,  when  inaccessible  to 
greater  things. 

Willy  the  fiddler  and  his  brother 
came  through  the  town,  playing  as  they 
went,  according  to  custom ;  their 
music  floated  past  Christie's  ears  like 
some  drowsy  chime,  until,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, they  struck  up  the  old  English 
air,  "  Speed  the  Plough." 

Now  it  was  to  this  tune  Charles 
Gatty  had  danced  with  her  their  first 
dance  the  night  they  made  acquaint- 
ance. 

Christie  listened,  lifted  up  her  hands, 
and  crying,  — 

"  0,  what  will  I  do  ?  what  will  I 
do  ?  "  burst  into  a  passion  of  grief. 

She  put  her  apron  over  her  head, 
and  rocked  herself,  and  sobbed  bitter- 

iy- 

She  was  in  this  situation  when  Lord 
Ipsden,  who  was  prowling  about,  ex- 
amining the  proportions  of  the  boats, 
discovered  her. 

"  Some  one  in  distress,  —  that  was 
all  in  his  way." 

"  Madam  !  "  said  he. 

She  lifted  up  her  head. 

"  It  is  Christie  Johnstone.  I  'm  so 
glad  ;  that  is,  I  'm  sorry  you  are  cry- 
ing, but  I  'm  glad  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  relieving  you  " ;  and  his 
Lordship  began  to  feel  for  a  check- 
book. 

"  And  div  ye  really  think  siller 's  a 
cure  for  every  grief!"  said  Christie, 
bitterly. 

"  I  don't  know," said  his  Lordship; 
"  it  has  cured  them  all  as  yet." 

"  It  vill  na  cure   me,  then  !  "  and 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


1G5 


she  covered  her  head  with  her  apron 
again. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  he  ;  "  tell 
me"  (whispering),  "what  is  it?  poor 
little  Christie !  " 

"  Dinna  speak  to  me ;  I  think 
shame;  ask  Jean.  O  Richard,  I'll  no 
be  lang  in  this  warld  !  !  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "I  know  too  well 
what  it  is  now ;  I  know,  by  sad  expe- 
rience. But,  Christie,  money  will  cure 
it  in  your  case,  and  it  shall,  too  ;  only, 
instead  of  rive  pounds,  we  must  put  a 
thousand  pounds  or  two  to  your  bank- 
er's account,  and  then  they  will  all  see 
your  beauty,  and  run  after  you." 

"  How  daurye  even  to  me  that  I'm 
seekin  a  lad  ?  "  cried  she,  rising  from 
her  stool ;  "  I  would  na  care  suppose 
there  was  na  a  lad  in  Britain."     And  ' 
off  she  flounced. 

"  Offended  her  by  ray  gross  want  of 
tact,"  thought  the  Viscount. 

She  crept  back,  and  two  velvet  lips 
touched  his  hand.  That  was  because 
she  had  spoken  harshly  to  a  friend. 

"  O  Richard,"  said  she,  despairingly, 
"  I  '11  no  be  lang  in  this  warld." 

He  was  touched  ;  and  it  was  then 
he  took  her  head  and  kissed  her  brow, 
and  said:  "This  will  never  do:  my 
child,  go  home  and  have  a  nice  cry, 
and  I  will  speak  to  Jean ;  and,  rely 
upon  me,  I  will  not  leave  the  neigh- 
borhood till  I  have  arranged  it  all  to 
your  satisfaction." 

Anil  so  she  went,  — a  little,  a  very, 
very  little,  comforted  by  his  tone  and 
words. 

Now  this  was  all  very  pretty ;  but 
then  seen  at  a  distance  of  fifty  yards 
it  looked  very  ngly  ;  and  Gatty,  who 
had  never  before  known  jealousy,  the 
strongest  and  worst  of  human  pas- 
sions, was  ripe  for  anything. 

lie  met  Lord  Ipsden,  and  said  at 
once,  in  his  wise,  temperate  way  :  — 

"  Sir,  you  are  a  villain  !  " 

Imden.   "  Phnt-il?" 

Gatty.    "  You  are  a  villain  !  " 

Ipsaefi.  "  How  do  you  make  that 
cut  «  " 

Gatty.  "  But,  of  course,  you  arc 
not  a  coward,  too." 


Ipsden  (ironically).  "You  surprise 
me  with  your  moderation,  sir." 

Gatty.  "  Then  you  will  waive  your 
rank,  —  you  are  a  Lord,  I  believe,  — 
and  give  me  satisfaction." 

Ipsden.  "  My  rank,  sir,  such  as  it 
is,  engages  me  to  give  a  proper  an- 
swer to  proposals  of  this  sort ;  I  am 
at  your  orders." 

Gatty.  "  A  man  of  your  character 
must  often  have  been  called  to  an  ac- 
count by  your  victims,  so  —  so  —  " 
(hesitating)  "  perhaps  you  will  tell 
me  the  proper  course." 

Ipsden.  "  /shall  send  a  note  to  the 
castle,  and  the  Colonel  will  send  me 
down  somebody  with  a  mustache ;  I 
shall  pretend  to  remember  mustache, 
mustache  will  pretend  he  remembers 
me ;  he  will  then  communicate  with 
your  friend,  and  they  will  arrange  it 
all  for  us." 

Gatty.  "  And,  perhaps,  through 
vour  licentiousness,  one  or  both  of  us 
"will  be  killed." 

Ipsden.  "  Yes  !  but  we  need  not 
trouble  our  heads  about  that,  —  the 
seconds  undertake  everything." 

Gatty.   "  I  have  no  pistols." 

Ipsden.  "  If  you  will  do  me  the 
honor  to  use  one  of  mine,  it  shall  be 
at  your  service." 

Gatty.   "  Thank  you." 

Ipsden.    "  To-morrow  morning  ?  " 

Gutty.  "  No.  I  have  four  days' 
painting  to  do  on  my  picture,  I  can't 
die  till  it  is  finished ;  Friday  morn- 
ing." 

Ipsden.  "  (He  is  mad.)  I  wish  to 
ask  you  a  question,  you  will  excuse 
my  curiosity.  Have  you  any  idea  what 
we  are  agreeing  to  differ  about  1 " 

Gatty.  "  The  question  does  you 
little  credit,  my  Lord  ;  that  is  to  add 
insult  to  wrong." 

He  went  oil'  hurriedly,  leaving  Lord 
Ipsden  mystified. 

Ih'  thought  Christie  Johnstone  was 
somehow  connected  with  it;  but,  con- 
scious of  no  wrong,  he  felt  little  dis- 
posed to  put  up  with  any  insult,  es- 
pecially from  this  boy,  to  whom  ho 
had  been  kind,  he  thought. 

His  Lordship  was,  besides,  one  of 


166 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


those  pood,  simple-minded  creatures, 
educated  abroad,  who,  when  invited 
to  right,  simply  bow,  and  load  two 
pistols,  and  get  themselves  called  at 
six ;  instead  of  taking  down  tomes  of 
casuistry  and  puzzling  their  poor 
brains  to  find  out  whether  they  are 
game-cocks  or  capons,  and  why. 

As  for  Gatty,  he  hurried  home  in  a 
fever  of  passion,  begged  his  mother's 
pardon,  and  reproached  himself  for 
ever  having  disobeyed  her  on  account 
of  such  a  perfidious  creature  as  Chris- 
tie Johnstone. 

He  then  told  her  what  he  had  seen, 
as  distance  and  imagination  had  pre- 
sented it  to  him ;  to  his  surprise  the 
old  lady  cut  him  short. 

"  Charles,"  said  she,  "  there  is  no 
need  to  take  the  girl's  character  away ; 
she  has  but  one  fault,  —  she  is  not  in 
the  same  class  of  life  as  you,  and  such 
marriages  always  lead  to  misery  ;  but 
in  other  respects  she  is  a  worthy 
young  woman,  —  don't  speak  against 
her  character,  or  you  will  make  my 
flesh  creep  ;  you  don't  know  what  her 
character  is  to  a  woman,  high  or 
low." 

By  this  moderation,  perhaps  she 
held  him  still  faster. 

Friday  morning  arrived.  Gatty 
had,  by  hard  work,  finished  his  pic- 
ture, collected  his  sketches  from  na- 
ture, which  were  numerous,  left  by 
memorandum  everything  to  his  moth- 
er, and  was,  or  rather  felt,  as  ready  to 
die  as  live. 

He  had  hardly  spoken  a  word,  or 
eaten  a  meal,  these  four  days  ;  his 
mother  was  in  anxiety  about  him. 
He  rose  early,  and  went  down  to 
Leith  ;  an  hour  later,  his  mother,  find- 
ing him  gone  out,  rose,  and  went  to 
seek  him  at  Newhaven. 

Meantime  Flucker  had  entirely  re- 
covered, but  his  sister's  color  had  left 
her  checks  ;  and  the  boy  swore  ven- 
geance against  the  cause  of  her  dis- 
tress. 

On  Friday  morning,  then,  there 
paced  on  Leith  Sands  tvvo  figures. 

One  was  Lord  Ipsden. 

The  other  seemed  a  military  gen- 


tleman, who  having  swallowed  the 
mess-room  poker,  and  found  it  insuf- 
ficient, had  added  the  ramrods  of  his 
company. 

The  more  his  Lordship  reflected  on 
Gatty,  the  less  inclined  he  had  felt  to 
invite  a  satirical  young  dog  from 
barracks  to  criticise  such  a  rencontre ; 
he  had  therefore  ordered  Saunders  to 
get  up  as  a  Field -Marshal,  or  some 
such  trifle,  and  what  Saunders  would 
have  called  incomparable  verticality 
was  the  result. 

The  Painter  was  also  in  sight. 

Whilst  he  was  coming  up,  Lord 
Ipsden  was  lecturing  Marshal  Saun- 
ders on  a  point  on  which  that  worthy 
had  always  thought  himself  very  su- 
perior to  his  master,  —  "  Gentleraanly 
deportment." 

"  Now,  Saunders,  mind  and  behave 
like  a  gentleman,  or  we  shall  be  found 
out." 

"  I  trust,  my  Lord,  my  conduct  —  " 

"  What  I  mean  is,  you  must  not  be 
so  overpoweringly  gentleman-like  as 
you  are  apt  to  be  ;  no  gentleman  is  so 
gentleman-like  as  all  that ;  it  could 
not  be  borne,  e'est  snffoquant ;  and  a 
white  handkerchief  is  unsoldier-like, 
and  nobody  ties  a  white  handkerchief 
so  well  as  that ;  of  all  the  vices, 
perfection  is  the  most  intolerable." 
His  Lordship  then  touched  with  his 
cane  the  Generalissimo's  tie,  whose 
countenance  straightway  fell,  as 
though  he  had  lost  three  successive 
battles. 

Gatty  came  up. 

They  saluted. 

"  Where  is  your  second,  sir  ?  "  said 
the  Marechal. 

"  My  second  ?  "  said  Gatty.  "  Ah  ! 
I  forgot  to  wake  him,  —  does  it  mat- 
ter 1 " 

"  It  is  merely  a  custom,"  said  Lord 
Ipsden,  with  a  very  slightly  satirical 
manner.  "  Savanadero,"  said  he, 
"  do  us  the  honor  to  measure  the 
ground,  and  be  everybody's  second." 

Savanadero  measured  the  ground, 
and  handed  a  pistol  to  each  comba- 
tant, and  struck  an  imposing  attitude 
apart. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


167 


"  Are  you  ready,  gentlemen  1 "  said 
this  Jack-o'-both-sides. 

"  yes!"  said  both. 

Just  as  the  signal  was  about  to  be 
given,  an  interruption  occurred.  "I 
beg  you  pardon,  sir,"  said  Lord 
Ipsden  to  his  antagonist ;  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  take  a  liberty,  —  a  great  liberty 
with,  you,  but  I  think  you  will  rind 
your  pistol  is  only  at  half  cock." 

"  Thank  you,  my  Lord  ;  what  am 
I  to  do  with  the  thing "?  " 

"  Draw  back  the  cock  so,  and  be 
ready  to  fire  ?  " 

-  So  ?  "     Bang  ! 

He  had  touched  the  trigger  as  well 
as  the  cock,  so  off  went  the  barker ; 
and  after  a  considerable  pause  the 
Field-Marshal  sprang  yelling  into  the 
air. 

"  Hallo  !  "  cried  Mr.  Gatty. 

"Ali!  oh!  I'm  a  dead  man," 
whined  the  Genera!. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Ipsden,  after  a 
moment  of  anxiety.  "  Give  yourself 
no  concern,  sir,"  said  he,  soothingly, 
to  his  antagonist,  —  "a  mere  acci- 
dent. —  Mare'chal,  reload  Mr.  Gatty 's 
pistol." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  Lord  —  " 

"  Load  his  pistol  directly,"  said  his 
Lordship,  sternly  :  "  and  behave  like 
a  gentleman." 

"  My  Lord  !  my  Lord  !  but  where 
shall  I"  stand  to  he  safe  ?  " 

"  Behind  me !  " 

The  Commander  of  Division  ad- 
vanced reluctantly  for  Gatty's  pistol. 

"  No,  my  Lord  !  "  said  Gatty,  "  it 
is  plain  I  am  not  a  fit  antagonist;  I 
shall  but  expose  myself, — and  my 
mother  has  separated  us  ;  I  have  lost 
her,  —  if  you  do  not  win  her,  some 
worse  man  may  ;  but  oh  !  if  you  are 
a  man,  use  her  tenderly." 

"  Whom  1  " 

"  Christie  Johnstone  !  O  sir,  do 
not  make  her  regret  me  too  much  ! 
She  was  my  treasure,  my  consolation, 
—  she  was  to  be  my  wife,  she  would 
have  cheered  thfl  road  of  life,  —  it  is  a 
It  DOW.  I  loved  her  —  I  —  I — " 
Here  tie'  poor  fellow  choked. 

Lord    Ipsden   turned    round,    and 


threw  his  pistol  to  Saunders,  saying, 
"  Catch  that,  Saunders." 

Saunders,  on  the  contrary,  by  a 
single  motion  changed  his  person  from 
a  vertical  straight  line  to  a  horizon- 
tal line,  exactly  parallel  with  the 
earth's  surface,  and  the  weapon  sang 
innoxious  over  him. 

His  Lordship  then,  with  a  noble 
defiance  of  etiquette,  walked  up  to  his 
antagonist  and  gave  him  his  hand, 
with  a  motion  no  one  could  resist; 
for  he  felt  for  the  poor  fellow. 

"  It  is  all  a  mistake,"  said  he. 
"  There  is  no  sentiment  between  La 
Johnstone  and  niebut  mutual  esteem. 
I  will  explain  the  whole  thing  :  /  ad- 
mire her  for  her  virtue,  her  wit,  her 
innocence,  her  goodness,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing ;  and  she,  what  she 
sees  in  me,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know," 
added  he,  slightly  shrugging  his  aris- 
tocratic shoulders.  "  Do  me  the  hon- 
or to  breakfast  with  me  at  Newha- 
ven." 

"  I  have  ordered  twelve  sorts  of  fish 
at  the  '  Peacock,'  my  Lord,"  said 
Saunders. 

"  Divine  !  (I  hate  fish)  I  told  Saun- 
ders all  would  be  hungry  and  none 
shot ;  by  the  by,  you  are  winged,  I 
think  you  said,  Saunders  ?  " 

"  No,  my  Lord  !  but  look  at  my 
trousers." 

The  bullet  had  cut  his  pantaloons. 

"  I  see,  —  only  barked  ;  so  go  aud 
see  about  our  breakfast." 

"  Yes,  my  Lord  "  (faintly). 

"  And  draw  on  me  for  fifty  pounds 
worth  of — new  trousers." 

"  Yes,  my  Lord  "  (sonorously). 

The;  duellists  separated,  Gatty  tak- 
ing the  short  cut  to  Newhaven  ;  he 
proposed  to  take  his  favorite  swim 
there,  to  refresh  himself  before  break- 
fast;  and  he  went  from  his  Lordship 
a  little  cheered  by  remarks  which  fell 
from  him,  and  which,  though  vague, 
sounded  friendly; — poor  fellow,  ex- 
cept when  he  had  brush  in  hand  ho 
wis  a  dreamer. 

This  Viscount,  who  did  not  seem 
to  trouble  his  head  about  class  dig- 
nity, was  to  convert  hid  mother  from 


1GS 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


her  aristocratic  tendencies  or  some- 
thing. 

Que  sais-je?  what  will  not  a  dream- 
er hope '( 

Lord  Ipsden  strolled  along  the 
sands,  and  judge  his  surprise,  when, 
attended  by  two  footmen,  lie  met  at 
that  time  in  the  morning  Lady  Bar- 
bara Sinclair. 

Lord  Ipsden  had  been  so  disheart- 
ened and  piqued  by  this  lady's  con- 
duct, that  for  a  whole  week  lie  had 
not  been  near  her  :  this  line  of  beha- 
vior sometimes  answers. 

She  met  him  with  a  grand  display 
of  cordiality. 

She  inquired,  "  Whether  he  had 
heard  of  a  most  gallant  action,  that, 
coupled  with  another  circumstance  " 
[here  she  smiled)  "  had  in  part  recon- 
ciled her  to  the  age  we  live  in  ?  " 

He  asked  for  further  particulars. 

She  then  informed  him  "  that  a 
ship  had  been  ashore  on  the  rocks, 
that  no  fisherman  dared  venture  out, 
that  a  young  gentleman  had  given 
them  his  whole  fortune,  and  so  bribed 
them  to  accompany  him  ;  that  he  had 
saved  the  ship  and  the  men's  lives, 
paid  away  his  fortune,  and  lighted  an 
odious  cigar,  and  gone  home,  never 
minding,  amidst  the  blessings  and  ac- 
clamations of  a  maritime  population." 

A  beautiful  story  she  told  him ;  so 
beautiful,  in  fact,  that  until  she  had 
discoursed  ten  minutes  he  hardly  rec- 
ognized his  own  feat;  but  when  he 
did  he  blushed  inside  as  well  as  out 
with  pleasure.  Oh  !  music  of  music, 
—  praise  from  eloquent  lips,  and  those 
lips  the  lips  we  love. 

The  next  moment  he  felt  ashamed  ; 
ashamed  that  Lady  Barbara  should 
praise  him  beyond  his  merits,  as  he 
conceived. 

He  made  a  faint  hypocritical  en- 
deavor to  moderate  her  eulogium  ; 
this  gave  matters  an  unexpected  turn, 
Lady  Barbara's  eyes  flashed  defiance. 

"  I  say  it  was  a  noble  action,  that 
one  nursed  in  effeminacy  (as  you  all 
are),  should  teach  the  hardy  seamen 
to  mock  at  peril,  — noble  fellow  !  " 

"  He  did  a  man's  duty,  Barbara." 


"Ipsden,  take  care,  you  will  makft 
me  hate  you,  if  you  detract  from  ;. 
deed  you  cannot  emulate.  This  gen- 
tleman  risked  his  own  life  to  save 
others,  —  he  is  a  hero !  I  should 
know  him  by  his  face  the  moment  I 
saw  him.  O  that  I  were  such  a  man, 
or  knew  where  to  find  such  a  crea- 
ture !  " 

The  water  came  into  Lord  Ipsden's 
eyes  ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  say 
or  do  ;  he  turned  away  his  head. 

Lady  Barbara  was  surprised;  her 
conscience  smote  her. 

"  O  dear,"  said  she,  "  there  now,  I 
have  given  you  pain  —  forgive  me ; 
we  can't  all  be  heroes ;  dear  Ipsden, 
don't  think  I  despise  you  now  as  I 
used.  O  no  !  I  have  heard  of  your 
goodness  to  the  poor,  and  I  have  more 
experience  now.  There  is  nobody  I 
esteem  more  than  you,  Richard,  so 
you  need  not  iook  so." 

"  Thank  you,  dearest  Barbara" 

"  Yes,  and  if  you  were  to  be  such  a 
goose  as  to  write  me  another  letter 
proposing  absurdities  to  me  —  " 

"  Would  the  answer  be  different  ?  " 

"  Very  different." 

"  0  Barbara,  would  you  accept  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  not ;  but  I  would 
refuse  civilly ! " 

"Ah!" 

"  There,  don't  sigh  ;  I  hate  a  sigh- 
ing man.  I  '11  tell  you  something 
that  I  know  will  make  you  laugh." 
She  then  smiled  saucily  in  his  face, 
and  said,  "  Do  you  remember 
Mr.  ***'!" 

L'effwnte'e !  this  was  the  earnest 
man. 

But  Ipsden  was  a  match  for  her 
this  time. 

"  I  think  I  do,"  said  he ;  "a  gen- 
tleman who  wants  to  make  John  Bull 
little  again  into  John  Calf;  but  it 
won't  do." 

Her  ladyship  laughed.  "  Why  did 
you  not  tell  us  that  on  Inch  Coombe  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  not  read  '  The 
Catspaw '  then." 

'■' '  The  Catspaw  ?  '  Ah  !  I  thought 
it  could  not  be  you.     Whose  is  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Jerrold's." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


169 


"  Then  Mr.  Jen-old  is  cleverer  than 
you." 

"  It  is  possible." 

"  It  is  certain  !  Well,  Mr.  Jerrold 
and  Lord  Ipsden,  you  will  both  be 
glad  to  hear  that  it  was,  in  point  of 
fact,  a  bull  that  confuted  the  advo- 
cate of  the  Middle  Ages ;  we  were 
walking  ;  he  was  telling  me  manhood 
was  extinct  except  in  a  few  earnest 
men  who  lived  upon  the  past,  its 
associations,  its  truth  ;  when  a  horrid 
bull  gave  —  0  —  such  a  bellow  !  and 
came  trotting  up.  I  screamed  and 
ran  —  I  remember  nothing  hut  arriv- 
ing at  the  stile,  and  lo,  on  the  other 
side,  offering  me  his  arm  with  em- 
pressement  across  the  wooden  barrier 
was  —  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"No  —  0  —  yes,  I  see !  —  fancy  — 
ah  !  Shall  I  tell  you  how  he  came  to 
get  first  over?  He  ran  more  earnest- 
ly than  you." 

"  It  is  not  Mr.  Jerrold  this  time,  I 
presume,"  said  her  satirical  Ladyship. 

"  No  !  you  cannot  always  have 
him.  I  venture  to  predict  your  Lady- 
ship on  your  return  home  gave  this 
medieval  personage  his  conge'." 

"  No !  " 

"  No  '<  " 

"I  gave  it  him  at  the  stile!  Let 
us  be  serious,  if  you  please ;  I  have 
a  confidence  to  make  you,  Ipsden. 
Frankly,  I  owe  you  some  apology  for 
my  conduct  of  late ;  I  meant  to  be 
reserved,  —  I  have  been  rude,  —  but 
you  shall  judge  me.  A  year  ago  you 
made  me  some  proposals  ;  I  rejected 
them  because,  thongh  I  like  you  —  " 

"  Vim  like  me  '  " 

"  I  detest  your  character.  Since 
then,  my  West  India  estate,  has  been 
turned  into  specie  ;  that  specie,  the 
bulk  of  my  fortune,  placed  on  board 
a  vessel  ;  that  vessel  lost,  at  least  we 
think  so, — she  has  not  been  heard 
of." 

"  My  dear  cousin." 

"  Do  you  comprehend  that  now  I 
am  cooler  than  ever  to  all  young 
gentlemen  who  have  large  incomes, 
8 


and  "  (holding  out  her  hand  like  an 
angel)  "  I  must  trouble  you  to  for- 
give me." 

He  kissed  her  lovely  hand. 

"  I  esteem  you  more  and  more," 
said  he. 

"  You  ought,  for  it  has  been  a  hard 
struggle  to  me  not  to  adore  you, 
because  you  are  so  improved,  mon 
cousin." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  In  what  respect  ?  " 

"  You  are  browner  and  charitabler  ; 
and  I  should  have  been  very  kind  to 
you,  —  mawkishly  kind,  I  fear,  my 
sweet  cousin,  if  this  wretched  money 
had  not  gone  down  in  the  '  Tisbe.'  " 

"  Hallo  !  "  cried  the  Viscount. 

"Ah!"  squeaked  Lady  Barbara, 
unused  to  such  interjections. 

"  Gone  down  in  what  ?  "  said  Ips- 
den,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Don't  bellow  in  people's  ears. 
The  '  Tisbe,'  stupid,"  cried  she, 
screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

"  Ri  turn,  ti  turn,  ti  turn,  turn,  turn, 
tiddy,  iddy,"  went  Lord  Ipsden,  — 
he  whistled  a  polka. 

Lady  Barbara  {inspecting  him  grave- 
ly). "I  have  heard  it  at  a  distance, 
but  I  never  saw  how  it  was  done  be- 
fore.    It  is  very,  verp  pretty  !  ! .' !  " 

Ipsden.     "  Polkez-vous,  madame?" 

Lady  Barb.  "  Si,  je  police,  Mon- 
sieur /<■  Vicitmte." 

They  polked  for  a  second  or  two. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  am  wrong," 
cried  Lady  Barbara,  "  but  I  like  you 
better  now  you  are  a  downright  — 
ahem!  —  than  when  you  were  only 
an  insipid  non-intellectual  —  you  are 
greatly  improved." 

//«.  "  In  what  respects?  " 

Lady  Booh.  "Did  I  not  tell  you? 
browner  and  more  impudent;  but 
tell  me,"  said  she,  resuming  her  sly, 
satirical  tone,  "how  is  it  that  you, 
who  used  to  be  the  pink  of  courtesy, 
dance  and  sing  over  the  wreck  of  my 
fortunes  ?" 

"Because  they  are  not  wrecked." 

"  I  thought  I  told  you  my  specie  is 
gone  down  in  the  '  Tisbe.' ' 

Ipsden.  "  But  the  '  Tisbe  '  has  not 
gone  down." 


170 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Lady  Barb.  "  I  tell  you  it  is." 

Ipsden.  "  I  assure  you  it  is  not." 

Lad,/  Barb.  "  It  is  not  ?  " 

Ipsden.  "  Barbara !  I  am  too  hap- 
py,  I  begin  to  nourish  such  sweet 
hopes  once  more.  O,  I  could  fall  on 
my  knees  and  bless  you  for  something 
you  said  just  now." 

Lady  Barbara  blushed  to  the  tem- 
ples. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  ?  "  said  she. 
"  All  you  want  is  a  little  enthusiasm." 
Then  recovering  herself,  she  said  :  — 

"  You  kneel  on  wet  sand,  with 
black  trousers  on;  that  will  never 
be ! ! ! " 

These  two  were  so  occupied  that 
they  did  not  observe  the  approach  of 
a  stranger  until  he  broke  in  upon 
their  dialogue. 

An  Ancient  Mariner  had  been  for 
Bome  minutes  standing  off  and  on, 
reconnoitring  Lord  Ipsden;  he  now 
bore  down,  and  with  great  rough, 
roaring  cordiality,  that  made  Lady 
Barbara  start,  cried  out :  — 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  sir,  —  give 
me  your  hand,  if  you  were  twice  a 
Lord. 

"  I  could  n't  speak  to  you  till  the 
brig  was  safe  in  port,  and  you  slipped 
away,  but  I  've  brought  you  up  at 
last ;  and  —  give  me  your  hand  again, 
sir.  I  say,  is  n't  it  a  pity  you  are  a 
Lord  instead  of  a  sailor  ?  " 

Ipsden.  "  But  I  am  a  sailor." 

Ancient  Mariner.  "  That  ye  are, 
and  as  smart  a  one  as  ever  tied  a  true- 
lover's  knot  in  the  top ;  but  tell  the 
truth,  —  you  were  never  nearer  losing 
the  number  of  your  mess  than  that 
day  in  the  old  '  tisbe.'  " 

Duly  Barb.  "  The  old  '  Tisbe '  ! 
Oh!" 

Ipsden.  "  Do  you  remember  that 
nice  little  lurch  "she  gave  to  leeward 
as  we  brought  her  round  1  " 
Lady  Barb.  "  O  Richard  !  " 
Ancient  Mariner.  "  And  that  reel 
the  old  wench  gave  under  our  feet, 
north  the  pier-head.  I  would  n't 
have  given  a  washing-tub  for  her  at 
that  moment." 

Ipsden.    "  Past     danger    becomes 


pleasure,  sir.     Olim  et  hmc  meminissd 
—  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

Ancient  Mariner  (taking  off  his  hat 
with  feeling).  "  God  bless  ye,  sir,  and 
send  ye  many  happy  days,  and  well 
spent,  with  the  pretty  lady  I  see 
alongside  ;  asking  your  pardon,  miss, 
for  parting  pleasanter  company,  —  so 
I  '11  sheer  off." 

And  away  went  the  skipper  of  the 
"Tisbe,"  rolling  fearfully.  In  the 
heat  of  this  reminiscence,  the  skipper 
of  the  yacht  (they  are  all  alike,  blue  wa- 
ter ouce  fairly  tasted)  had  lost  sight 
of  Lady  Barbara  ;  he  now  looked 
round.  Imagine  his  surprise  ! 
Her  Ladyship  was  in  tears. 
"  Dear  Barbara,"  said  Lord  Ipsden, 
"  do  not  distress  yourself  on  my  ac- 
count." 

"  It  is  not  your  fe-feelings  I  care 
about;  at  least,  I  h-h-hope  not ;  but 
I  have  been  so  unjust,  and  I  prided 
myself  so  on  my  j-ju-justice." 
"  Never  mind  !  " 

"  Gh  !  if  you  don't,  I  don't.  I  hate 
myself,  so  it  is  no  wonder  you  h-hate 
me." 

"  I  love  you  more  than  ever." 
"  Then  you  arc  a  good  soul !     Of 
course  you  know  I  always  /-esteemed 
you,  Richard." 

"  No  !  I  had  an  idea  you  despised 
me!" 

"  How  silly  you  are !  Can't  you 
see  1  When  I  thought  you  were  not 
perfection,  which  you  are  now,  it 
vexed  me  to  death ;  you  never  saw 
me  affront  any  one  but  you  1 " 

"No,  I  never  did !  What  does 
that  prove  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  the  wit  of  him 
that  reasons  thereon."  (Coming  to 
herself. ) 

"  I  love  you,  Barbara !  Will  you 
honor  me  with  your  hand  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  am  not  so  base,  so  selfish  : 
you  are  worth  a  hundred  of  me,  and 
here  have  I  been  treating  you  de  haut 
en  bas.  Dear  Richard,  poor  Richard. 
Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  (A  perfect  flood  of 
tears.) 

"  Barbara !  I  regret  nothing ;  this 
moment  pays  for  all." 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


171 


"  Well,  then,  I  will !  since  you  keep 
pressing  me.  There,  let  me  go;  I 
must  be  alone ;  I  must  tell  the  sea 
how  unjust  I  was,  and  how  happy  I 
am,  and  when  you  see  me  again  you 
shall  see  the  better  side  of  your  cousin 
Barbara." 

She  was  peremptory.  "  She  had 
her  folly  and  his  merits  to  think  over," 
she  said ;  but  she  promised  to  pass 
through  Newhaven,  and  he  should 
put  her  into  her  pony-phaeton,  which 
would  meet  her  there. 

Lady  Barbara  was  only  a  fool  by 
the  excess  of  her  wit  over  her  experi- 
ence ;  and  Lord  Ipsden's  love  was  not 
misplaced,  for  she  had  a  great  heart 
which  she  hid  from  little  people.  I 
forgive  her! 

The  resolutions  she  formed  in  com- 
pany with  the  sea,  having  dismissed 
Ipsden,  and  ordered  her  flunky  into 
the  horizon,  will  probably  give  our 
Viscount  just  half  a  century  of  conju- 
gal bliss. 

As  he  was  going,  she  stopped  him 
and  said  :  "  Your  friend  had  browner 
hands  than  I  have  hitherto  conceived 
possible.  To  toll  the  truth,  I  took  them 
for  the  claws  of  a  mahogany  table 
when  he  grappled  you, — is  that  the 
term  ?     Cest  egal  —  I  like  him  —  " 

She  stopped  him  again.  "  Ips- 
den, in  the  midst  of  all  this  that 
poor  man's  ship  is  broken.  I  feel 
it  is  !  You  will  buy  him  another, 
if  vou  really  love  me,  —  for  I  like 
him." 

And  so  these  lovers  parted  for  a 
time  ;  and  Lord  Ipsden  with  a  bound- 
ing heart  returned  to  Newhaven.  He 
went  to  entertain  his  late  ris-a-vis  at 
the  "  Peacoek." 

Meantime  a  shorter  and  less  pleasant 
rencontre  had  taken  place  between 
Leith  and  that  village. 

Gatty  felt  he  should  meet  his  lost 
sweetheart ;  and  sun-  enough,  at  a 
turn  of  the  road,  Christie  and  Jean 
eame  suddenly  upon  him. 

.h : i t i  nodded,  bnt  Christie  took  no 
BOtice  of  him  ;  they  j>;i>~c<l  him  ;  lie 
turned  and  followed  them,  and  said, 
"Christie!" 


"  What  is  your  will  wi'  me  ?  "  said 
she,  coldly. 

"I  —  I  —    How  pale  you  are !  " 

"  I  am  no  very  weel." 

"  She  has  been  watching  over 
muckle  wi'  Flucker,"  said  Jean. 

Christie  thanked  her  with  a  look. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  —  not  —  " 

"  Nae  fears,  lad,"  said  she,  brisk- 
ly;  "I  dinna  think  that  muckle  o' 
ye." 

"  And  I  think  of  nothing  but  you," 
said  he. 

A  deep  flush  crimsoned  the  young 
woman's  brow,  but  she  restrained 
herself,  and  said  icily  :  "  Thaat  's  very 
gude  o'  ye,  I  'm  sure." 

Gatty  felt  all  the  contempt  her 
manners  and  words  expressed.  He 
bit  his  lips  :  the  tear  started  to  his 
eye.  "  You  will  forget  me,"  said 
he :  "I  do  not  deserve  to  be  remem- 
bered, but  I  shall  never  forget  you. 
I  leave  for  England  :  I  leave  New- 
haven forever,  where  I  have  been  so 
happy.  I  am  going  at  three  o'clock 
by  the  steamboat :  won't  you  bid  me 
good  by  1  "  he  approached  her  timid- 

"Ay !  that  wull  do,"  cried  she ; 
"  Gude  be  wi'  ye,  lad  ;  I  wish  ye  nae 
ill."  She  gave  a  commanding  ges- 
ture of  dismissal  ;  he  turned  away, 
and  went  sadly  from  her. 

She  watched  every  motion  when  his 
back  was  turned. 

"  That  is  you,  Christie,"  said  Jean  ; 
"  use  the  lads  like  dirt,  an'  they  think 
a'  the  mair  o'  ye." 

"  ( )  Jean,  my  bairt  's  broken.  I  'm 
just  deeing  for  him." 

"  Let  me  speak  till  hitn  then,"  said 
Jean  ;  "  1  'II  sane  bring  hint  till  his 
marrow-banes  "  ;  and  she  took  a  busty 
Step  to  follow  him. 

Christie  held  her  fast.  "I'd  dee 
ere  I  'd  give  in  till  them.  O  Jean  ! 
I  'm  a  lassie  clean  Hung  awa  ;  he  has 
neither  hairt  nor  spunk  ava,  yon 
lad!" 

Jean  began  to  make  excuses  for 
him:  Christie  inveighed  against  him: 
Jean  spoke  up  for  him  with  more 
earnestness. 


172 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Now  observe,  Jean  despised  the 
poor  boy. 

Christie  adored  him. 

So  Jean  spoke  for  him,  because  wo- 
men of  every  degree  are  often  one  sol- 
id mass  of  tact ;  and  Christie  abused 
him,  because  she  wanted  to  hear  him 
defended. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Richard,  Lord  Viscount  Ipsden, 
having  dotted  the  sea-shore  with  sen- 
tinels, to  tell  him  of  Lady  Barbara's 
approach,  awaited  his  guest  in  the 
"  Peacock  " ;  but,  as  Gatty  was  a  little 
behind  time,  he  placed  Saunders  sen- 
tinel over  the  "  Peacock,"  and  strolled 
eastward ;  as  be  came  out  of  the  "  Pea- 
cock," Mrs.  Gatty  came  down  the  lit- 
tle hill  in  front,  and  also  proceeded 
eastward  ;  meantime  Lady  Barbara 
and  her  escort  were  not  far  from  the 
New  Town  of  Newhaven,  on  their  way 
from  Leith. 

Mrs.  Gatty  came  down,  merelj- 
with  a  vague  fear.  She  had  no  rea- 
son to  suppose  her  son's  alliance  with 
Christie  either  would  or  could  be  re- 
newed, but  she  was  a  careful  player 
and  would  not  give  a  chance  away; 
she  found  he  was  gone  out  unusually 
early,  so  she  came  straight  to  the 
only  place  she  dreaded ;  it  was  her 
son's  last  day  in  Scotland.  She  had 
packed  his  clothes,  and  he  had  in- 
spired her  with  confidence  by  arrang- 
ing pictures,  &c,  himself;  she  had  no 
idea  he  was  packing  for  his  departure 
from  this  life,  not  Edinburgh  only. 

She  came  then  to  Newhaven  with 
no  serious  misgivings,  for,  even  if  her 
son  had  again  vacillated,  she  saw  that, 
with  Christie's  pride  and  her  own 
firmness,  the  game  must  be  hers  in 
the  end  ;  but.  as  I  said  before,  she  was 
one  who  plaj-cd  her  cards  closely,  and 
such  seldom  lose. 

But  my  story  is  with  the  two  young 
fishwives,  who,  on  their  return  from 
Leith,  found  themselves  at  the  foot 
of  the  New  Town,  Newhaven,  soma 


minutes  before  any  of  the  other  per- 
sons who,  it  is  to  be  observed,  were 
approaching  it  from  different  points  ; 
they  came  slowly  in,  Christie  in  par- 
ticular, with  a  listlessness  she  had 
never  known  till  this  last  week ;  for 
some  days  her  strength  had  failed  her, 
—  it  was  Jean  that  carried  the  creel 
now,  —  before,  Christie,  in  the  pride  of 
her  strength,  would  always  do  more 
than  her  share  of  their  joint  labor:  then 
she  could  hardly  be  forced  to  eat,  and 
what  she  did  eat  wras  quite  tasteless 
to  her,  and  sleep  left  her,  and  in  its 
stead  came  uneasy  slumbers,  from 
which  she  awoke  quivering  from  head 
to  foot. 

Oh  !  perilous  venture  of  those  who 
love  one  object  with  the  whole  heart. 

This  great  but  tender  heart  was 
breaking  flay  by  day. 

Well,  Christie  and  Jean,  strolling 
slowly  into  the  New  Town  of  New- 
haven, found  an  assemblage  of  the 
natives  all  looking  seaward ;  the  fish- 
ermen, except  Sandy  Liston,  were 
away  at  the  herring  fishery,  but  all 
the  boys  and  women  of  the  New 
Town  were  collected  ;  the  girls  felt  a 
momentary  curiosity  ;  it  proved,  how- 
ever, to  be  only  an  individual  swim- 
ming in  towards  shore  from  a  greater 
distance  than  usual. 

A  little  matter  excites  curiosity  in 
such  places. 

The  man's  head  looked  like  a  spot 
of  ink. 

Sandy  Liston  was  minding  his  own 
business,  lazily  mending  a  skait-nct, 
which  he  had  attached  to  a  crazy  old 
herring-boat  hauled  up  to  rot. 

Christie  sat  down,  pale  and  lan- 
guid, by  him,  on  a  creepie  that  a  lass 
who  had  been  baiting  a  line  with 
mussels  had  just  vacated ;  suddenly 
she  seized  Jean's  arm  with  a  convul- 
sive motion  ;  Jean  looked  up,  —  it 
was  the  London  steamboat  running 
out  from  Leith  to  Granton  Pier  to 
take  up  her  passengers  for  London. 
Charles  Gatty  was  going  by  that 
boat ;  the  look  of  mute  despair  the 
poor  girl  gave  went  to  Jean's  heart ; 
she  ran  hastily  from  the  group,  and 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


173 


cried  out  of  sight  for  poor  Chris- 
tie. 

A  fishwife,  looking  through  a  tel- 
escope at  the  swimmer,  remarked : 
"  He  's  coming  in  fast ;  he 's  a  gallant 
swimmer  yon  —  " 

"  Can  he  dee  't  1  "  inquired  Chris- 
tie of  Sandy  Liston. 

"  Fine  thaat,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  he 
does  it  aye  o'  Sundays  when  ye  are 
at  the  kirk." 

"  It 's  no  oot  o'  the  kirk-window 
ye  '11  hae  seen  him,  Sandy,  my  mon," 
said  a  young  fishwife. 

"  Kin  for  my  glass  ony  way,  Fluck- 
er,"  said  Christie,  forcing  herself  to 
take  some  little  interest. 

Flucker  brought  it  to  her,  she  put 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  got  slowly 
up,  and  stood  on  the  creepie,  and  ad- 
justed the  focus  of  her  glass;  after  a 
short  view,  she  said  to  Fluckcr: — 

"  Rin  and  see  the  nock."  She  then 
levelled  her  glass  again  at  the  swim- 
mer. 

Fluckcr  informed  her  the  nock  said 
"half  eleven,"  —  Scotch  for  "half 
past  ten." 

Christie  whipped  out  a  well- 
thuinljed  almanac. 

"  Yon  nock 's  aye  ahint,"  said 
she.  She  swept  the  sea  once  more 
with  her  glass,  then  brought  it  to- 
gether with  a  click,  and  jumped  off  the 
stool  :  her  quick  intelligence  viewed 
the  matter  differently  from  all  the 
others. 

"  Noow,"  cried  she,  smartly,  "  wha 
'11  lend  me  his  yawl  I  " 

"llets!  dinoa  lie  sac  interfcrin, 
lassie,"  said  a  fishwife. 

"  Hae  uaiie  o'  ye  ony  spunk?" 
said  Christie,  taking  no  notice  of  the 
woman.      "  Speak,  laddies  !  " 

"  M'  uncle's  yawl  is  at  the  pier- 
head ;  ye  '11  get  her,  my  woman," 
said  a  boy. 

"A  schell'n  for  wha 's  first  on 
board,"  said  Christie,  holding  up  the 
coin. 

"  Come  awa',  Fluckcr.  we  '11  hae 
her  schell'n  "  ;  and  ihe-.e  twu  worthies 
instantly  <  ffected  a  foil  o  i  tart. 

"  It 's  no  under  your  jackets,"  said 


Christie,  as  she  dashed  after  them 
like  the  wind. 

"  Haw !  haw !  haw !  "  laughed  San- 
dy. 

"  What  s  her  business  picking  up 
a  mon  against  his  will  i  "  said  a  wo- 
man. 

"  She  's  an  awfu'  lassie,"  whined 
another. 

The  examination  of  the  swimmer 
was  then  continued,  and  the  crowd 
increased ;  some  would  have  it  he 
was  rapidly  approaching,  others  that 
he  made  little  or  no  way. 

"  Wha  est  ?  "  said  another. 

"  It 's  a  lummy,"  said  a  girl. 

"  Na !  it 's  no  a  lummy,"  said 
another. 

Christie's  boat  was  now  seen  stand- 
ing out  from  the  pier.  Sandy  Lis- 
ton, casting  a  contemptuous  look  on 
all  the  rest,  lifted  himself  lazily  in- 
to the  herring-boat  and  looked  sea- 
ward. His  manner  changed  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

"  The  Deevil !  "  cried  he  ;  "  the 
tide  's  turned  !  You  wi'  your  glass, 
could  you  no  see  yon  man  's  drifting 
oot  to  sea  ?  " 

"  Hech  !  "  cried  the  women,  "  he  'II 
be  drooned,  —  he  '11  be  drooned  !  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  '11  be  drooned  !  "  cried 
Sandy,  "  if  yon  lassie  does  na  come 
alongside  him  deevelich  quick,  —  he 's 
sair  spent,  I  doot." 

Two  spectators  were  now  added  to 
the  scene,  Mrs.  Gatty  and  Lord  Ips- 
den.  Mrs.  Gatty  inquired  what  was 
the  matter. 

"  It 's  a  mon  drooning,"  was  the 
reply. 

'I  he  poor  fellow,  whom  Sandy,  by 
aid  of  his  glass,  now  discovered  to  bo 
in  a  worn-out  condition,  was  about 
half  a  mile  east  of  Ncwhavcii  pier- 
head, anil  unfortunately  the  wind  was 
nearly  <U\v  cast.  Christie  was  stand- 
ing north-northeast,  her  boat-hook 
jammed  against  the  sail,  which  stood 
as  Hat  as  a  knife. 

The  natives  of  the  Old  Town  were 
now   seen   pouring   down    to   tie'   ]>i'  I 

and   the   beach,  and  strangers  were 

collecting  like  bees. 


1/4 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


"  After  wit  is  everybody's  wit ! ! ! " 
—  Old  Proverb. 

The  affair  was  in  the  Johnstone's 
hands. 

"  That  boat  is  not  going  to  the 
poor  man,"  said  Mrs.  Gatty,  "  it  is 
turning  its  back  upon  him." 

"  She  canna  lie  in  the  wind's  eye, 
for  as  clever  as  she  is,"  answered  a 
fishwife. 

"  I  ken  wha  it  is,"  suddenly 
squeaked  a  little  fishwife  ;  "  it 's 
Christie  Johnstone's  lad  ;  it 's  yon 
daft  painter  fr'  England.  Hecti  ! " 
cried  she,  suddenly,  observing  Mrs. 
Gatty,  "it 's  your  son,  woman." 

The  unfortunate  woman  gave  a 
fearful  scream,  and,  flying  like  a  tiger 
on  Liston,  commanded  him  "  to  go 
straight  out  to  sea  and  save  her 
son." 

Jean  Carnie  seized  her  arm.  *'  Div 
ye  see  yon  boat  1  "  cried  she ;  "  and  div 
ye  mind  Christie,  the  lass  wha 's  hairt 
ye  hae  broken  1  aweel,  woman,  —  it 's 
just  a  race  between  deeth  and  Cirsty 
Johnstone  for  your  son." 

The  poor  old  woman  swooned 
dead  away  ;  they  carried  her  into 
Christie  Johnstone's  house,  and  laid 
her  down,  then  hurried  back,  —  the 
greater  terror  absorbed  the  less. 

Lady  Barbara  Sinclair  Avas  there 
from  Leith  ;  and,  seeing  Lord  Ipsdcn 
Standing  in  the  boat  with  a  fisherman, 
she  asked  him  to  tell  her  what  it 
was  ;  neither  he  nor  any  one  answered 
her. 

"  Why  doesn't  she  come  about, 
Liston  1 "  cried  Lord  Ipsden,  stamp- 
ing with  anxiety  and  impatience. 

"  She  '11  no  be  lang,"  said  Sandy  ; 
"but  they'll  mak  a  mess  o'  't  wi' 
ne'er  a  man  i'  the  boat." 

"  Ye  're  sure  o'  thaat  ?  "  put  in  a 
woman. 

"  Ay,  about  she  comes,"  said  Lis- 
ton, as  the  sail  came  down  on  the 
first  tack.  He  was  mistaken;  they 
dipped  the  lug  as  cleverly  as  any  man 
in  the  town  could. 

"  Hech  !  look  at  her  hauling  on  the 
rope  like  a  mon,"  cried  a  woman. 
The  sail  flew  up  on  the  other  tack. 


"  She 's  an  awfu'  lassie,"  whined 
another. 

"  He 's  awa,"  groaned  Liston,  "  he  'a 
doon  !  " 

"  No  !  he  's  up  again,"  cried  Lord 
Ipsden  ;  "  but  I  fear  he  can't  live  till 
the  boat  comes  to  him." 

The  fisherman  and  the  Viscount 
held  on  by  each  other. 

"  He  does  na  see  her,  or  maybe  he  'd 
tak  hairt." 

"  I  'd  give  ten  thousand  pounds  if 
only  he  could  see  her.  My  God,  the 
man  will  be  drowned  under  our  eyes. 
If  he  but  saw  her  !  !  !  " 

The  words  had  hardly  left  Lord 
Ipsden's  lips,  when  the  sound  of  a 
woman's  voice  came  like  an  ^Eolian 
note  across  the  water. 

"  Hurraih  !  "  roared  Liston,  and 
every  creature  joined  the  cheer. 

"  She  '11  no  let  him  dee.  Ah  ! 
she 's  in  the  bows,  hailing  him  an' 
waving  the  lad's  bonnet  ower  her 
head  to  gie  him  coorage.  Gude  bless 
ye,  lass ;  Gude  bless  ye !  " 

Christie  knew  it  was  no  use  hail- 
ing him  against  the  wind,  but  the  mo- 
ment she  got  the  wind  she  darted  into 
the  bows,  and  pitched  in  its  highest 
key  her  full  and  brilliant  voice  ; 
after  a  moment  of  suspense  she  re- 
ceived proof  that  she  must  be  heard 
by  him,  for  on  the  pier  now  hung 
men  and  women,  clustered  like  bees, 
breathless  with  anxiety,  and  the  mo- 
ment after  she  hailed  the  drowning 
man,  she  saw  and  heard  a  wild  yell 
of  applause  burst  from  the  pier,  and 
the  pier  was  more  distant  than  the 
man.  She  snatched  Fluckcr's  cap, 
plan-ted  her  foot  on  the  gunwale,  held 
on  by  a  rope,  hailed  the  poor  fellow 
again,  and  waved  the  cap  round  and 
round  her  head,  to  give  him  courage ; 
and  in  a  moment,  at  the  sight  of  this, 
thousands  of  voices  thundered  back 
their  cheers  to  her  across  the  water. 
Blow,  wind,  —  spring,  boat,  —  and 
you,  Christie,  still  ring  life  towards 
those  despairing  ears,  and  wave  hope 
to  those  sinking  eyes  ;  cheer  the  boat 
on,  you  thousands  that  look  upon 
this  action ;  hurrah  !  from   the  pier ; 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


175 


hurrah  !  from  the  town  ;  hurrah  !  from 
the  shore ;  hurrah  !  now,  from  the 
very  ships  in  the  roads,  whose  crews 
are  swarming  on  the  yards  to  look ; 
five  minutes  ago  they  laughed  at  yon ; 
three  thousand  eyes  and  hearts  hang 
upon  you  now ;  ay,  these  are  the  mo- 
ments we  live  for  ! 

And  now  dead  silence.  The  boat 
is  within  fifty  yards,  tliey  are  all  three 
consulting  together  round  the  mast ; 
an  error  now  is  death  ;  his  forehead 
only  seems  above  water. 

"  If  they  miss  him  on  that  tack  ?  " 
said  Lord  Ipsden,  significantly,  to 
Liston. 

"  He  '11  never  see  London  Brigg 
again,"  was  the  whispered  reply. 

They  carried  on  till  all  on  shore 
thought  they  would  run  over  him,  or 
past  him  ;  but  no,  at  ten  yards  dis- 
tant they  were  all  at  the  sail,  and  had 
it  down  like  lightning  ;  and  then 
Thicker  sprang  to  the  bows,  the  other 
hoy  to  the  helm. 

Unfortunately,  there  were  but  two 
Johnstoncs  in  the  boat ;  and  this  boy, 
in  his  harry,  actually  put  the  helm  to 
port,  instead  of  to  starboard.  Chris- 
tie, who  stood  amidships,  saw  the  er- 
ror; she  sprang  aft,  flung  the  boy 
from  the  helm,  and  jammed  it  hard- 
a-starboard  with  her  foot.  The  boat 
answered  the  helm,  but  too  late  for 
Flucker ;  the  man  was  four  yards 
from  him  as  the  boat  drifted  by. 

"  He  's  a  deed  nion  !  "  cried  Liston, 
on  shore. 

The  boat's  length  gave  one  more 
little  chance;  the  after  part  must 
drift  nearer  him,  —  thanks  to  (  'hristic. 
Flucker  flew  aft;  flung  himself  on 
hi.-  hack,  and  seized  his  sister's  pet- 
ticoats. 

"  Fling  yourself  ower  the  gun- 
wale," ■creamed  he.  "  Ye '11  no  hurt ; 
J  Ve  hand  ye." 

She  flung  herself  boldly  over  the 
gunwale;  the  man  was  sinking,  her 
nails  touched  his  hair,  her  fingers 
entangled  themselves  in  it,  she  gave 
him  a  powerful  wrench  and  brOBght 
him  alongside  ;  the  boys  pinned  him 
like  wild-catB. 


Christie  darted  away  forward  to 
the  mast,  passed  a  rope  round  it, 
threw  it  the  boys,  in  a  moment  it  was 
under  his  shoulders.  Christie  hauled 
on  it  from  the  fore  thwart,  the  boys 
lifted  him,  and  they  tumbled  him, 
gasping  and  gurgling  like  a  dying 
salmon,  into  the  bottom  of  the  boar, 
and  flung  net  and  jackets  and  sail 
over  him,  to  keep  the  life  in  him. 

Ah  !  draw  your  breath  all  hands  at 
sea  and  ashore,  and  don't  try  it  again, 
young  gentleman,  for  there  was  noth- 
ing to  spare  ;  when  you  were  missed 
at  the  bow  two  stout  hearts  quivered 
for  you  ;  Lord  Ipsden  hid  his  face  in 
his  two  hands,  Sandy  Liston  gave  a 
groan,  and,  when  you  were  grabbed 
astern,  jumped  out  of  his  boat,  and 
cried :  — 

"A  gill  o'  whiskey  for  ony  favor, 
for  it 's  turned  me  as  secck  as  a  doeg." 
He  added  :  "  He  may  bless  yon  lassie's 
fowr  bancs,  for  she  s  taen  him  oot  o' 
Death's  maw,  as  sure  as  Gude's  in 
heaven  ! " 

Lady  Barbara,  who  had  all  her  life 
been  longing  to  see  perilous  adven- 
tures, prayed,  and  trembled,  and  cried 
most  piteously;  and  Lord  Ipsden's 
back  was  to  her,  and  he  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  her  voice;  but  when  the  battle 
was  won,  and  Lord  Ipsden  turned  and 
saw  her,  s]K<  clung  to  his  arm  and 
dried  her  tears ;  and  then  the  <  >ld 
Town  cheered  the  boat,  and  the  New 
Town  cheered  the  boat,  and  the  towns 
cheered  each  other;  and  the  John- 
stones,  lad  and  lass,  set  their  sail, 
and  swept  back  in  triumph  to  the 
pier ;  so  then  Lady  Barbara's  blood 
mounted  and  tingled  in  her  veins  like 
fire.     "O,  how  noble  !  "  cried  she. 

"  Yes,  dearest,"  said  Ipsden.  "  You 
have  seen  something  great  done  at 
last;  and  by  a  woman,  too!" 

"  yes,''  said  Barbara,  "  how  beauti- 
ful !  oh  !  how  beautiful  it  all  is  ;  only 
the  next  one  I  see  1  should  like  the 
danger  to  be  over  first,  that  is  all." 

The  boys  and  Christie,  the  moment 
they  had  saved  Catty,  op  sail  again 
lor  Xewliaven  ;  they  landed  IB  about 
three  minutes  at  the  pier. 


176 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Time. 
From  Newhaven  town  to  pier  on 

loot 1  m.  30  sec. 

First  tack         ....      5        30 
Second  tack,  and  getting  him  on 

board       .....  4  0 

Back  to  the  pier,  going  free    .      3        30 


Total 


.  14 


30 


They  came  in  to  the  pier,  Christie 
sitting  quietly  on  the  thwart  after  her 
work,  the  boy  steering,  and  Flucker 
standing  against  the  mast,  hands  in 
his  pockets;  the  deportment  this 
young  gentleman  thought  fit  to  as- 
sume on  this  occasion  was  "complete 
apathy  "  ;  he  came  into  port  with  the 
air  of  one  bringing  home  the  ordinary 
results  of  his  day's  fishing  ;  this  was, 
I  suppose,  to  impress  the  spectators 
with  the  notion  that  saving  lives  was 
an  every-day  affair  with  La  Famillc 
Johnstone ;  as  for  Gatty,  he  came  to 
himself  under  his  heap  of  nets  and 
jackets,  and  spoke  once  between 
Death's  jaw  and  the  pier. 

"Beautiful!"  murmured  he,  and 
was  silent.  The  meaning  of  this  ob- 
servation never  transpired,  and  never 
will  in  this  world.  Six  months  after- 
wards, being  subjected  to  a  searching 
interrogatory,  he  stated  that  he  had 
alluded  to  the  majesty  and  freedom 
of  a  certain  pose  Christie  had  adopted 
whilst  hailing  him  from  the  boat ;  but, 
reader,  if  be  had  wanted  you  and  me 
to  believe  it  was  this,  he  should  not 
have  been  half  a  year  finding  it  out, 
—  inereduli  odimus !  They  landed, 
and  Christie  sprang  on  shore  ;  whilst 
she  was  wending  her  way  through 
the  crowd,  impeded  by  greetings 
and  acclamations,  with  every  now 
and  then  a  lass  waving  her  kerchief 
or  a  lad  his  bonnet  over  the  hero- 
ine's head,  poor  Mrs.  Gatty  was  re- 
ceiving the  attention  of  the  New 
Town  ;  they  brought  her  to,  they  told 
her  the  good  news,  —  she  thanked 
God. 

The  whole  story  had  spread  like 
wildfire  ;  they  expostulated  with  her, 
they  told  her,  now  was  the  time  to 
show  she  had  a  heart,  and  bless  the 
young  people. 


She  rewarded  them  with  a  valuable 
precept. 

"  Mind  your  own  business !  "  said 
she. 

"  Hech !  y'  are  a  dour  wife  ! "  cried 
Newhaven. 

The  dour  wife  bent  her  eyes  on  the 
ground. 

The  people  were  still  collected  at 
the  foot  of  the  street,  but  they  were 
now  in  knots,  when  in  dashed  Flucker, 
arriving  by  a  short  cut,  and  crying  : 
"  She  does  na  ken,  she  does  na  ken, 
she  was  ower  moedest  to  look,  I  daur 
say,  and  ye  Tl  no  tell  her,  for  he  's  a 
blackguard,  an'  he's  just  making  a 
fule  o'  the  pair  lass,  and  if  she  kens 
what  she  has  done  for  him,  she  '11  be 
fonder  o'  him  than  a  coow  o'  her 
cauf." 

"  O  Flucker !  we  maun  tell  her, 
it 's  her  lad,  her  ain  lad,  she  saved," 
expostulated  a  woman. 

"  Did  ever  my  feyther  do  a  good 
turn  till  ye  ?  "  cried  Flucker.  "  Aweel, 
then,  ye  Tl  no  tell  the  lassie,  she  's 
weel  as  she  is ;  he 's  gaun  t'  Enngland 
the  day.  I  cannie  gie  ye  a'  a  hidin," 
said  he,  with  an  eye  that  flashed  vol- 
umes of  good  intention,  on  a  hundred 
and  fifty  people  ;  "  but  I  am  feyther- 
less  and  motherless,  an'  I  can  fa'  on 
my  knees  an'  curse  ye  a'  if  ye  do  us 
sic  an  ill  turn,  an'  then  ye '11  see 
whether  ye  '11  thrive." 

"  We  Tl  no  tell,  Flucker,  ye  need 
na  curse  us  ony  way." 

His  Lordship,  with  all  the  sharp 
authority  of  a  skipper,  ordered  Master 
Flucker  to  the  pier,  with  a  message  to 
the  yacht ;  Flucker  qua  yachtsman 
was  a  machine,  and  went  as  a  matter 
of  course.  "  I  am  determined  to  tell 
her,"  said  Lord  Ipsden  to  Lady  Bar- 
bara. 

"  But,"  remonstrated  Lady  Barbara, 
"  the  poor  boy  says  he  will  curse  us  if 
we  do." 

"  He  won't  curse  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"Because  the  little  blackguard's 
grog  would  be  stopped  on  board  the 
yacht  if  he  did." 

Flucker  had  not  been  gone  many 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


177 


minutes  before  loud  cheering  was 
heard,  and  Christie  Johnstone  ap- 
peared convoyed  by  a  large  detach- 
ment of  the  Old  Town  ;  she  had  tried 
to  slip  away,  but  they  would  not  let 
her.  They  convoyed  her  in  tri- 
umph till  "they  saw  the  New  Town 
people,  and  then  they  turned  and  left 
her. 

She  came  in  amongst  the  groups,  a 
changed  woman, —  her  pallor  and  her 
listlessness  were  gone,  —  the  old  light 
was  in  her  eye,  and  the  bright  color  in 
her  cheek,  and  she  seemed  hardly  to 
touch  the  earth. 

"  I  'm  just  droukit,  lasses,"  cried 
she,  gayly,  wringing  her  sleeve. 
Every  eve  was  upon  her  ;  did  she 
know,  or  did  she  not  know,  what  she 
had  done  ? 

Lord  Ipsden  stepped  forward;  the 

Eeople  tacitly  accepted  him  as  the  ve- 
icle  of  their  curiosity. 

"  Who  was  it,  Christie  1 " 

"  I  dinna  ken,  for  my  pairt !  " 

Mrs.  Gatty  came  out  of  the  house. 

"  A  handsome  young  fellow,  1  hope, 
Christie?"  resumed  Lord  Ipsden. 

"  Ye  maun  ask  Flucker,  was  the 
reply.  "I  could  no  tak  muckle  no- 
tice, ye  ken,"  putting  her  hand  before 
her  eye,  and  half  smiling. 

"  Well !  I  hear  he  is  very  good  look- 
ing ;  and  I  hear  you  think  so  too." 

She  glided  to  him,  and  looked  in  his 
face.  He  gave  a  meaning  smile.  The 
poor  girl  looked  quite  perplexed.  Sud- 
denly she  gave  a  violent  start. 

'•  Christie  !  where  is  Christie  ?  "  had 
cried  a  well-known  voice,  lie  had 
learned   on     the    pier  who    had    sa'.ed 

him,  —  he  had  slipped  up  among  the 

boats  to  find  her,  —  he  could  not  find 
h's  hat,  —  he  could  not  wait  lor  it, — 
hia  dripping  hair  showed  where  he  had 
been,  —  it  was  her  lovewhom  she  had 
jnM  saved  out  of  Death's  very  jaws. 

She  gave  a  cry  of  love  that  went 
through  every  heart,  high  or  low, 
young  or  old,  that  heard  it.  And 
she  went  to  him,  through  the  air  it 
seemed  ;  hut,  quick  a>  she  was,  another 
was  ag  quick  ;  the  mother  had  seen 
him  firs:,  and  she  was  there.     Christie 

8* 


saw  nothing.  With  another  cry,  the 
very  key-note  of  her  great  and  loving 
heart,  she  flung  her  arms  round  — 
Mrs.  Gatty,  who  was  on  the  same  er- 
rand as  herself. 

"  Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent ; 
Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flint  is  rent." 

The  old  woman  felt  Christie  touch 
her.  She  turned  from  her  son  in  a 
moment,  and  wept  upon  her  neck. 
Her  lover  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it, 
and  pressed  it  to  his  bosom,  and  tried 
to  speak  to  her ;  but  all  he  could  do 
Mas  to  sob  and  choke,  —  and  kiss  her 
hand  again. 

"  My  daughter  !  "  sobbed  the  old 
woman. 

At  that  word  Christie  clasped  her 
quickly  ;  and  then  Christie  began  to 
cry. 

"  I  am  not  a  stone,"  cried  Mrs.  Gat- 
ty. "  I  gave  him  life  ;  but  you  have 
saved  him  from  death.  O  Charles, 
never  make  her  repent  what  she  has 
doue  for  you." 

She  was  a  woman  after  all ;  and 
prudence  and  prejudice  melted  like 
snow  before  her  heart. 

There  were  not  many  dry  eyes,  — 
least  of  all  the  heroic  Lady  Bar- 
bara's. 

The  three  whom  a  moment  had 
made  one  were  becoming  calmer,  ami 
taking  one  another's  hands  for  life, 
when  a  diabolical  sound  arose,  —  and 
what  was  it.  but  Sandy  Liston,  who, 
after  furious  resistance,  was  blubber- 
ing with  explosive  but  short-lived  vi- 
olence '  Having  done  it,  he  was  the 
first  to  draw  everybody's  attention  to 
the  phenomenon  ;  and  affecting  to 
consider  it  a  purely  physical  attack, 
like  a  ciii/i  <}<■  solii/,  or  so  on,  he  pro- 
ceeded instantly  to  Drysel's  for  his 
panacea. 

Lady  Barbara  enjoined  Lord  Tps- 
den  to  watch  these  people,  and  not  to 
lose  a  word  they  said  ;  and,  after  she 
had  insisted  upon  kissing  Christie, 
she  went  oil'  to  her  carriage.  And 
she  too  was  so  happy,  she  cried  three 
distinct  times  on  her  way  to  Edin 
burgh. 


178 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


Lord  Ipsden,  having  reminded 
Gatty  of  his  engagement,  begged  him 
to  add  his  mother  and  Christie  to  the 

Earty,  and  escorted  Lady  Barbara  to 
er  phaeton. 

So  then  the  people  dispersed  by 
degrees. 

"  That  old  lady's  face  seems  famil- 
iar to  me,"  said  Lord  Ipsden,  as  he 
stood  on  the  little  natural  platform 
by  the  " Peacock."  "Do  you  know 
Who  she  is,  Saunders  ?  " 

"  It  is  Peggy,  that  was  cook  in  your 
Lordship's  uncle's  time,  my  Lord. 
She  married  a  green-grocer,"  added 
Saunders,  with  an  injured  air. 

"Hech!  hcch!"  cried  Flucker, 
"  Christie  has  ta'en  up  her  head  wi' 
a  cook's  son." 

Mrs.  Gatty  was  ushered  into  the 
"  Peacock,"  with  mock  civility,  by 
Mr.  Saunders.  No  recognition  took 
place,  each  being  ashamed  of  the  oth- 
er as  an  acquaintance. 

The  next  arrival  was  a  beautiful 
young  lady,  in  a  black  silk  gown,  a 
plain  but  duck-like  plaid  shawl,  who 
proved  to  be  Christie  Johnstone,  in 
her  Sunday  attire. 

When  they  met,  Mrs.  Gatty  gave  a 
little  scream  of  joy,  and  said  :  "  O 
my  child  ;  if  I  had  seen  you  in  that 
dress,  I  should  never  have  said  a 
word  against  you." 

"  Pars  minima  est  ipsa  puella  sui  ! ' 

His  Lordship  stepped  up  to  her, 
took  off  his  hat,  and  said :  "  Will 
Mrs.  Gatty  take  from  me  a  commis- 
sion for  two  pictures,  as  big  as  her- 
self, and  as  bonny  ?  "  added  he,  doing 
a  little  Scotch.  He  handed  her  a 
check ;  and,  turning  to  Gatty,  add- 
ed, "  At  your  convenience,  sir,  bien 
entendu." 

"  Hcch  !  it 's  for  five  hundred  pund, 
Chairles." 

"  Good  gear  gangs  in  little  book,"  * 
said  Jean. 

"  Ay,  does  it,"  replied  Flucker,  as- 
suming the  compliment. 

"  My  Lord !  "  said  the  artist,  "  you 
treat  Art  like  a  prince ;  and  she  shall 

*  Bulk. 


treat  you  like  a  queen.  When  tha 
sun  comes  out  again,  I  will  work  for 
you  and  fame.  You  shall  have  two 
things  painted,  every  stroke  loyally 
in  the  sunlight.  In  spite  of  gloomy 
winter  and  gloomier  London,  I  will 
try  if  I  can't  hang  nature  and  sum- 
mer on  your  walls  forever.  As  for 
me,  you  know  I  must  go  to  Gerard 
Dow  and  Cuyp,  and  Pierre  de  Hoogh, 
when  my  little  sand  is  run  ;  but  my 
handwriting  shall  warm  your  chil- 
dren's children's  hearts,  sir,  when 
this  hand  is  dust."  His  eye  turned 
inwards,  he  walked  to  and  fro,  and 
his  companions  died  out  of  his  sight, 
—  he  was  in  the  kingdom  of  art. 

His  Lordship  and  Jean  entered  the 
"  Peacock,"  followed  by  Flucker, 
who  merely  lingered  at  the  door  to 
moralize  as  follows  :  — 

"  Hech  !  hech !  isna  thaat  lamenta- 
ble ?  Christie's  mon  's  as  daft  as  a 
drunk  weaver." 

But  one  stayed  quietly  behind,  and 
assumed  that  moment  the  office  of  her 
life. 

"  Ay  !  "  he  burst  out  again,  "  the 
resources  of  our  art  are  still  unfathamed  ! 
Pictures  are  yet  to  be  painted  that  shall 
refresh  men's  inner  soiils,  and  help  their 
hearts  against  the  artificial  world ;  and 
charm  the  fiend  away,  like  David's 
harp !  I  The  world,  after  centuries  of 
lies,  will  give  nature  and  truth  a  trial. 
What  a  paradise  art  will  be,  when 
truths,  instead  of  lies,  shcdl  be  told  on  pa- 
per, on  marble,  on  canvas,  and  on  the 
boards!  !  J" 

"  Dinner  's  on  the  boarrd,"  mur- 
mured Christie,  alluding  to  Lord 
Ipsden's  breakfast ;  "  and  I  hae  the 
charge  o'  ye,"  pulling  his  sleeve,  hard 
enough  to  destroy  the  equilibrium  of 
a  flea. 

"  Then  don't  let  us  waste  our  time 
here.     O  Christie !  " 

"  What  est,  my  laddy  ?  " 

"  I  'm  so  preciously  hungry  ! ! !  !  " 

"  C-way  *  then  !  " 

Off  they  ran,  hand  in  hand,  sparks 
of  beauty,  love,  and  happiness  flying 
all  about  them. 

*  Come  away. 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


179 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"  There  is  nothing  but  meeting 
and  parting  in  this  world  !  "  and  you 
may  be  sure  the  incongruous  person- 
ages of  our  tale  could  not  long  be  to- 
gether. Their  separate  paths  had 
met  for  an  instant,  in  one  focus,  fur- 
nished then  and  there  the  matter  of 
an  ecentric  story,  and  then  diverged 
forever. 

Our  lives  have  a  general  current, 
and  also  an  episode  or  two  ;  and  the 
episodes  of  a  commonplace  life  are 
often  rather  startling  ;  in  like  manner 
this  tale  is  not  a  specimen,  but  an 
episode  of  Lord  Ipsden  and  Lady 
Barbara,  who  soon  after  this  married 
and  lived  like  the  rest  of  thebeau  monde. 
In  so  doing,  they  passed  out  of  my 
hands  ;  such  as  wish  to  know  how 
Viscounts  and  Viscountesses  feed,  and 
Bleep,  and  do  the  domestic  (so  called), 
and  the  social  (so  called),  are  referred 
to  the  fashionable  novel.  To  Mr. 
Saunders,  for  instance,  who  has  in 
the  press  one  of  those  eerberus-levia- 
thans  of  fiction,  so  common  now  ; 
incredible  as  folio  to  future  ages. 
Saunders  will  take  you  by  the  hand, 
and  lead  you  over  carpets  two  inches 
thick,  —  under  rosy  curtains,  —  to 
dinner-tables.  He  will  fete  you,  and 
opera  you,  and  dazzle  your  young 
imagination  with  €pergnes,  and  sal- 
vers, and  buhl,  and  ormolu.  No  fish- 
wives or  painters  shall  intrude  upon 
his  polished  scenes  ;  all  shall  be  as 
genteel  as  himself.  Saunders  is  a 
good  authority  ;  he  is  more  in  tfw  so- 
ciety, and  far  more  in  the  confidence 
of  the  great,  than  most  fashionable 
novelists.  Mr.  Saunders's  work  will 
be  in  three  volumes  ;  nine  hundred 
and  ninety  pages !!!!!! 

In  other  words,  this  single  work,  of 
this  ingenious  writer,  will  equal  in 
bulk  the  aggregate  of  all  the  writings 
extant  by  Moses,  David,  Solomon, 
Isaiah,  and  St.  Paal ! !  ! 

I  shall  not  venture  into  competition 
with  this  behemoth  of  the  s'llon ;  I 
will  evaporate  in  thin  generalities. 

Lord  Ipsdcn  then  lived  very  happi- 


ly with  Lady  Barbara,  whose  hero  he 
straightway  became,  and  who  nobly 
and  poetically  dotes  upon  him.  He  has 
gone  into  political  life  to  please  her, 
and  will  remain  there  —  to  please  him- 
self. They  were  both  very  grateful  to 
Newhaven  ;  when  they  married  they 
vowed  to  visit  it  twice  a  year,  and  min- 
gle a  fortnight's  simple  life  with  its 
simple  scenes ;  but  four  years  have 
passed,  and  they  have  never  been 
there  again,  and  I  dare  say  never  will ; 
but  when  Viscount  Ipsden  falls  in 
with  a  brother  aristocrat,  who  is 
crushed  by  the  fiend  ennui,  he  remem- 
bers Aberford,  and  condenses  his  fa- 
mous recipe  into  a  two-edged  hex- 
ameter, which  will  make  my  learned 
reader  laugh,  for  it  is  full  of  wis- 
dom :  — 

"  Diluculo  snrgas  !  miseris  succurrere    dis- 
cas  !  '  " 

Flucker  Johnstone  meditated  dur- 
ing breakfast  upon  the  five  hundred 
pounds,  and  regretted  he  had  not 
years  ago  adopted  Mr.  Gatty's  profes- 
sion ;  some  days  afterwards  he  invit- 
ed his  sister  to  a  conference.  Chairs 
being  set,  Mr.  Flucker  laid  down 
this  observation,  that  near  relations 
should  be  deuced  careful  not  to  cast 
discredit  upon  one  another ;  that  now 
his  sister  was  to  be  a  lady,  it  was  re- 
pugnant to  his  sense  of  right  to  be  a 
fisherman  and  make  her  ladyship 
blush  for  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
felt  it  his  duty  to  rise  to  such  high 
consideration  that  she  should  be  proud 
of  him. 

Christie  acquiesced  at  once  in  this 
position,  but  professed  herself  embar- 
rassed  to  know  how  such  a  "  ne'er-do- 
weel  "  was  to  be  made  a  source  of 
pride  ;  then  she  kissed  Flucker,  and 
said,  in  a  tone  somewhat  inconsistent 
with  the  above,  "  Tell  me,  my 
laamb!" 

Her  lamb  informed  her  that  the 
sea  has  many  paths  ;  some  of  them 
disgraceful,  such  as  line  or  net  Sail- 
ing, and  the  periodical  laying  down, 
on  rocky  shoals,  and  taking  up  again, 
of  lobster-creels  ;    others,  superior  tu 


180 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


anything  the  dry  land  can   offer  in 
importance  and  dignity  and  general 
estimation,  such  as  the  command  of 
a  merchant  vessel  trading  to  the  East 
or  West  Indies.     Her  lamb  then  sug- 
gested that  if  she  would  be  so  good 
as   to  launch  him    in  the  merchant- 
service,   with  a  good  rig  of  clothes 
and  money  in   his   pocket,  there  was 
that  in  his  head  which  would  enable 
him  to  work  to  windward  of  most  of 
his    contemporaries.      He   bade    her 
calculate  upon  the  following  results  : 
in  a  year  or  two  he  would   be  sec- 
ond mate,  and  next  year  first   mate, 
and  in   a  few  years    more  skipper ! 
Think  of  that,  lass  !      Skipper  of  a 
Vessel,  whose  rig  he  generously  left 
his  sister  free  to  determine ;  premis- 
ing that  two  masts  were,  in  his  the- 
ory of  navigation,  indispensable,  and 
that   three  were   a   great  deal  more 
like  Cocker  than  two.     This  led  to  a 
general   consultation  ;  Flucker's  am- 
bition   was    discussed    and    praised. 
That    modest  young  gentleman,   in 
spite  of  many  injunctions  to  the  con- 
trary, communicated  his  sister's  plans 
for  him  to  Lord  Ipsden,  and  affected 
to  doubt  their  prudence.      The  bait 
took  ;  Lord  Ipsden  wrote  to  his  man 
of  business,  and  an  unexpected   blow 
fell  upon  the  ingenious  Flucker.     He 
was  sent  to  school ;  there  to  learn  a 
little  astronomy,  a  little  navigation,  a 
little   seamanship,    a  little   manners, 
&c. ;  in  the  mysteries  of  reading  and 
writing   his   sister   had   already  per- 
fected   him   by   dint  of  "  the   taws." 
This  school  was  a  blow ;  but  Fluck- 
er was  no  fool ;  he  saw  there  was  no 
way  of  getting    from    school   to  sea 
without   working.       So   he    literally 
worked  out  to  sea.     His  first  voyage 
Was    distinguished   by  the   following 
peculiarities :  attempts  to   put  tricks 
Upon  this  particular  novice  generally 
ended   in  the    laugh  turning  against 
the   experimenters  ;     and    instead  of 
drinking  his  grog,  which  he  hates, 
he  secreted  it,  and  sold  it  for  various 
advantages.     He  has  been  now  four 
voyages  ;  when   he  comes  ashore,  in 
stead  of  going  ti>  bnvata  of  tolly  and 


vice,  he  instantly  bears  up  for  his 
sister's  house,  —  Kensington  Gravel- 
pits,  —  which  he  makes  in  the  follow- 
ing manner  :  he  goes  up  the  river, 
—  Heaven  knows  where  all,  —  this  he 
calls  running  down  the  longitude ; 
then  he  lands,  and  bears  down  upon 
the  Gravel-pits  ;  in  particular  knowl- 
edge of  the  names  of  streets  he  is 
deficient,  but  he  knows  the  exact 
bearings  of  Christie's  dwelling.  He 
tacks  and  wears  according  as  mason- 
ry compels  him,  and  he  arrives  at 
the  gate.  He  nails  the  house,  in  a 
voice  that  brings  all  the  inhabitants 
of  the  row  to  their  windows,  includ- 
ing Christie;  he  is  fallen  upon  and 
dragged  into  the  house.  The  first 
thing  is,  he  draws  out  from  his  boots, 
and  his  back,  and  other  hiding-places, 
China  crape  and  marvellous  silk  hand- 
kerchiefs for  Christie ;  and  she  takes 
from  his  pocket  a  mass  of  Oriental 
sugar  -  plums,  with  which,  but  for 
this  precaution,  she  knows  by  expe- 
rience he  would  poison  young  Char* 
ley  ;  and  soon  he  is  to  be  seen  sity 
ting  with  his  hand  in  his  sister's, 
and  she.  looking  like  a  mother  upon 
his  handsome,  weather  -  beaten  face, 
and  Gatty  opposite,  adoring  him  as 
a  specimen  of  male  beauty,  and  some- 
times making  furtive  sketches  of  him. 
And  then  the  tales  he  always  brings 
with  him ;  the  house  is  never  very 
dull,  but  it  is  livelier  than  ever  when 
this  inexhaustible  sailor  casts  anchor 
in  it. 

The  friends  (chiefly  artists)  who 
used  to  leave  at  9-30,  stay  till  eleven  ; 
for  an  intelligent  sailor  is  better  com- 
pany than  two  lawyers,  two  bishops, 
three  soldiers,  and  four  writers  of 
plays  and  tales,  all  rolled  together. 
And  still  he  tells  Christie  he  shall 
command  a  vessel  some  day,  and 
leads  her  to  the  most  cheering  in- 
ferences from  the  fact  of  his  prudence 
and  his  general  width-awake  ;  in  par- 
ticular he  bids  her  contrast  with  him 
the  general  fate  of  sailors,  eaten  up  by 
land-sharks,  particularly  of  the  female 
gender,  whom  he  demonstrates  to  be 
ths  rors*  enemies  poor  Jack  has  ;  he 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


181 


catts  these  sunken  rocks,  fire-ships, 
and  other  metaphors.  He  concludes 
thus  :  "  You  are  all  the  lass  I  mean 
to  have,  till  I  'm  a  skipper,  and  then 
I  '11  bear  up  alongside  some  pretty, 
decent  lass,  like  yourself,  Christie, 
and  we'll  sail  in  company  all  our 
lives,  let  the  wind  blow  high  or  low." 
Such  is  the  gracious  Flucker  become 
in  his  twentieth  year.  Last  voyage, 
with  Christie's  aid,  he  produced  a 
sextant  of  his  own,  and  "  made  it 
twelve  o'clock  "  (with  the  sun's  con- 
sent, I  hope),  and  the  eyes  of  authori- 
ty fell  upon  him.  So,  who  knows  ? 
perhaps  ho  may  one  day  sail  a  ship  ; 
and,  if  he  does,  he  will  be  prouder 
and  happier  than  if  we  made  him 
monarch  of  the  globe. 

To  return  to  our  chiefs  ;  Mrs.  Gat- 
ty  gave  her  formal  consent  to  her  son's 
marriage  with  Christie  Johnstone. 

There  were  examples.  Aristocracy 
had  ere  now  condescended  to  wealth  ; 
earls  had  married  women  rich  by  tal- 
low-importing papas  ;  and  no  doubt, 
had  these  same  earls  been  consulted  in 
Gatty's  case,  they  would  have  decided 
that  Christie  Johnstone,  with  her  real 
and  funded  property,  was  not  a  vil- 
lanous  match  for  a  green  grocer's  son, 
without  a  rapp*  ;  but  Mrs.  Gatty  did 
not  reason  so,  did  not  reason  at  all, 
luckily,  her  heart  ran  away  with  her 
judgment,  and,  her  judgment  ceasiug 
to  act,  she  became  a  wise  woman. 

The  case  was  peculiar.  Gatty  was 
an  artist  /mr  sunt/,  —  and  Christie, 
who  would  not  have  been  the  wife  for 
a  petit  until  n-,  was  the  wife  of  wives 
for  him. 

lie  wanted  a  beautiful  wife  to  em- 
bellish his  canvas,  disfigured  hitherto 
by  an  injudicious  selection  of  models; 
a  virtuous  wife  to  be  his  crown  ;  a 
prudent  wile  to  save  him  from  ruin  ; 
a  cheerful  wife  to  sustain  his  spirits, 
drooping  at  times  by  virtue  of  his 
artist's  temperament;  an  intellectual 
wife  to  preserve  his  children  from 
being  born  dolts,  and  bred  dunces,  and 
to  keep  his  own  mind  from  sharpening 
to  one  point,  and  so  contracting  and  be- 
*  A  diminutive  Ckrniau  coin. 


coming  monomaniacal :  and  he  found 
all  these  qualities,  together  with  the 
sun  and  moon  of  human  existence, 
—  true  love  and  true  religion,  —  in 
Christie  Johnstone. 

In  similar  cases,  foolish  men  have 
set  to  work  to  make,  in  six  months, 
their  diamond  of  nature,  the  exact 
cut  and  gloss  of  other  men's  pastes, 
and,  nervously  watching  the  process, 
have  suffered  torture ;  luckily  Charles 
Gatty  was  not  wise  enough  for  this  ; 
he  saw  nature  had  distinguished  her 
he  loved  beyond  her  fellows  ;  here,  as 
elsewhere,  he  had  faith  in  nature,  — 
he  believed  that  Christie  would  charm 
everybody  of  eye,  and  car,  and  mind, 
and  heart,  that  approached  her ;  he 
admired  her  as  she  was,  and  left  her 
to  polish  herself,  if  she  chose.  He 
did  well ;  she  came  to  London  with  a 
fine  mind,  a  broad  brogue,  a  delicate 
ear  ;  she  observed  how  her  husband's 
friends  spoke,  and  in  a  very  few 
months  she  had  toned  down  her 
Scotch  to  a  rich  Ionic  coloring,  which 
her  womanly  instinct  will  never  let 
her  exchange  for  the  thin,  vhegar 
accents  that  are  too  prevalent  in  Eng- 
lish and  French  society  ;  and  in 
other  respects  she  caught,  by  easy 
gradation,  the  tone  of  the  new  society 
to  which  her  marriage  introduced  her, 
without,  however,  losing  her  charm- 
ing self. 

The  wise  dowager  lodges  hard  by, 
having  resisted  an  invitation  to  be  in 
the  same  house;  she  comes  to  that 
house  to  assist  the  young  wife  with 
her  experience,  anil  to  be  welcome, — 
not  to  interfere  every  minute,  and 
tease  her;  she  loves  her  daughter-in- 
law  almost  as  much  as  she  does  her 
son,  and  she  is  happy  because  he  bids 
fair  to  be  an  immortal  painter,  and, 
above  all,  a  gentleman  ;  and  she,  a 
wifely  wife,  a  motherly  mother,  and, 
above  all,  a  lady. 

This,  then,  is  a  happy  couple. 
Their  life  is  full  of  purpose  and  in- 
dustry, yet  lightened  by  gayety  ;  they 
go  to  operas,  theatres,  and  balls,  for 
they  are  young.  They  have  plenty 
of  society,  real  society,  not  the  ill-as- 


182 


CHRISTIE   JOHNSTONE. 


sorted  collection  of  a  predetermined 
number  of  bodies,  that  blindly  assumes 
that  name,  but  the  rich  communica- 
tion of  various  and  fertile  minds  ; 
they  very,  very  seldom  consent  to 
squat  four  mortal  hours  on  one  chair 
(like  old  hares  stiffening  in  their  hot 
forms),  and  nibbling,  sipping,  and 
twaddling,  in  four  mortal  hours, 
what  could  have  been  eaten,  drunken, 
and  said,  in  thirty-five  minutes.  They 
are  both  artists  at  heart,  and  it  shocks 
their  natures  to  see  folks  mix  so  very 
largely  the  inutile  with  the  insipidum, 
and  waste,  at  one  huge  but  barren 
incubation,  the  soul,  and  the  stomach, 
and  the  irrevocable  hours,  things 
with  which  so  much  is  to  be  done. 
But  they  have  many  desirable  ac- 
quaintances, and  not  a  few  friends ; 
the  latter  are  mostly  lovers  of 
truth  in  their  several  departments, 
and  in  all  things :  among  them  are 
painters,  sculptors,  engineers,  writers, 
conversers,  thinkers ;  these  acknowl- 
edging, even  in  England,  other  gods 
besides  the  intestines,  meet  often  chez 
Gatty,  chiefly  for  mental  intercourse ; 
a  cup  of  tea  with  such  is  found,  by 
experience,  to  be  better  than  a  stalled 
elk  where  chit-chat  reigns  over  the 
prostrate  hours. 

This,  then,  is  a  happy  couple ;  the 
very  pigeons  and  the  crows  need  not 
blush  for  the  nest  at  Kensington 
Gravel-pits.  There  the  divine  institu- 
tion Marriage  takes  its  natural  colors, 
and  it  is  at  once  pleasant  and  pood 
to  catch  such  glimpses  of  Heaven's 
design,  and  sad  to  think  how  often 
this  grent  boon,  accorded  by  God  to 
mnn  and  woman,  must  have  been 
abused  and  perverted,  ere  it  could 
have  sunk  to  be  the  standing  butt 
of  firce-writers,  and  the  theme  of 
weekly  punsters. 

In  this  pair  we  see  the  wonders  a 
male  and  female  can  do  for  each  oth- 
er in  the  sweet  bond  of  holy  wedlock. 
In  that  blessed  relation  alone  two  in- 
terests are  really  one,  and  two  hearts 
lie  safe  at  anchor  side  by  side. 

Christie  and  Charles  are  friends, — 
for  they  arc  man  and  wife. 


Christie  and  Charles  are  lovers  still, 
—  for  they  are  man  and  wife. 

Christie  and  Charles  are  one  for. 
ever,  —  for  they  are  man  and  wife. 

This  wife  brightens  the  house,  from 
kitchen  to  garret,  for  her  husband; 
this  husband  works  like  a  king  for 
his  wife's  comfort,  and  for  his  own 
fame,  —  and  that  fume  is  his  wife's 
glory.  When  one  of  these  expresses 
or  hints  a  wish,  the  other's  first  im- 
pulse is  to  find  the  means,  not  the 
objections. 

They  share  all  troubles,  and,  by 
sharing,  halve  them. 

They  share  all  pleasures,  and,  by 
sharing,  double  them. 

They  climb  the  hill  together  now, 
and  many  a  canty  day  they  shall  have 
with  one  another  ;  and  when,  by  the 
inevitable  law,  they  begin  to  descend 
towards  the  dark  valley,  they  will  still 
go  hand  in  hand,  smiling  so  tenderly, 
and  supporting  each  other,  with  a 
care  more  lovely  than  when  the  arm 
was  strong  and  the  foot  firm. 

On  these  two  temperate  lives  old 
age  will  descend  lightly,  gradually, 
gently,  and  late,  —  and  late  upon 
these  evergreen  hearts,  because  they 
are  not  tuned  to  some  selfish,  isolated 
key  ;  these  hearts  beat  and  ring  with 
the  young  hearts  of  their  dear  chil- 
dren, and  years  hence  papa  and  mam- 
ma will  begin  life  hopefully,  wishfully, 
warmly  again  with  each  loved  novice 
in  turn. 

And  when  old  age  does  come,  it 
will  be  no  calamity  to  these,  as  it  is  to 
you,  poor  battered  beau,  laughed  at 
by  the  fair  ninnies  who  erst  laughed 
with  you  ;  to  you,  poor  follower  of  sal- 
mon, fox,  and  pheasant,  whose  joints 
are  stiffening,  whose  nerve  is  gone,  — 
whose  Golgotha  remains  ;  to  you, 
poor  faded  beauty,  who  have  staked 
all  upon  man's  appetite,  and  not  ac- 
cumulated goodness  or  sense  for  your 
second  course ;  to  you,  poor  drawing- 
room  wit,  whose  sarcasm  has  turned 
to  venom  and  is  turning  to  drivel. 

What  terrors  has  old  age  for  this 
happy  pair  1  it  cannot  make  them 
ugly,  for,  though  the  purple  light  of 


CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


183 


youth  recedes,  a  new  kind  of  tran- 
quil beauty,  the  aloe-blossom  of  many 
years  of  innocence,  comes  to,  and  sits 
like  a  dove  upon,  the  aged  faces,  where 
goodness,  sympathy,  and  intelligence 
have  harbored  together  so  long  ;  and 
where  evil  passions  have  flitted  (for 
wc  are  all  human),  but  found  no  rest- 
ing-place. 

Old  age  is  no  calamity  to  them  : 
it  cannot  terrify  them ;  for  ere  they 
had  been  married  a  week  the  woman 
taught  the  man,  lover  of  truth,  to 
search  for  the  highest  and  greatest 
truths  in  a  book  written  for  men's 
souls  by  the  Author  of  the  world, 
the  sea,  the  stars,  the  sun,  the  soul; 
and  this  book,  Dei  gratia,  will,  as  the 
good  bishop  sings, 

"  Teach  them  to  live  that  they  may  dread 
The  grave  as  little  as  their  bed." 

It  cannot  make  them  sad,  for,  ere  it 


comes,  loved  souls  will  have  gone 
from  earth,  and  from  their  tender  bo- 
som, but  not  from  their  memories ;  and 
will  seem  to  beckon  them  now  across 
the  cold  valley  to  the  golden  land. 

It  cannot  make  them  sad,  for  on. 
earth  the  happiest  must  drink  a  sor- 
rowful cup  more  than  once  in  a  long 
life,  and  so  their  brightest  hopes  will 
have  come  to  dwell  habitually  on 
things  beyond  the  grave;  and  the 
great  painter,  jam  Senex,  will  chiefly 
meditate  upon  a  richer  landscape,  and 
brighter  figures  than  human  hand  has 
ever  painted;  a  scene  whose  glories 
he  can  see  from  hence  but  by  glimpses 
and  through  a  glass  darkly  ;  the  great 
meadows  on  the  other  side  of  Jordan, 
which  are  bright  with  the  spirits  of  the 
just  that  walk  there,  and  are  warmed 
with  an  eternal  sun,  and  ring  with  the 
triumph  of  the  humble  and  the  true, 
and  the  praises  of  God  forever. 


184  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE. 


NOTE. 

This  story  was  written  three  years  ago,  and  one  or  two  topics  in  it  are 
not  treated  exactly  as  they  would  be  if  written  by  the  same  hand  to-day. 
But  if  the  author  had  retouched  those  pages  with  his  colors  of  1853,  he 
would  (he  thinks)  have  destroyed  the  only  merit  they  have,  viz.  that  of 
containing  genuine  contemporaneous  verdicts  upon  a  cant  that  was  flourish- 
ing like  a  peony,  and  a  truth  that  was  struggling  for  bare  life,  in  the  year 
of  truth  1850. 

He  prefers  to  deal  fairly  with  the  public,  and,  with  this  explanation  and 
apology,  to  lay  at  its  feet  a  faulty  but  genuine  piece  of  work 


CLOUDS    AND    SUNSHINE. 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IT  is  the  London  Season !  Come 
into  the  country  !  It  is  hot,  and 
dusty,  and  muddy  here;  and  this 
opening  of  all  the  drains,  which  is  to 
hridle  all  the  disorders  by  and  by, 
poisons  us  dead  meanwhile,  O  Board 
of  Health  !     Come  into  the  country  ! 

In  Oxfordshire,  about  two  miles 
from  the  Thames,  and  on  the  skirts  of 
the  beech  forest  that  lies  between  Wal- 
lingford  and  Hendley,  stands  an  ir- 
regular farm-house;  it  looks  like  two 
houses  forced  to  pass  for  one ;  for  one 
part  of  it  is  all  gables,  and  tile,  and 
chimney-corners,  and  antiquity ;  the 
other  is  square,  slated,  and  of  the 
newest  cut  outside  and  in.  The 
whole  occupies  one  entire  side  of  its 
own  farmyard,  being  separated  from 
the  straw  only  by  a  small  Rubicon  of 
gravel  and  a  green  railing ;  though 
at  its  back,  out  of  the  general  view, 
is  a  pretty  garden. 

In  this  farm-house  and  its  neigh- 
borhood the  events  of  my  humble 
story  passed,  a  very  few  years  ago. 

Mrs.  Mayfield,  proprietor  of  the 
farm,  had  built  the  new  part  of  the 
house  for  herself,  though  she  did 
little  more  than  sleep  in  it.  In  the 
antique  part  lived  her  cousin,  old 
Farmer  Hathorn,  with  his  wife  and 
his  son  Robert.  Hathorn  was  him- 
self proprietor  of  a  little  land  two 
miles  off,  but  farmed  Mrs.  Mayfield's 
acres  upon  some  friendly  agreement, 
which  they  contrived  to  understand, 
but  few  else  could,  least  of  all  a 
shrewd  lawyer. 


The  truth  is,  the  inmates,  like  the 
house,  were  a  little  behind  their  age  : 
they  had  no  relations  that  were  not 
contained  within  these  four  walls,  and 
the  feeling  and  tie  of  blood  was  very 
strong  between  them  all. 

The  Hathorns  had  one  son,  Rob- 
ert, a  character;  he  was  silent,  and 
passed  with  some  for  sulky ;  but  he 
was  not  sulky,  only  reserved  and 
thoughtful ;  he  was,  perhaps,  a  little 
more  devoid  of  all  levity  than  be- 
comes a  young  man.  He  had  great 
force  and  weight  of  character ;  you 
might  see  that  in  his  brow,  and  his 
steady  manner,  free  from  flourishes. 
With  the  Hathorns  lived  Mr.  Case- 
nowcr,  a  retired  London  tradesman. 
This  gentleman  had  been  bought  out 
of  a  London  firm  for  his  scientific 
way  of  viewing  things  :  they  had  lost 
such  lots  of  money  by  it. 

He  had  come  to  the  Hathorns  for  a 
month,  and  had  now  been  with  them 
a  year,  with  no  intention,  on  either 
side,  of  parting  yet  awhile.  This 
good  accord  did  not  prevent  a  perpet- 
ual strife  of  opinions  between  Case- 
nower  and  old  Hathorn.  Casenower, 
the  science-bitten,  had  read  all  the 
books  chemists  wrote  on  agriculture, 
and  permitted  himself  to  believe  ev- 
ery word.  Hathorn  read  nothing  on 
agriculture,  but  the  sheep,  the  soil, 
the  markets,  and  the  clouds,  &c,  and 
sometimes  read  them  wrong,  but  not 
so  very  often. 

Rose  Mayfield  was  a  young  widow, 
fresh,  free,  high-spirited,  and  jovial  ; 
she  was  fond  of  company,  and  its  life 
and  soul  wherever  she  was.    She  loved 


188 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


flirtation,  and  she  loved  work ;  and 
when  she  could  not  combine  them 
she  would  take  them  by  turns ;  she 
would  leave  the  farm  every  now  and 
then,  go  to  a  friend  at  Oxford,  Read- 
ing, or  Abingdon,  and  flirt  like  wild- 
fire for  a  fortnight ;  then  she  would 
return  to  the  farm,  and  men,  boys, 
horses,  and  work  would  seem  to  go 
more  lively  before  she  had  been  back 
an  hour. 

Mrs.  Mayfield  was  a  grazier. 
Though  she  abandoned  her  arable 
land  to  her  cousin's  care,  she  divided 
with  him  her  grass  acres,  and  bred 
cattle,  and  churned  butter,  and  made 
cheeses,  and  showed  a  working  arm 
bare  till  dinner-time  (one  o'clock)  six 
days  in  the  week. 

This  little  farm-house  then  held  a 
healthy,  happy  party ;  but  one  was 
not  quite  content.  Parents  are  mat- 
rimonial schemers  ;  they  cannot  help 
it;  it 's  no  use  talking.  OldHathorn 
wanted  Rose  Mayfield  to  marry  his 
son  Robert,  and  so  make  all  sure. 
The  farmer  was  too  wise  to  be  always 
tormenting  the  pair  to  come  together, 
but  he  secretly  worked  towards  that 
end  whenever  he  could  without  being 
seen  through  by  them. 

Their  ages  were  much  the  same ; 
and  finer  specimens  of  rustic  stature 
and  beauty  in  either  sex  were  not  to 
be  seen  for  miles.  But  their  disposi- 
tions were  so  different,  that  when, 
upon  a  kind  word  or  a  civility  passing 
between  them,  old  Hathorn  used  to 
look  at  Mrs.  Hathorn,  Mrs.  Hathorn 
used  to  shake  her  head,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "  Maybe,  but  I  doubt  it." 

One  thing  the  farmer  built  on  was 
this  ;  that,  though  Mrs.  Mayfield  was 
a  coquette,  none  of  her  beaux  followed 
her  to  the  farm.  "  She  won't  have 
them  here,"  argued  Hathorn,  "  and 
that  shows  she  has  a  respect  for  Rob- 
ert at  bottom." 

The  good  farmer's  security  was 
shaken  by  a  littlo  circumstance.  Bix 
Farm,  that  lay  but  a  mile  from  our 
ground,  was  to  let,  and,  in  course  of 
time,  was  taken  by  a  stranger  from 
Berkshire.     Coming  into  a  farm  is  a 


business  of  several  months  ;  but  the 
new  tenant,  a  gay,  dashing  young 
fellow,  came  one  day  to  look  over  his 
new  farm  ;  and,  to  Hathorn's  surprise, 
called  on  him,  and  inquired  for  Mrs. 
Mayfield.  At  sight  of  the  new-comer, 
that  lady  colored  up  to  the  eyes,  and 
introduced  him  to  her  cousin  as  Mr. 
Hickman.  The  name,  coupled  with 
her  manner,  struck  Hathorn,  but  he 
said  nothing  to  Rose.  He  asked  his 
wife  who  this  Hickman  was.  "  He  is 
a  stranger  to  me,"  was  the  reply, 
"  ask  Rose  ;  I  hear  he  was  her  beau 
out  Abingdon  way." 

Here  was  a  new  feature.  The  good 
farmer  became  very  uneasy ;  but  coun- 
try-folks have  plenty  of  tact.  He 
said  little,  —  he  only  warned  Robert 
(who  did  not  seem  dismayed  by  the 
intelligence),  and  held  himself  on  his 
guard. 

That  same  evening  the  whole  fam- 
ily party  were  seated  together,  towards 
sundown,  in  Hathorn's  dining-room, 
—  the  farmer  smoking  a  clay  pipe, 
Mrs.  Hathorn  sewing,  Mrs.  Mayfield 
going  in  and  out,  making  business ; 
but  Robert  was  painfully  reading 
some  old  deeds  he  had  got  from  Mrs. 
Mayfield  the  week  before.  This  had 
been  the  young  man's  occupation  for 
several  evenings,  and  Mrs.  Mayfield 
had  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  him 
and  his  deeds  more  than  once. 

On  the  present  occasion,  finding 
the  room  silent  and  reposeful,  a  state 
of  things  she  abhorred,  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Hathorn,  in  a  confidential  whis- 
per, so  bell-like,  that  they  all  heard  it, 
as  she  meant  them,  "  Has  your  Rob- 
ert any  thoughts  of  turning  lawyer  at 
present  ?  " 

The  question  was  put  so  demurely, 
that  the  old  people  smiled  and  did  not 
answer,  but  looked  towards  Rohert  to 
answer.  The  said  Robert  smiled,  and 
went  on  studying  the  parchment. 

"  Pie  does  n't  make  us  much  the 
wiser,  though ;  does  he  ?  "  continued 
Mrs.  Mayfield.  "  Silence  !  "  cried  the 
tormentor,  the  next  moment,  "he  is 
going  to  say  something.  He  is  only 
waiting  till  the  sun  goes  down." 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


189 


"TTc  is  only  waiting:  till  he  has  got 
something  to  say,"  replied  Robert,  in 
his  quiet  way. 

"  Ah ! "  was  the  reply  ;  "  that  is  a 
trick  you  have  got.  I  say,  Jane,  if  I 
was  to  wait  for  that,  what  would 
become  of  the  house  1  " 

"  It  would  not  be  so  gay  as  it  is,  I 
dare  say,  Rose." 

"And  that  would  be  a  pity,  you 
know.  Well,  Bob,  Avhen  do  you  look 
to  have  something  to  say  ?  to-morrow 
night,  —  if  the  weather  holds  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  something 
to  say  as  soon  as  I  have  read  this 
through."  He  examined  the  last  leaf, 
—  then  laid  it  down.  "  I  have  some- 
thing to  say." 

Mrs.  Hathorn  laid  down  her  work. 

"  Cousin  Mayfield,"  said  Robert, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  Uxmoor 
Farm  ?  " 

Cousin  Mayfield,  who  had  been  all 
expectation,  burst  into  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ter that  rang  through  the  room  like  a 
little  peal  of  bells.  Mrs.  Hathorn 
looked  vexed,  and  Robert  colored  for 
a  moment;  but  he  resumed  coolly: 
"  Why,  it  is  two  hundred  acres,  most- 
ly good  soil,  and  it  marches  with  your 
up-hill  land.  Squire  Phillips,  that 
has  just  got  it,  counts  it  the  cream  of 
his  estate." 

"  And  what  have  I  to  do  with 
Squire  Phillips  and  Uxmoor?  " 

"  Why,  this,  Rose.  I  think  Ux- 
moor belongs  to  you." 

"Nonsense, — is  the  boy  mad? 
Why,  Squire  Phillips  got  it  along 
with  Hurley,  and  Norton,  .and  all  the 
Lydalls'  farms.  Of  course  they  are 
all  mine  l>y  ri^ht  of  blood,  if  every 
one  bad  their  own  ;  but  they  were  ail 
willed  away  from  us  fifty  years  ago. 
Who  docs  n't  know  that  ?  No  :  Squire 
Phillips  is  rooted  there  too  fast  for  us 
to  take  him  up." 

"  It  does  not  belong  to  Squire  Phil- 
lips," was  the  cool  reply. 

"  To  whom,  then  ?  " 

"To  you,  Rose  ;  or,  if  not  to  you, 
to  father  yonder, —  but,  unless  I  am 
much  mistaken,  it  belongs  to  you.  I 
am  no  great  discourser,"   continued 


Robert ;  "  so  I  haVx.  written  it  down  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  here.  I  wish 
you  would  look  at  this  paper,  and 
you  might  read  it  over  to  father  and 
mother,  if  you  will  be  so  good.  I  am 
going  my  rounds  "  ;  and  out  strolled 
Mr.  Robert,  to  see  that  every  cow 
was  foddered,  and  every  pig  had  his 
share  of  the  trough. 

Mrs.  Mayfield  took  Robert's  paper, 
and  read  what  he  had  written,  —  some 
score  of  little  dry  sentences,  each  of 
them  a  link  in  a  chain  of  fact,  —  and 
this  was  the  general  result :  Fifty 
years  ago  Mrs.  Mayfield's  father's  fa- 
ther had  broken  off  all  connection 
with  his  son,  and  driven  him  out  of 
his  house  and  disinherited  him,  and 
adopted  in  his  stead  the  father  of 
Squire  Phillips.  The  disinherited,  be- 
ing supplied  with  money  by  his  moth- 
er, had  got  on  in  the  world,  and  con- 
soled himself  for  the  loss  ©f  his  father's 
farms  by  buying  one  or  two  of  his 
own.  He  died  before  his  father,  and 
bequeathed  all  he  possessed  to  his 
daughter  Rose.  At  last  the  old  fel- 
low died  at  an  immense  age,  and  under 
his  will  Squire  Philips  took  all  his  lit- 
tle estates  :  but  here  came  in  Robert's 
discovery.  Of  those  four  little  es- 
tates, one  had  come  into  the  old  fel- 
low's hands  from  his  wife's  father, 
and  through  his  wife ;  and  a  strict  set- 
tlement, drawn  so  long  ago  that  all, 
except  the  old  fellow  who  meant  to 
cheat  it,  had  forgotten  it,  secured  the 
Uxmoor  estate,  after  his  parents' 
death,  to  Rose  Mayfield's  father,  who 
by  his  will  had  unconsciously  trans- 
ferred it  to  Rose. 

This,  which  looks  clear,  had  been 
patiently  disentangled  from  a  mass 
of  idle  words  by  Robert  Hathorn,  and 
the  family  began  to  fall  gradually  into 
his  opinion;  The  result  was,  Mrs. 
Mayfield  went  to  law  with  Squire 
Phillips,  and  the  old  fanner's  hopes 
revived ;  for  he  thought,  and  with 
reason,  that  all  this  must  lie  another 
link  between  Robert  and  Rose  ;  and 
so  the  months  glided  on.  The  fate 
of  Uxmoor  was  soon  to  be  tried  at 
the    Assizes.      Mr.    Hickman    camo 


190 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


over  now  and  then,  preparatory  to  set- 
tling on  B-ix.  Mrs.  Mayfield  made 
no  secret  that  she  found  him  "  very 
good  company,"  —  that  was  her 
phrase,  —  and  he  courted  her  openly. 
Another  month  brought  the  great 
event  of  the  agricultural  year,  "the 
harvest."  This  part  of  Oxfordshire 
can  seldom  get  in  its  harvest  without 
the  assistance  of  some  strange  hands, 
and  Robert  agreed  with  three  Irish- 
men and  two  Hampshire  lads  the 
afternoon  before  the  wheat  harvest. 
*'  With  these  and  our  own  people  we 
shall  do  well  enough,  father,"  said  he. 

Just  before  the  sun  set,  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn  was  seated  outside  her  own 
door  with  her  work,  when  two  people 
came  through  the  farm-yard  to  speak 
to  her ;  a  young  woman  and  a  very 
old  man.  The  former  stood  a  little 
in  the  rear ;  and  the  old  man  came  up 
to  Mrs.  Hathorn,  and,  taking  off  his 
hat,  begged  for  employment  in  the 
fields. 

"  Our  number  is  made  up,  old 
man,"  was  the  answer. 

The  old  man's  head  drooped  ;  hut 
he  found  courage  to  say  :  "  One  more 
or  one  less  won't  matter  much  to  you, 
and  it  is  the  bread  of  life  to  us." 

"Poor  old  man,"  said  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn,  "  you  are  too  old  for  harvest 
work,  I  doubt." 

"No  such  thing,  dame,"  said  the 
old  man,  testily. 

"  What  is  it,  mother  1  "  cried  Rob- 
ert from  the  barn. 

"  An  old  man  and  his  daughter 
tome  for  harvest  work.  They  beg 
hard  for  it,  Robert." 

"  Give  them  their  supper,  mother, 
and  let  them  go." 

"  I  will,  Robert ;  no  doubt  the 
poor  things  are  hungry  and  weary 
and  all  "  :  and  she  put  down  her  work 
to  go  to  the  kitchen,  but  the  old  man 
stopped  her. 

"  We  are  here  for  work,  not  for 
charity,"  said  he;  "and  won't  take 
anything  we  don't  earn." 

Mrs.  Hathorn  looked  surprised,  and 
a  little  affronted.  The  girl  stepped 
nearer. 


"  No  need  to  speak  so  sharp,  grand- 
father," said  she,  in  a  clear,  cold,  but 
winning  voice  ;  "  charity  is  not  so 
common.  We  thank  you,  dame.  He 
is  an  old  soldier,  and  prouder  than 
becomes  the  like  of  us.  Good  even, 
and  good  luck  to  your  harvest !  " 

They  turned  to  go. 

"  Stop,  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Hathorn. 
"  Robert,"  cried  she,  "  I  wish  you 
would  come  here." 

Robert  put  on  his  coat,  and  came  up. 

"  It  is  an  old  soldier,  Robert ;  and 
they  seem  decent  folk,  the  pair  of 
them." 

"  An  old  soldier  !  "  said  Robert, 
looking  with  some  interest  at  the  old 
man,  who,  though  stiff  in  the  joints, 
was  very  erect. 

"  Ay !  young  man,"  said  the  other, 
boldly,  "  when  I  was  your  age  I 
fought  for  the  land  ;  and  now,  you 
see,  I  must  not  work  upon  it !  " 

Robert  looked  at  his  mother. 

"  Come,  Robert,"  said  she,  "  we 
may  all  live  to  be  old  if  it  pleases 
God." 

"  Well,"  said  Robert,  "  it  seems 
hard  to  refuse  an  old  soldier ;  but  he 
is  very  old,  and  the  young  woman 
looks  delicate ;  I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  how  to  bargain  with  them." 

"  Count  our  two  sickles  as  one, 
sir,"  said  the  girl,  calmly. 

"  So  be  it," said  Robert ;  "anyway, 
we  will  give  you  a  trial  " ;  and  he  re- 
turned to  his  work.  And  Corporal 
Patrick,  for  that  was  the  old  soldier's 
name,  no  longer  refused  the  homely 
supper  that  was  offered  him,  since  he 
could  work  it  out  in  the  morning. 

The  next  morning  at  six  o'clock 
the  men  and  women  were  all  in  the 
wheat :  Robert  Hathorn  at  the  head 
of  them,  for  Robert  was  one  of  the 
best  reapers  in  the  country-side. 

Many  a  sly  jest  passed  at  the  ex- 
pense of  Patrick  and  his  grand- 
daughter Rachael.  The  old  man  of- 
ten answered,  but  Rachael  hardly 
ever.  At  the  close  of  the  day,  they 
drew  apart  from  all  the  rest,  and 
seemed  content  when  they  were  alone 
together. 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


191 


In  the  course  of  a  day  or  two,  the 
reapers  began  to  observe  that  Rachael 
was  very  handsome ;  and  then  she 
became  the  object  of  much  coarse 
admiration.  Rachael  was  as  little 
affected  by  this  as  by  their  satire. 
She  evaded  it  with  a  cold  contempt, 
which  left  little  more  to  be  said  ;  and 
then  her  rustic  admirers  took  part 
with  the  women  against  her. 

Rachael  was  pale ;  and  perhaps 
this  was  one  reason  why  her  beauty 
did  not  strike  the  eye  all  at  once ;  but, 
when  you  came  to  know  her  face,  she 
was  beautiful.  Her  long  eyelashes 
were  heavenly  ;  her  eye  was  full  of 
soul ;  her  features  were  refined,  and 
her  skin  was  white  and  transparent, 
and  a  slight  blush  came  readily  to  it, 
at  which  moment  she  was  lovely.  It 
must  be  owned  she  did  not  appear  to 
advantage  in  the  field  among  the  reap- 
ers ;  for  there  she  seemed  to  feel  at ' 
war  ;  and  her  natural  dignity  degener-  i 
ated  into  a  certain  doggedness.  After 
a  while  Mrs.  Hathorn  took  a  fancy 
to  her  ;  and  when  she  was  beside  this 
good,  motherly  creature,  her  asperity 
seemed  to  soften  down,  and  her  cold- 
ness  turned  to  a  not  unamiahlc  pen- 
siveness. 

Mrs.  Hathorn  said  one  evening  to 
Robert  :  "  Hubert,  look  at  that  girl. 
Do  try  and  liud  out  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  her.  She  is  a  good  girl  as 
ever  broke  bread  ;  but  she  breaks  my  I 
heart  to  look  at  her ;  she  is  like  a 
marble  statue.  It  is  not  natural  at 
her  years  to  be  so  reserved." 

"  Oli !  "  answered  Robert,  "  let  her  [ 
alone,  there  are  talkers  enough  in  the 
world.     She  is  a   modest  girl,  —  the 
only  one  in  the  field,  I  should  say,  —  j 
and  that  is  a  great  ornament  to  all  j 
women,  if  the}-  would  but  see  it." 

"  Well,  Robert,  at  all  events,  have 
your  eye  on  them  ;  they  are  stran- 
gers, and  the  people  about  here  are 
vulgar  -  behaved  to  strangers,  you 
know." 

"  I  '11  take  care  ;  and,  as  for  Ra- 
chael, she  knows  bow  to  answer  the 

fools, —  [  noticed  that  the  first  day." 

Sunday  evening  came;   the  villa- 


gers formed  in  groups  about  the  ale- 
house, the  stocks,  and  the  other 
points  of  resort,  and  their  occasional 
laughter  fell  discordantly  upon  the 
ear,  so  holy  and  tranquil  seemed  the 
air  and  the  sky.  Robert  Hathorn 
strolled  out  at  the  back  of  the  house 
to  drink  the  Sabbath  sunset  after  a 
week  of  toil :  at  the  back  of  the 
largest  barn  was  a  shed,  and  from 
this  shed,  as  he  drew  near  to  it,  there 
issued  sounds  that  seemed  to  him  as 
sweetly  in  unison  with  that  holy  sun- 
set as  the  villagers'  rude  mirth  was 
out  of  tune.  He  came  to  the  back  of 
the  shed,  and  it  was  Rachael  reading 
the  Bible  aloud  to  her  grandfather. 
The  words  were  golden,  and  fell  like 
dew  upon  all  the  spirits  within  their 
reach,  —  upon  Robert,  who  listened 
to  them  unseen  ;  upon  Patrick,  whose 
testy  nature  was  calmed  and  soothed ; 
and  upon  Rachael  herself,  who  seemed 
at  this  moment  more  hopeful,  and 
less  determined  to  shrink  within  her- 
self. Her  voice,  always  sweet  and 
winning,  became  richer  and  mellower 
as  she  read  ;  and  when  she  closed  the 
book,  she  said,  with  a  modest  fervor 
one  would  hardly  have  suspected  her 
of,  "  Blessed  be  God  for  this  book, 
grandfather !  I  do  think  it  is  the 
best  thing  of  all  the  good  things  he 
has  given  the  world,  and  it  is  very 
encouraging  to  people  of  low  condi- 
tion like  us." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  old  man,  "  those 
were  bold  words  you  read  just  now, 
'  Blessed  are  the  poor.'  ' 

"  Let  us  take  them  to  heart,  old 
man,  since,  strange  as  theyr  sound, 
they  must  be  true." 

Corporal  Patrick  pondered  awhile 
in  silence,  then  said  he  was  weary  : 
"  Lei  us  bless  the  good  people  whoso 
bread  we  have  eaten  this  while,  anil 
I  will  go  to  sleep  ;  Rachael,  my  child, 
if  it  was  not  for  you,  I  could  wish  not 

to  wake  again." 

Poor  old  man,  he  was  aweary  ;  he 
had  seen  better  days,  and  fourscore, 
year-  is  a  great  age;  and  he  bad  been 
a  soldier,  and  fought  in  great  battles 
head  erect,  and  now,  in  his  feeble  days, 


192 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


it  was  hard  to  have  to  bow  the  hack 
and  bend  over  the  sickle  among  l>oys 
and  girls  who  jeered  him,  and  whose 
peaceful  grandsires  he  had  defended 
against  England's  enemies. 

Corporal  Patrick  and  his  grand- 
daughter went  into  the  barn  to  sleep, 
as  heretofore,  on  the  straw.  Robert 
Hat  horn  paced  thoughtfully  home, 
and  about  half  an  hour  after  this  a 
cow-boy  came  into  the  barn  to  tell  Cor- 
poral Patrick  there  were  two  truckle- 
beds  at  his  service  in  a  certain  loft, 
which  he  undertook  to  show  him.  So 
the  old  soldier  and  Kachael  bivouacked 
no  longer  in  the  barn. 

•'  Who  sent  you  1 "  said  Raehael  to 
the  boy. 

"  Mistress." 

After  this  Robert  Hathorn  paid 
considerable  attention  both  to  Patrick 
and  Rachael,  and  she  showed  by  de- 
grees that  she  was  not  quite  ice  to 
a  man  that  could  respect  her;  not 
that  her  manner  was  inviting  even  to 
him,  but  at  least  it  was  courteous, 
and  once  or  twice  she  even  smiled  on 
him,  and  a  beautiful  smile  it  was  when 
it  did  come ;  and,  whether  from  its 
beauty  or  its  rarity,  made  a  great  im- 
pression on  all  who  saw  it. 

It  was  a  fine  harvest-time,  upon  the 
whole,  and  with  some  interruptions 
the  work  went  merrily  on  ;  the  two 
strangers,  in  spite  of  hard  labor,  im- 
proved in  appearance.  Mrs.  Hathorn 
set  this  down  to  the  plentiful  and 
nourishing  meals  which  issued  twice  a 
clay  from  Iter  kitchen  ;  and,  as  they  had 
always  been  her  favorites,  she  drew 
Robert's  attention  to  the  bloom  that 
began  to  spread  over  Rachael's  cheek, 
and  the  old  soldier's  brightening 
eye,  as  her  work  in  a  great  measure. 

Mrs.  Mayfield  was  away,  and  dur- 
ing her  absence  Hickman  had  not 
come  once  to  visit  his  farm  or  Ha- 
tborn's.     This  looked  ugly. 

"  Wife,"  said  the  farmer,  one  day, 
"  what  makes  our  Robert  so  moody  of 
late  ? " 

"  O,  you  have  noticed  it,  have  you  ? 
Then  I  am  right ;  the  boy  has  some- 
thing on  his  mind." 


"  That  is  easy  to  be  seen,  and  1 
think  I  know  what  it  is." 

"  Do  you,  John  ?  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  he  sees  this  Hickman  is  in 
a  fair  way  to  carrv  oft'  Rose  May- 
field." 

"  It  is  not  that." 

"  Why,  what  else  can  it  be  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  wonder  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Hathorn,  "that  a  man  shouldn't 
know  his  own  son  better  than  you 
seem  to  know  Robert.  They  are  very 
good  friends ;  but  what  makes  you 
think  Robert  would  marry  her  ?  Have 
you  forgotten  how  strict  he  is  about 
women  i  Why  did  he  part  with 
Lucy  Blackwood,  the  only  sweetheart 
he  ever  had  ?  " 

"  Handed  if  I  remember." 

"  Because  she  got  herself  spoken  of 
flirting  at  Oxford  races  once  in  a  way ; 
and  Rose  does  mostly  nothing  else. 
And  they  do  say  that  once  or  twice 
since  her  husband  died,  ahem  !  —  " 

"  She  has  kicked  over  the  traces 
altogether  ?     Fiddlestick  !  " 

"Fiddlestick  be  it !  She  is  a  fine, 
spirity  woman,  and  such  are  apt  to 
set  folk  talking  more  than  they  can 
prove.  Well,  Robert  would  n't  marry 
a  woman  that  made  folk  talk  about 
her." 

"  0,  he  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to 
fling  the  farm  to  a  stranger.  When 
does  Rose  come  home  ?  " 

"  Next  week,  as  soon  as  the  Assizes 
are  over,  and  the  Uxmoor  cause  set- 
tled one  way  or  other." 

"  Well,  when  she  comes  back,  you 
will  see  him  clear  up  directly,  and 
then  I  shall  know  what  to  do.  They 
must  come  together,  and  they  shall 
come  together;  and,  if  there  is  no 
other  way,  I  know  one  that  will 
bring  them  together,  and  I'll  work 
that  way  if  I  'm  hanged  for  it." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  Mrs. 
Hathorn,  calmly.   "  You  can  but  try." 

"  I  mil  try  all  I  know." 

Will  it  be  believed,  that,  while  ho 
was  in  this  state  of  uneasiness  about 
his  favorite  project,  Mr.  Casenower 
came  and  invited  him  to  a  friendly 
conference;  aunounced  to  him   that 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


193 


he  admired  Mrs.  Mayfield  beyond 
measure,  and  had  some  reason  to 
think  she  was  not  averse  to  him,  and 
requested  the  farmer's  co-operation  i 

"  Confound  the  jade,"  thought  Ha- 
thorn,  "  she  has  been  spreading  the 
net  for  this  one,  too,  then  ;  she  will 
break  my  heart  before  I  have  done 
with  her." 

lie  answered  demurely,  "  that  he 
did  not  understand  women  ;  that  his 
mind  was  just  now  in  the  harvest ; 
and  he  hoped  Mr.  C.  would  excuse 
him,  and  try  his  luck  himself,  —  along 
with  the  rest,"  sard  the  old  boy,  rather 
bitterly. 

The  harvest  drew  towards  its  close; 
the  barns  began  to  burst  with  the 
golden  crops,  and  one  fair  rick  after 
another  rose  behind  them,  like  a  rear- 
guard, until  one  tine  burning-hot  day 
in  September  there  remained  nothing 
but  a  small  barley-field  to  carry. 

In  the  house  Mrs.  Hathorn  and  the 
servants  were  busy  preparing  the 
harvest-home  dinner;  in  the  farm- 
yard, Cascnower  and  old  Hathorn 
were  arguing  a  point  of  husbandry ; 
the  warm  haze  of  a  September  (lav- 
was  over  the  fields;  the  little  pigs 
toddled  about  contentedly  in  the  straw 
of  the  farm-yard,  rooting  here,  and 
grunting  there;  the  pigeons  sat  upon 
the  barn  tiles  in  flocks,  and  every  now 
and  then  one  would  come  shooting 
down,  and  settle,  with  flapping  wings, 
upon  a  bit  of  straw  six  inches  higher 
t!i. in  the  level  ;  and  every  now  and 
then  was  heard  the  thunder  of  the 
horses'  feel  as  they  came  over  the 
oak  floor  of  a  barn,  drawing  a  loaded 
WagOIl  into  it.  Suddenly  a  halloo 
was  heard  down  the  road;  .Mr.  Ca-e- 
nowcr  and  Hathorn  looked  over 
tlio  wall,  and  it  was  Mis.  Mayficld's 
boy  Tom,  riding  home  full  pelt,  and 
hurrahing  as  he  came  alone 

"  We  have  won  the  day,  farmer," 
Shouted  he;  "you  may  dine  at  (Jx- 
moor  if  you  like.  La  bless  you,  the 
judge  wouldn't  hear  a  word  against 
US.  Hurrah  !  here  comes  the  mis- 
tress ;  hurrah!"  And,  sure  enough, 
Mrs.  Mayfield  was  seen  in  her  hat 
i) 


and  habit,  riding  her  bay  mare  up  at 
a  hand-gallop  on  the  grass  by  the 
roadside.  Up  she  came ;  the  fwo 
men  waved  their  hats  to  her,  which 
salute  she  returned  on  the  spot,  in  the 
middle  of  a  great  shy,  which  her  mare 
made  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  but,  be- 
fore they  could  speak,  she  stopped 
their  mouths.  "  Where  is  Robert  1 
Not  a  word  till  he  is  by.  I  have  not 
forgot  to  whom  I  owe  it."  She 
sprang  from  the  saddle,  and  gave  a 
hand  to  each  of  the  men ;  but  before 
they  could  welcome  her,  or  congratu- 
late her,  she  had  the  word  again. 
"  Why  of  course  yrou  are ;  you  are 
going  to  tell  me  you  have  been  as 
dull  as  ditch-water  since  I  went,  as  if 
I  did  n't  know  that ;  and  as  for  Ux- 
moor,  we  will  all  go  there  together  in 
the  afternoon,  and  I  '11  kiss  your 
Robert  then  and  there;  and  then  he 
will  faint  away,  and  we  '11  come  home 
in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  Is  barley 
cart  done  yet? " 

"No,  you  are  just  in  time;  they 
are  in  the  last  field." 

"  Well,  I  must  run  in  and  cuddle 
Jane,  and  help  them  on  with  the  din- 
ner a  bit." 

"  Ay,  do,  Rose ;  put  a  little  life 
into  them." 

In  about  ten  minutes  Mrs.  Mayfield 
joined  them  again  ;  and  old  Hathorn, 
who  had  spent  that  period  in  a  brown 
study,  began  operations  upon  her, 
like  a  cautious  general  as  he  was. 

His  first  step  might  be  compared  to 
reconnoitring  the  ground;  and  here, 
if  any  reader  of  mine  imagines  that 
country  people  are  simple  and  devoid 
of  art,  for  Heaven's  sake  let  him  re- 
sign that  notion,  which  is  entirely 
founded  on  pastorals  written  in  met- 
ropolitan garrets, 

Country  people  look  simple;  but 
that  is  a  part  of  their  profound  art. 
They  are  the  squarc-nosc-d  sharks  of 
terra  firma.  Their  craft  is  smooth, 
plausible,  and  unfathomable.  You 
don't  believe  me,  perhaps.  Well, 
then,  my  sharp  cockney.  <_ro,  live,  and 
do  business  in  the  country,  and  tell 
me  at  the  year's  end  whether  you 
M 


194 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


have  not  found  humble  unknown 
Practitioners  of  Humbug,  Flattery, 
Overreaching,  and  Manoeuvre,  to 
whom  thieves  in  London  might  go  to 
school. 

We  hear  much,  from  such  as  write 
with  the  but-cnd  of  their  grandfather's 
flageolet,  about  simple  swains  and 
downy  meads ;  but,  when  you  get 
there,  you  find  the  natives  are  at 
least  as  downy  as  any  part  of  the 
concern. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  home 
to-day,  Rose." 

"  Did  you  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  Because  Richard  Hickman  has 
been  here  twice  this  morning." 

"Richard  Hickman!  what  was  his 
business  here  1 " 

"  Well,  they  do  say  you  and  he  arc 
to  go  to  church  together  one  of  these 
days,  —  the  pair  of  you." 

"  Well,  if  the  pair  of  us  go  to 
church,  there  will  be  a  pair  of  wed- 
dings that  day." 

"  How  smooth  a  lie  do  come  off  a 
woman's  tongue,  to  be  sure  !  "  thought 
Mr.  Hathorn. 

Mr.  Casenower  put  in  his  word. 
"  I  trust  I  shall  not  offend  you  by  my 
zeal,  madam,  but  I  hope  to  see  you 
married  to  a  better  man  than  Hick- 
man." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Mr.  Cas — 
hem !  You  find  me  a  better  man, 
and  I  won't  make  two  bites  at  him, 

—  ha !  ha !  ha  !  " 

"  He  bears  an  indifferent  character, 

—  ask  the  farmer  here." 

"  O,"  said  the  farmer,  with  an  os- 
tentation of  candor,  "  I  don't  believe 
all  I  hear." 

"  I  don't  believe  half,  nor  a  quar 
ter,"  said  Mrs.  Mayfield ;  "  but,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  fancy  I  am 
wrapped  up  in  Richard  Hickman,  or 
in  any  other  man  ;  but  he  is  as  good 
company  as  here  and  there  one,  and 
he  has  a  tidy  farm  nigh  hand,  and 
good  land  of  his  own  out  Newbury 
way  by  all  accounts." 

"  Good  land,"  shouted  the  farmer; 
"  did  you  ever  see  it  '1  " 

"  Not  I." 


"Rose,"  said  Hathorn,  solemnly 
(he  had  never  seen  it  cither),  "  it  is 
as  poor  as  death  !  covered  with  those 
long  docks,  I  hear,  and  that  is  a  sure 
sign  of  land  with  no  heart  in  it,  just 
as  a  thistle  is  a  good  sign.  Do  your 
books  tell  you  that  ? "  said  he,  sud- 
denly turning  to  Casenower. 

"  No,"  said  that  gentleman,  with 
incredulous  contempt. 

"  And  it  is  badly  farmed  ;  no  won- 
der, when  the  farmer  never  goes  nigh 
it  himself,  trusts  all  to  a  sort  of  bailiff. 
Mind  your  eye,  Rose.  Why  does  he 
never  go  there  ?  tell  me  that." 

"  Well,  you  know,  of  course ;  he 
tells  me  he  left  it  out  of  regard  for 
me." 

"  Haw !  haw  !  haw  !  why,  he  has 
known  you  but  six  months,  and  he 
has  not  lived  at  home  this  five  years. 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Case- 
nower ?     Mind  your  eye.  Rose." 

"  I  mean  to,"  said  Rose ;  and  if 
you  had  seen  the  world  of  suppressed 
fun  and  peeping  observation  in  the 
said  eye,  you  would  have  felt  how 
capable  it  was  of  minding  itself,  and 
of  piercing  like  a  gimlet  even  through 
a  rustic  Machiavel. 

Mr.  Casenower  whispered  to  Ha- 
thorn, "  Put  in  a  word  for  me."  He 
then  marched  up  to  Rose,  and,  taking 
her  hand,  said,  with  a  sepulchral  ten- 
derness, at  which  Rose's  eye  literally 
danced  in  her  head  :  "  Know  your 
own  value,  dear  Mrs.  Mayfield,  and 
do  not  throw  yourself  away  on  an  un- 
worthy object."  He  then  gave  Ha- 
thorn a  slight  wink  and  disappeared, 
leaving  his  cause  in  that  simple  rus- 
tic's hands. 

"  It  is  all  very  fine,  but  if  I  am  to 
wait  for  a  man  without  a  fault,  I  shall 
die  an  old  —  fool." 

"That  is  not  to  be  thought  of," 
said  Hathorn,  smoothly;  "but  what 
you  want  is  a  fine,  steady  young  man, 
—  like  my  Robert,  now —  " 

"  So  you  have  told  me  once  or  twice 
of  late,"  said  the  lady,  archly.  "  Rob- 
ert is  a  good  lad,  and  pleases  my  eye 
well  enough,  for  that  matter  ;  hut  he 
has  a  fault  that  would  n't  suit  me, 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


195 


no-  any  •woman,  I  should  think,  with- 
out she  was  a  fool." 

"  Why,  what  is  wrong  about  the 
boy  1  "  ' 

"  The  boy  looks  sharper  after 
women  than  women  will  bear.  He 
reads  everything  we  do  with  magni- 
fying-glasses,  and  I  like  fun,  always 
did,  and  always  shall ;  and  then  he 
would  be  jealous,  —  and  then  I 
should  leave  him  the  house  to  him- 
self, that  is  all." 

"  No,  no !  you  would  break  him 
into  common  sense." 

"  More  likely  he  would  make  a 
slave  of  me  ;  and,  if  I  am  to  be  one, 
let  me  gild  the  chain  a  bit,  as  the  say- 
ing  is." 

"Now,  Rose,"  said  the  tactician, 
"  you  know  very  well  a  woman  can 
turn  a  man  round  her  finger  if  he 
loves  her." 

"  Of  course  I  know  that ;  but  Rob- 
ert does  not  happen  to  love  me." 

"  Does  n't  love  you !  Ay,  but  he 
docs ! " 

"  What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"O,  if  you  are  blind,  I  am  not. 
He  tries  to  hide  it,  because  you  are 
rich,  and  he  is  poor  and  proud." 

"Otic!  don't  talk  nonsense.  AVhat 
signifies  who  lias  the  money  ?  " 

"The  way  I  first  found  it  out  is, 
wh  !l|  they  speak  of  your  marrying 
that  Hickman,  he  trembles  all  over 
like.  Here  comes  his  mother ;  you 
ask  her,"  added  the  audacious 
schemer. 

"No,  no!"  cried  Mrs.  Mayfield; 
"  none  of  your  nonsense  before  her,  if 
you  please"  ;  and  she  ran  off,  with  a 
heightened  color. 

"I  shall  win  the  day,"  cried  Ha- 
thorn  to  his  wife.  "  I  have  made  her 
believe  Robert  loves  her,  and  now  I  Ml 
tell  him  she  dotes  on  him.  Why, 
what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You 
seem  put  out.      What  ails  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  just  seen  Robert,  and  I 
don't  like  ins  looks,  lie  is  like  a 
man  in  a  dream  this  morning,  — 
worse  than  ever  " 

"  Whv,  what  can  bo  the  matter 
w'.th  him  ?  " 


"  If  I  was  to  tell  you  my  thought, 
it  would  n't  please  you,  —  and,  after 
all,  I  may  be  wrong.  Hush  !  here 
he  is.  Take  no  notice,  for  Heaven's 
sake." 

At  this  moment  the  object  of  his 
father's  schemes  and  his  mother's 
anxiety  sauntered  up  to  them,  with 
his  coat  tied  round  his  neck  by  the 
arms,  and  a  pitchfork  over  his  shoul- 
der. "  Father,"  said  he,  "  you  may 
tap  the  barrel ;  the  last  wagon  is  com- 
ing up  the  lane." 

"Ay,"  was  the  answer;  "and  you 
go  and  offer  your  arm  to  Rose,  —  she 
is  come  home,  —  and  ask  her  to  dance 
with  you." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  humor  to  galli- 
vant," was  the  languid  answer.  "  I 
leave  that  to  you,  father." 

"  To  me,  — at  my  time  of  life  !  Is 
that  the  way  to  talk  at  eight-and- 
twenty  ?  And  Rose  Mayfield,  —  the 
rose-tree  in  full  blossom !  " 

"  Yes ;  but  too  many  have  been 
smelling  at  the  blossom  for  me  ever 
to  plant  the  tree  in  my  garden." 

"  What  does  the  boy  mean  ?  " 

"  To  save  time  and  words,  father  ; 
because  you  have  been  at  me  about 
her  once  or  twice  of  late." 

"  AVhat !  is  it  because  she  likes 
dancing  and  diversion  at  odd  times  ? 
Is  that  got  to  be  a  crime,  Parson 
Bob  1  " 

"  No  !  but  I  won't  have  a  wife  I 
could  n't  trust  at  those  pastimes,"  was 
the  resolute  answer. 

"  <),  if  you  are  one  of  the  jealous- 
minded  ones,  don't  you  marry  any 
one,  my  poor  chap  !  " 

"  Father,  there  arc  the  strange 
reapers  to  pay.  Shall  I  settle  with 
them  for  you  '.  "  said  Robert,  quietly. 

"  No!  Let  them  come  here;  I'll 
pay  them,"  answered  Ilathorn,  senior, 
rather  sullenly. 

If  you  want  to  be  crossed,  and 
thwarted,  and  vexed,  set  your  heart, 
not  on  a  thing  you  can  (jo  yourself, 
but  on  something  somebody  else  is  to 
do:  if  you  want  to  be  tormented  to 
death,  let  the  wish  of  your  heart  de- 
pend upon  two  people,  a  man  and  a- 


196 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


woman,  neither  of  them  yourself. 
Now  do  try  this  recipe;  you  will  find 
it  an  excellent  one. 

Old  Hathorn,  seated  outside  his 
own  door,  with  a  table  and  money- 
bags before  him,  paid  the  Irishmen 
and  the  Hampshire  lads,  and  invited 
each  man  to  the  harvest-home  dinner. 
He  was  about  to  rise  and  put  up 
his  money-baps,  when  Mrs  Hathorn 
cried  to  him  from  the  house,  "  Here 
are  two  more  that  have  not  been 
paid  "  ;  and  the  next  minute  oid  Pat- 
rick and  Rachael  issued  from  the 
house,  and  came  in  front  of  the  table. 
Robert,  who  was  going  in  to  dress, 
turned  round  and  leaned  against  the 
corner  of  the  house,  with  his  eyes 
upon  the  ground.  "Let  me  see," 
said  Hathorn,  "  Avhat  are  you  to 
have  ?  " 

"  Count  yourself,"  replied  Patrick  ; 
"  you  know  what  you  give  the  oth- 
ers." 

"  What  I  give  the  others  !  but  you 
can't  have  done  the  work  —  " 

"  Not  of  two  ;  no,  we  don't  ask  the 
wages  of  two." 

"  Of  course  you  don't." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  Robert's 
face  at  this  discussion,  but  he  re- 
mained with  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground. 

"  Where 's  the  dispute,"  said  the 
old  soldier,  angrily;  "here  are  two 
that  ask  the  wages  of  one;  is  that 
hard  upon  you  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  dispute,  old  man," 
said  Robert,  steadily.  "  Father,  twen- 
ty-five times  five  shilling  is  six  pounds 
five ;  that  is  what  you  owe  them." 

"  Six  pound  five  for  a  man  of  that 
age  ?  " 

"And  my  daughter;  is  she  to  go 
for  nothing'?  " 

"Your  daughter,  your  daughter; 
she  is  not  strong  enough  to  do  much, 
I  'm  sure." 

Rachael  colored  :  her  clear,  con- 
vincing voice  fell  upon  the  disputants. 
"  We  agreed  with  Master  Robert  to 
keep  a  ridge  between  ns,  and  we  have 
done  it  as  well  as  the  best  reaper. 
Pay  us  as  one  good  reaper  then. " 


"  That 's  fair  !  that  is  fair  !  If  you 
agreed  with  my  son,  a  bargain  is  a 
bargain ;  but,  for  all  that,  one  good 
arm  is  better  than  two  weak  ones, 
and  —  " 

This  tirade  received  an  unexpected 
interruption.  Robert  walked  up  to 
the  table,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from 
the  ground,  and  said :  "  I  ask  your 
pardon,  father;  your  bad  leg  has  kept 
you  at  home  this  harvest ;  but  I 
reaped  at  the  head  of  the  band,  and  I 
assure  you  the  young  woman  did  a 
man's  share ;  and  every  now  and  then 
the  old  man  took  her  place ;  and  so, 
resting  by  turns,  they  kept  ahead  of 
the  best  sickle  there.  And  therefore  I 
say,"  continued  Robert,  raising  his 
eyes  timidly,  "  on  account  of  their 
poverty,  their  weary  limbs,  and  their 
stout  heart  for  work,  you  cannot  pay 
them  less  than  one  good  reaper." 

"  What  is  it,  Robert  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Hathorn,  who  had  come  out  to  see 
the  meaning  of  all  this. 

"  Rut  if  he  would  be  justcr  still, 
mother,  like  him  that  measures  his 
succor  to  the  need,  he  would  pay  them 
as  one  and  a  half.     I  've  said  it." 

Hathorn  stared  with  ludicrous  won- 
der. "  And  why  not  as  two  ?  Are 
you  mad,  Robert !  taking  their  part 
against  me?  " 

"  Enough  said,"  answered  Patrick, 
with  spirit.  "  Thank  you,  Master 
Robert,  but  that  would  be  an  alms, 
and  we  take  but  our  due.  Pay  our 
two  sickles  as  one,  and  let  us  go." 

"  You  see,  father,"  cried  Roherr, 
"  these  arc  decent  people ;  and,  if  you 
had  seen  how  they  wrought,  your 
heart  would  melt  as  mine  docs.  O 
mother  !  it  makes  me  ill  to  think  there 
are  poor  Christians  in  the  world  so 
badly  off  they  must  bow  to  work  be- 
yond their  age  and  strength  to  bear. 
Take  a  thought,  father.  A  man 
that  might  be  your  father,  —  a  man 
of  fourscore  years,  —  and  a  delicate 
woman,  —  to  reap,  the  hardest  of  all 
country  work,  from  dawn  till  sun- 
down, under  this  scorching  sun  and 
wind,  that  has  dried  my  throat  and 
burnt  my  eyes,  —  let  alone  theirs.    It 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


197 


is  hard,  father  ;  and,  if  you  have  a  feel- 
ing heart,  you  can't  show  it  better 
than  here." 

"  There  !  there  !  "  cried  the  farmer, 
"say  no  more  ;  it  is  all  right.  (You 
have  made  the  girl  cry,  Bob.)  Rob- 
ert doesn't  often  speak,  dame,  so  Ave 
are  bound  to  listen  when  he  does. 
There  is  the  money.  I  never  heard 
that  chap  say  so  in  a  ay  words  be- 
fore." 

"We  thank  you  all,"  said  Patrick; 
"  my  blessing  be  on  your  grain,  good 
folks  ;  and  that  won't  hurt  you  from 
a  man  of  fourscore." 

"  That  it  will  not,  Daddy  Patrick," 
said  Mrs.  Hathorn.  "  You  will  stay 
for  harvest-home,  both  of  you  ?  Ra- 
chael, if  you  have  a  mind  to  help  ine, 
wash  some  of  the  dishes." 

"  Ay  !  "  cried  the  farmer  :  "  and  it 
is  time  you  were  dressed,  Bob."  And 
so  the  party  separated. 

A  few  minutes  later  Rachael  came 
to  the  well,  and  began  to  draw  a 
bucket  of  water.  This  well  worked 
in  the  following  manner.  A  chain 
and  rope  were  passed  over  a  cylinder, 
and  two  buckets  were  attached  to  the 
several  ends  of  the  rope,  so  that  the 
empty  bucket  descending  helped  in 
some  slight  degree  the  full  bucket  to 
mount.  This  cylinder  was  turned 
bj  an  iron  handle.  The  well  was  a 
hundred  feet  deep.  Rachael  drew  the 
bucket  up  easily  enough  until  the 
last  thirty  feet ;  and  then  she  found 
it  hard  work.  She  had  both  hands 
on  the  iron  handle,  and  was  panting 
a  little,  like  a  tender  fawn,  when  a 
deep  bat  gentle  voice  said  in  her  ear: 
"  Let  go,  Rachael";  and  the  handle 
was  taken  out  of  her  hand  by  Robert 
Hathorn. 

"  Never  mind  me,  Master  Robert," 
said  Rachael,  giving  way  reluctantly. 

"  Always  at  some  hard  work  or 
other,"  said  he;  "you  will  not  be 
easy  till  you  kill  yourself."  And 
with  this  he  whirled  the.  handle  round 
like  lightning  with  one  hand,  and  the 
bucket  ciiiuc  up  in  a  few  moments. 
II'  then  Riled  the  pitcher  P>r  her, 
which  she  tojk  up,  ami  was  about  to 


go  into  the  house  with  it.    "  Stay  one 
minute,  Rachael." 

"  Yes,  Master  Robert." 

"  How  old  are  you,  Rachael ?  " 
Robert  blushed  after  he  had  put  this 
question ;  but  he  was  obliged  to  say 
something,  and  he  did  not  well  know 
how  to  begin. 

"  Twenty-two,"  was  Rachael's  an- 
swer. 

"  Don't  go  just  yet.  Is  this  your 
first  year's  reaping  ?  " 

"  No,  the  third." 

"  You  must  be  very  poor,  I  am 
afraid." 

"  Very  poor  indeed,  Master  Rob- 
ert" 

"  Do  you  live  far  from  here  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  I  told  you 
I  came  twenty  miles  from  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  Newbury  is  about  that  dis- 
tance." 

"  I  think  your  mother  will  want 
me." 

"  Well,  don't  let  me  keep  you 
against  your  will." 

Rachael  entered  the  Ilathorns' 
side. 

Robert's  heart  sank.  She  was  so 
gentle,  yet  so  cold  and  sad.  There 
was  no  winning  her  confidence,  it  ap- 
peared. Presently  she  returned  with 
an  empty  basket,  to  fetch  the  linen 
from  Mrs.  Mayfield's  side.  As  sin; 
passed  Robert,  who,  in  despair,  had 
determined  not  to  try  any  more,  but 
who  looked  up  sorrowfully  in  her 
face,  she  gave  him  a  smile,  a  very 
faint  one,  but  still  it  did  express  some 
slight  recognition  and  thanks.  lis 
resolve  melted  at  this  one  little  ray  of 
kindly  feeling. 

"  Rachael,"  said  he,  "  have  you  any 
relations  your  way  ?  " 

"  Not  now  !  "  and  Rachael  was  a 
beautiful  statue  again. 

'•  Hut  you  have  neighbors  who  are 
good  to  you  1  " 

"  We  ask  nothing  of  them." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  if  you 
could  both  li\  e  near  us  '!  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Why  !  my  mother  has  a  good 
heart" 


198 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


"  Indeed  she  has." 

"  And  Mrs.  Mayfield  is  not  a  bad 
one  either." 

"  I  hear  her  well  spoken  of." 

"  And  yet  you  mean  to  live  on,  so 
far  away  from  all  of  us  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  I  must  go  for  the  linen." 
She  waited  a  moment  as  it  were  for 
permission  to  leave  him,  and,  nothing 
more  being  said,  she  entered  Mrs. 
Mayfield's  side. 

Robert  leaned  his  head  sorrowful- 
ly on  the  rails,  and  fell  into  a  revery. 

"  I  am  nothing  to  her,"  thought 
he ;  "  her  heart  is  far  away.  How 
good,  and  patient,  and  modest  she  is, 
but  O,  how  cold !  She  turns  mv 
heart  to  stone.  I  am  a  fool  ;  she  has 
some  one  in  her  own  country  to 
whom  she  is  as  warm,  perhaps,  as 
she  is  cold  to  us  strangers,  —  is  that 
a  fault  1  She  is  too  beautiful,  and 
too  good,  not  to  be  esteemed  by  oth- 
ers besides  me.  Ah  !  her  path  is  one 
way,  mine  another,  —  worse  luck,  — 
would  to  God  she  had  never  come 
here  !  Well,  may  she  be  happy ! 
She  can't  hinder  me  from  praying  she 
may  be  happy,  happier  than  she  is 
now.    Poor  Rachael  !  " 

A  merry  but  somewhat  vulgar 
voice  broke  incredibly  harsh  and  loud, 
as  it  seemed,  upon  young  Ha  thorn's 
revery. 

"  Good  day,  Master  Robert." 

Robert  looked  up,  and  there  stood 
a  young  farmer  in  shooting-jacket 
and  gaiters,  with  a  riding-whip  in  his 
hand. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Hickman." 

"  The  mistress  is  come  home,  I 
bear,  and  it  is  your  harvest-home  to- 
day, so  I  '11  stop  here,  for  I  am  tired, 
and  so  is  my  horse,  for  that  matter." 
Mr.  Hickman  wasted  the  latter  part 
of  this  discourse  on  vacancy,  for 
young  Ilathorn  went  coolly  away 
without  taking  any  further  notice  of 
him. 

"I  call  that  the  cold  shoulder," 
thought  Hickman;  "but  it  is  no 
wonder;  that  chap  wants  to  marry 
her  himself,  of  course  he  does.  Not 
if  I  know  it,  Bob  Ilathorn." 


I  It  was  natural  that  Hickman,  whose 
great  object  just  now  was  Rose  May- 
field,  should  put  this  reading  on  Rob- 
ert's coldness  :  but  in  point  of  fact  it 
was  not  so ;  the  young  man  had  no 
feeling  towards  Hickman  but  the 
quiet  repugnance  of  a  deep  to  a  shallow 
soul,  of  a  quiet  and  thoughtful  to  a 
rattling  fellow.  Only  just  now  gay- 
ety  was  not  in  his  heart,  and  as  Hick- 
man was  generally  gay,  and  always 
sonorous,  he  escaped  to  his  own 
thoughts.  Hickman  watched  his  re- 
treat, with  an  eye  that  said,  "  You 
arc  my  rival,  but  not  one  I  fear ;  I 
can  outwit  you."  And  it  was  with  a 
smile  of  triumphant  conscious  superi- 
ority that  Richard  Hickman  turned 
round  to  go  into  Mrs.  Mayfield's 
house,  and  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Rachael,  who  was  just  coming 
oittof  it  with  the  basket  full  of  linen 
in  her  hand.  Words  cannot  paint 
the  faces  of  this  woman  and  this  man, 
when  they  saw  one  another.  They 
both  started,  and  were  red  and  white 
by  turns,  and  their  eyes  glared  upon 
one  another;  yet,  though  the  sur- 
prise was  equal,  the  emotion  was  not 
quite  the  same.  The  woman  stood, 
her  bosom  heaving  slowly  and  high, 
her  eye  dilating,  her  lips  apart,  her 
elastic  figure  rising  higher  and  higher. 
She  stood  there,  wild  as  a  startled 
panther,  uncertain  whether  to  fight  or 
to  fly.  The  man,  after  the  first  start, 
seemed  to  cower  under  her  eye,  and 
half  a  dozen  expressions  that  chased 
one  another  across  his  face  left  one 
fixed  there,  —  Fear  !  abject  fear  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

They  eyed  one  another  in  silence : 
at  last  Hickman  looked  down  upon 
the  ground  and  said,  in  faltering,  ill- 
assured  tones,  "  II — how  d'  ye  do, 
Rachael  ?  I  — I  did  n't  expect  to  see 
you  here." 

"  Nor  I  you." 

"  If  you  are  busy,  don't  let  me  stop 
you,  you  know,"  said  Hickman,  awk- 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


199 


wardly  and  confused,  and,  like  one 
with  no  great  resources,  compelled  to 
utter  something'. 

Then  Rachael,  white  as  a  sheet, 
took  up  licr  basket  again,  and  moved 
away  in  silence !  The  young  farmer 
eyed  her  apprehensively,  and,  being 
clearly  under  the  influence  of  some 
misgiving  as  to  her  intentions,  said : 
"If  you  blow  me,  it  will  do  me  harm 
and  you  no  good,  you  know,  Rachael. 
Can  t  we  be  friends?  " 

"  Friends  !  —  you  and  I  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,  — let  us 
talk  it  over.  I  am  a  little  better  off 
than  I  used  to  be  in  those  days." 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ?  " 

"  Plenty  ;  if  you  won't  be  spiteful, 
and  set  others  against  me  in  this 
part  "  :  by  "  others,"  doubtless  Hick- 
man intended  Mrs.  Mayfield. 

"  I  shall  neither  speak  nor  think  of 
you,"  was  the  cold  answer. 

Had  Richard  Hickman  been  capa- 
ble of  fathoming  Rachael  Wright,  or 
even  of  reading  her  present  marble 
look  and  tone  aright,  he  would  have 
seen  that  he  had  little  to  apprehend 
from  her  beyond  contempt,  a  thing  he 
would  not  in  the  least  have  minded; 
but  he  was  cunning,  and,  like  the  cun- 
ning, shallowish  ;  so  he  pursued  his 
purpose,  feeling  his  way  with  her  to 
the  best  of  his  ability. 

"  I  have  had  a  smart  bit  of  money 
left  me  lately,  Rachael." 

"  What  is  that  to  me?" 

"  What  is  it?  why,  a  good  deal, 
because  I  could  assist  you  now,  may- 
be." 

"  And  what  right  have  you  to  assist 
me  »""•  t " 

"  Confound  it,  Rachael,  how  proud 
you  are  !  —  why,  you  are  not  the  same 
girl.  <),  l  see!  as  for  assisting  you, 
1  know  you  would  rather  work  than 
be  in  debt  to  any  one;  but  thru  there 
is  another  besides  you,  vou  know." 

"  What  other  !  "  said  Rachael,  los- 
ing her  impassibility,  and  trembling 

all  over  at  this  simple  word. 

"  What  other  i  "  why,  confound  it, 
who  ever  saw  a  girl  fence  like  this  ! 
I  suppose  you  think  I  am   not  man 


enough  to  do  what 's  right ;  I  am, 
though,  now  I  have  got  the  means." 

"  To  do  what  ?  " 

"Why,  to  do  my  duty  by  him,  —  to 
provide  for  him." 

"  For  whom  ?  "  cried  Rachael,  wild- 
ly, "whi:n  he  is  dead!" 

"  Dead  ?  " 

"  Dead  ! " 

"  Don't  say  so,  Rachael ;  don't  say 
so." 

"  He  is  dead !  " 

"  Dead !  I  never  thought  I  should 
have  cared  much  ;  but  that  word  do 
seem  to  knock  against  my  heart.  I  'd 
give  a  hundred  pounds  to  any  one 
would  tell  me  it  is  not  true,  —  poor 
thing!  I  've  been  to  blame ;  I've  been 
to  blame." 

"  You  were  not  near  us  when  he 
came  into  the  world ;  you  were  not 
near  us  when  he  went  out  of  it.  He 
lived  in  poverty,  with  me  ;  he  died  in 
poverty,  for  all  I  could  do,  and  it  is 
against  my  will  if  I  did  not  die  with 
him.  Our  life  or  our  death  gave  you 
no  cares.  While  he  lived,  you  re- 
ceived a  letter  every  six  months  from 
me,  claiming  my  rights  as  your  wife." 

Hickman  nodded  assent. 

"  Last  year  you  had  no  letter." 

"No  more  there  was." 

"  And  did  not  that  tell  you  ?  Poor 
Rachael  had  lost  her  consolation  ami 
her  hope,  and  had  no  more  need  of 
anything  ! " 

"Poor  Rachael!"  cried  the  man, 
Stung  with  sudden  remorse.  "  Curse 
it  all !  Curse  you,  Dick  Hickman  !  " 
Then,  suddenly  recovering  his  true 
nature,  and,  like  us  men,  never  at  a 
loss  for  an  excuse  against  a  woman, 
he  said,  angrily  :  "  What  is  the  use  of 
letters? — why  did  n't  you  come  and 
tell  me  you  were  so  badly  off?  " 

"  Me  come  after  you !  The  wrong- 
doer?" 

"  O,  confound  your  pride  !  Should 
have  sent  the  old  man  to  mc,  then." 

"  .My  grandfather,  an  obi  soldier  as 

proud  as  lire!  Sent  him  to  the  man 
who  robbed  mc  of  my  good  name  by 
cheating  the  law!  You  are  a  fool! 
Three   times  he  left  our    house    with 


200 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


his  musket  loaded  to  kill  you,  —  three 
times  I  got  him  home  again  ;  but 
how  ?  —  by  prayers,  and  tears,  and 
force,  all  three,  or  you  would  not  be 
here  in  life." 

"  The  Devil !  what  an  old  Tartar  ! 
I  say,  is  he  here  alone  with  you  1  " 

"  O,  you  need  not  fear,"  said  Ra- 
chael, with  a  faint  expression  of  scorn, 
"  he  is  going  directly,  and  I  am  going 
too ;  and  when  I  do  go  from  here,  I 
shall  have  lost  all  the  little  pleasure 
and  hope  I  have  in  the  world,"  said 
Rachael,  sorrowfully  ;  and,  as  she  said 
this,  she  became  unconscious  of  Hick- 
man's presence,  and  moved  away  with- 
out looking  at  him  ;  but  that  prudi-nt 
person  dared  not  part  with  her  so.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  who  say,  "  I 
know  the  women,"  and,  in  his  sagaci- 
ty, he  dreaded  this  woman's  tongue. 
He  determined,  therefore,  to  stop  her 
tongue,  and  not  to  risk  Rose  Mayfield 
and  thousands  for  a  tew  pounds. 

"  Now,  Rachael,  listen  to  me. 
Since  the  poor  child  is  dead,  there  is 
only  you  to  think  of.  We  can  do 
one  another  good  or  harm,  you  and 
I ;  better  good  than  harm,  I  say. 
Suppose  I  offered  you  twenty  pounds, 
now,  to  keep  dark  ?  " 

"  You  poor  creature  !  " 

"  Well,  thirty,  then  ?  " 

"  0,  hold  your  tongue,  —  you  make 
me  ashamed  of  myself  as  well  as  you." 

"  I  see  what  it  is,  you  want  too 
much  ;  you  want  me  to  be  your  hus- 
band." 

"  No ;  while  my  child  lived,  I 
claimed  my  right  for  his  sake:  but 
not  now,  not  now " ;  and  the  poor 
girl  suddenly  turned  her  eyes  on  Hick- 
man, with  an  indescribable  shudder, 
that  a  woman  would  have  interpreted 
to  the  letter ;  but  no  man  could  be  ex- 
pected to  read  it  quite  aright,  so  many 
things  it  said. 

Hickman  the  sagacious  chose  to 
understand  by  it  pique  and  personal 
hostility  to  him,  and  desire  of  ven- 
geance ;  and,  having  failed  to  bribe 
her,  he  now  resolved  to  try  and  out- 
face her. 

It  so  happened  that   at  this  very 


moment  merry  voices  began  to  sound 
on  every  side.  The  clatter  was  heard 
of  tables  being  brought  out  of  the 
kitchen,  and  the  harvest-home  people 
were  seen  coming  towards  the  place 
where  Rachael  and  Hickman  were; 
so  Hickman  said,  hastily,  "  Any  way, 
don't  think  to  blow  mc,  —  for,  if  yon 
do,  1  '11  swear  you  out,  my  lass,  I  '11 
swear  you  out." 

"  No  doubt  you  know  how  to  lie," 
was  the  cold  reply. 

"  There,  liachael,"  cried  Hickman, 
piteously,  lowering  his  tone  of  defi- 
ance in  a  moment,  "  don't  expose  me 
before  the  folk,  whatever  you  do. 
Here  they  all  come,  confound  them  !  " 

Rachael  made  no  answer.  She 
retired  into  the  Uathorns'  house,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  tables  were  set, 
just  outside  the  house,  and  loaded 
with  good  cheer,  and  the  rustics  began 
to  ply  knife  and  fork  as  zealously  as 
they  "had  sickle,  and  rake,  and  pitch- 
fork ;  and  so,  on  the  very  spot  of  earth 
where  Rachael  had  told  Hickman  her 
child  was  dead,  and  with  him  her 
heart,  scarce  five  minutes  afterwards 
came  the  rattle  of  knives  and  forks, 
and  peals  of  boisterous  laughter  and 
huge  feeding.  And  thus  it  happens 
to  many  a  small  locality  in  this  world, 
—  tragedy,  comedy,  and  farce  are  act- 
ed on  it  by  turns,  and  all  of  them  in 
earnest.  So  harvest -home  dinner 
proceeded  with  great  zeal;  and  after 
the  solids  the  best  ale  was  served 
round  ad  libitum,  and  intoxication, 
sanctified  by  immemorial  usage,  fol- 
lowed in  due  course.  However,  as 
this  symptom  of  harvest  was  a  long 
time  coining  on  upon  the  present  oc- 
casion, owing  to  peculiar  interrup- 
tions, the  reader  will  not  have  to  follow 
us  so  far,  which  let  us  hope  he  will 
not  regret. 

Few  words  worthy  of  being  em- 
balmed in  an  immortal  story,  warrant- 
ed to  live  a  month,  were  uttered  dur- 
ing the  discussion  of  the  meats,  for 
when  the  fringes  comumere  nati  are  let 
loose  upon  beef,  bacon,  and  pudding, 
among  the  results  dialogue  on  a  largo 
scale  is  not. 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


201 


*'  Yet  shall  the  Muse  "  embalm  a 
conversation  that  passed  on  this  oc- 
casion between  the  brothers  Messen- 
ger, laborers  aged  about  fifty,  who  had 
been  on  this  farm  nearly  all  their 
lives. 

Bob  Messenger  was  carving  a  loin 
of  veal.  Jem  Messenger  sat  opposite 
him,  eating  bacon  and  beans  on  a 
very  large  scale. 

Bob  (aiming  at  extraordinary  po- 
liteness). "Wool  you  have  some  veal 
alonu;  with  vouv  bacon,  Jem?  " 

Jem.  "  that  I  wool  not,  Bob  " 
(with  a  reproachful  air,  as  one  whom 
a  brother  had  sought  to  entrap). 

When  the  table  was  cleared  of  the 
viands,  the  ale-mugs  and  horns  were 
filled,  and  Mrs.  Mayfield  and  the  Ha- 
thonis  took  part  in  the  festive  cere- 
mony, that  is,  they  did  not  sit  at 
the  table,  but  they  showed  themselves 
from  time  to  time,  and  made  their 
humble  guests  heartily  welcome  by 
word,  and  look,  and  smile,  as  their 
forefathers  bad  done  at  harvest-time, 
each  in  their  century  and  generation. 

Presently  Bob  Messenger  arose 
solemnly,  with  his  horn  of  ale  in  his 
hand.  The  others  rose  after  him, 
knowing  well  what  he  was  going  to 
do,  and  chanted  with  him  the  ancient 
harvest-home  stave  :  — 

"  Ilere  's  a  health  unto  our  master, 
The  founder  of  the  feast, 
Not  only  to  our  master, 
But  to  our  mistress. 
Two  voices.  Then  drink,  boys,  drink, 

And  see  as  you  do  not  spill, 
For  if  yon  do,  you  shall  drink  to 
Our  health  with  a  free  good- 
will. 
Chorus.         Then  drink,  boys,  drink,"  &c. 

Corporal  Patrick  and  Racnael  left 

the  table.  They  bad  waited  only  to 
take  part  in  this  compliment  to  their 
entertainers,  and  now  they  left.  The 
reason  was,  one  or  two  had  jeered 
them  before  grace. 

The  corporal  had  shaved  and  made 
himself  very  clean,  and  be  bad  put  on 
bis  faded  red  jacket,  which  be  always 
carried  about,  and  Etachael  bad 
washed  bis  neck-handkerchief,  and 
tied  it  neatly  about  bis  neck,  and  bad 
U* 


put  on  herself  a  linen  collar  and  linen 
wristbands,  very  small  and  plain,  but 
white  and  starched ;  and  at  this  their 
humble  attempt  to  be  decent  and  nice 
one  or  two  (who  happened  to  be  dirty 
at  the  time)  could  not  help  sneering. 
Another  thing,  Rachael  and  Patrick 
were  strangers.  Some  natives  cut  a 
jest  or  two  at  their  expense,  and 
Patrick  was  about  to  answer  by  fling- 
ing his  mug  at  one  man's  head  ;  but 
Rachael  restrained  him,  and  said  : 
"  Be  patient,  grandfather.  They  were 
never  taught  any  better.  When  the 
fanner's  health  has  been  drunk  we 
can  leave  them." 

People  should  be  able  to  take  jests, 
or  to  answer  them  in  kind,  not  to 
take  them  to  heart ;  but  Rachael  and 
Patrick  had  seen  better  days  (they 
were  not  so  very  proud  and  irritable 
then),  and  now  Patrick,  naturally 
high-spirited,  was  sore,  and  could  not 
bear  to  be  filliped,  and  Rachael  was 
become  too  cold  and  bitter  towards 
all  the  vulgar  natures  that  blundered 
up  against  her,  not  meaning  her  any 
good,  nor  much  harm,  either,  poor 
devils ! 

A  giggle  greeted  their  departure ; 
but  it  must  be  owned  it  was  a  some- 
what uneasy  giggle. 

There  was  in  the  company  a  cer- 
tain Timothy  Brown  John,  who  was 
naturally  a  shoemaker,  but  was 
turned  out  into  the  stubble  annually 
at  harvest-time.  The  lad  had  a  small 
rustic  genius  for  music,  which  he  il- 
lustrated by  playing  the  clarionet  in 
church,  to  the  great  regret  of  the 
clergyman.  Now  after  the  chorus  one 
or  two  were  observed  to  be  nudging 
this  young  man,  and  he  to  be  making 
those  mock-modest  difficulties  which 
are  part  of  a  singer,  in  town  or  coun- 
try. 

"  Ay,  Tim,"  cried  Mrs.  Mayfield, 
"you  sing  us  a  song." 

"  lie  have  got  a  new  one,  mis- 
tress ! "  put  in  a  carter's  lad,  with 
saucer  eyes. 

"  What  is  it  about,  boy  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  youngster,  "it 
[s  about  love"   (at  which    the  girls 


202 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


giggled) ;  "  and  I  think  it  is  about 
you,  Dame  Mayfield." 

"  About  me  !  then  it  must  be  nice." 

Chorus  of  Rustics.  "  Haw  !  haw  ! 
haw ! " 

"Come,  Mr.  Brown  John,  I  will 
trouble  you  for  it,  directly.  I  can  see 
the  bottom  of  some  of  their  mugs, 
Jane." 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Brown  John, 
looking  down,  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  say  about  it.  Mayhap  you 
might  n't  like  it  quite  so  well  before 
so  much  company." 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  dame,  I  am 
afeard  I  shall  give  yon  a  red  face,  like, 
with  this  here  song." 

"  If  you  do,  I  '11  give  you  one  with 
this  here  hand." 

Chorus.     "  Haw,  haw !     Ho  ! " 

"  Drat  the  boy,  sing,  and  have  done 
with  it." 

"  I  '11  do  my  best,  ma'am,"  replied 
Tim,  gravely. 

On  this,  Mr.  Brown  John  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  diminutive  flute, 
with  one  key,  and  sounded  his  G  at 
great  length.  He  then  paused,  to  let 
his  G  enter  his  own  mind  and  those 
around ;  he  then  composed  his  fea- 
tures like  a  preacher,  and  was  about 
to  enter  on  his  undertaking,  when 
the  whole  operation  was  suddenly, 
and  remorselessly,  and  provokingly 
interrupted  by  Mr.  Casenower,  who, 
struck  as  it  appeared  with  a  sudden, 
irresistible  idea,  burst  upon  them  all 
with  this  question  :  — 

"  Do  any  of  you  know  one  Rebecca 
Beid,  in  this  part  of  the  world  1  " 

The  company  stared. 

Some,  to  whom  this  question  had 
been  put  by  him  before,  giggled  ;  oth- 
ers scratched  their  heads  ;  others  got 
no  further  than  a  stricken  look.  A 
few  mustered  together  their  wits,  and 
assured  Mr.  Casenower  they  had 
never  heard  tell  of  "  the  wench." 

"  How  devilish  odd  !  "  cried  Case- 
nower, "  it  is  not  such  a  common 
combination  of  sounds,  one  would 
think." 

"  I  know  Hannah  Rcid,"  squeaked 


a  small  cow-boy ;  he  added  with  en. 
thusiasm,  "  she  is  a  capital  slider,  she 
is !  !  !  "  and  he  smiled  at  some  remi- 
niscence, perchance  of  a  joint  somer- 
sault upon  the  ice,  last  winter. 

"Hannah  does  not  happen  to  be 
Rebecca,  young  gentleman,"  object- 
ed Casenower ;  "  sing  away,  John 
Brown." 

"  I  'm  a  going,  sir.  G — g — g — 
g —  "  and  he  impressed  the  key-note 
once  more  upon  their  souls.  Then 
sang  Brown  John  the  following  song, 
and  the  rest  made  the  laughing  cho- 
rus, and,  as  they  all  laughed  in  differ- 
ent ways,  though  they  began  laugh- 
ing from  their  heads,  ended  in  laugh- 
ing from  their  hearts.  It  was  pleas- 
ant and  rather  funny,  and  proved  so 
successful,  that  after  this  //  Maestro 
Brown  John  and  his  song  were  asked 
to  all  the  feasts  in  a  circle  of  seven 
miles.  There  were  eight  verses  :  we 
will  confine  ourselves  to  two,  because 
paper  is  not  absolutely  valueless, what- 
ever the  trivoluminous  may  think. 

"  When  Richard  appeared,  how  my  heart 
pit-a-pat 
With  a  tenderly  motion,   with   which   it 
was  seized  ! 
To  hear  the  young  fellow's  gay,  innocent 
chat 
I  could  listen  forever,  0  dear  !  I  'm   so 
pleased  ! 
I  'm  so  pleased  !  ha  !   ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
I  'm  so  pleased  !   ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
I'm  a  going  to  be  married, — 0  dear  ! 

I  'm  so  pleased  ! 
I  'm  a  going  to  be  married, — 0  dear  ! 
I  'm  so  pleased  ! 

Chorus.     I  'm  so  pleased,  &c. 

"  0  sweet  is  the  smell  of  the  new-mown  hay, 
And  sweet  are  the  cowslips  that  spring  in 

May  ; 
But   sweeter 's  my  lad   than  the  daisied 

lawn, 
Or  the  hay,  or  the  flower,  or  the  cows  at  the 
dawn. 

i  'm  so  pleased,"  &c. 

We  writers  can  tell  "  the  what,"  but 
not  so  very  often  "  the  how,"  of  any- 
thing. I  can  give  Tim's  bare  words, 
but  it  is  not  in  my  power  nor  any 
man's  to  write  down  the  manner  of 
//  Maestro  in  singing.  How  he  dwelt 
on  the  short  syllables,  and  abridged 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


203 


the  Ion::,-- his  grave  face  till  he  came 
to  his  laugh,  —  and  then  the  enor- 
mous mouth  that  ilew  suddenly  open, 
and  the  jovial  peal  that  came  ringing 
through  two  rows  of  teeth  like  white 
chess  pawns,  —  and  with  all  this 
his  quaint,  indescribable,  dulcet,  rustic 
twang,  that  made  his  insignificant 
melody  ring  like  church  bells  heard 
from  the  middle  of  a  wood,  and  taste 
like  metheglin  come  down  to  us  in  a 
yew-tree  cask  from  the  Druids  ! 

During  the  song,  one  Robert  Man-  ! 
day  and  his  son,  rural  tiddlers,  who  ; 
by  instinct  nosed  festivities,  appeared 
at  the  gate,  each  with  a  green  bag. 
A  shriek  of  welcome  greeted  them  ; 
they  were  set  in  a  corner,  with  beef 
and  ale  galore,  and  soon  the  great  ta- 
ble was  carried  in,  the  ground  cleared, 
the  couples  made,  and  the  fiddles 
toning. 

The  Messrs  Munday  made  some 
preliminary  flourishes,  like  hawks  hov- 
ering uncertain  where  to  pounce,  and 
then,  like  the  same  bird,  they  sud- 
denly dashed  into  "  The  day  in 
June." 

Their  style  was  rough,  and  bore  a 
family  likeness  to  ploughing,  but  it 
was  true,  clean,  and  spirited;  the 
notes  of  the  arpeggio  danced  out  like 
starry  sparks  in  fireworks. 

Moreover,  the  Messrs.  Munday 
played  to  the  foot,  which  is  precisely 
what  your  melted-butter-violinist  al- 
ways fails  to  do,  whether  he  happens 
to  be  washing  out  the  soul  of  a  wait/., 
or  of  a  polka,  or  of  a  reel. 

They  also  played  BO  as  to  raise  the 
spirits  of  all  who  heard  them,  young 
or  old,  which  is  an  artistic  effect  of 
the  very  highest  order,  however  at- 
tained, and  never  is  and  never  will 
be  attained  by  the  melted-butter-vio- 
linist. 

The  fiddlers  bein^  merry,  the  dan- 
cers were  merry  ;  the  dancers  being 
merry,  the  fiddlers  said  to  themselves, 
"Aha!     we    have    not    missed   tire," 

and  so  grew  merrier  still.  And  thus 
tlie  electric  lire  of  laughter  and  music 

darted  to  and  fro.  Dance,  sons  and 
daughters  of  toil  !     None  had  ever  a 


better  right  to  dance  than  you  have 
this  sunny  afternoon  in  clear  Sep- 
tember. It  was  you  that  painfully 
ploughed  the  stiff  soil ;  it  was  you 
that  trudged  up  the  high,  incommod- 
ing furrow,  and  painfully  cast  abroad 
the  equal  seed.  You  that  are  women 
bowed  the  back,  and  painfully  drilled 
holes  in  the  soil,  and  poured  in  the 
seed ;  and  this  month  past  you  have 
all  bent,  and,  with  sweating  brows, 
cut  down  and  housed  the  crops  that 
came  from  the  seed  you  planted. 
Dance !  for  those  yellow  ricks,  tro- 
phies of  your  labor,  say  you  have  a 
right  to ;  those  barns,  bursting  with 
golden  fruit,  swear  you  have  a  right 
to.  Harvest-tide  comes  but  once  a 
year.  Dance  !  sons  and  daughters 
of  toil. 

Exult  over  your  work,  smile  with 
the  smiling  year,  and,  in  this  bright 
hour,  O  cease,  my  poor  soul,  to  envy 
the  rich  and  great !  Believe  me, 
they  arc  never,  at  any  hour  of  their 
lives,  so  cheery  as  you  are  now.  How 
can  they  be  ?  With  them  dancing  is 
tame  work,  an  cvery-day  business,  — 
no  rarity,  no  treat.  Don't  envy 
them,  —  God  is  just,  and  deals  the 
sources  of  content  with  a  more  equal 
hand  than  appears  on  the  surface  of 
things.  Dance,  too,  without  fear; 
let  no  Puritan  make  you  believe  it  is 
wrong ;  things  are  wrong  out  of 
season,  and  right  in  season ;  to  dance 
in  harvest  is  as  b  'coming  as  to  be 
grave  in  church.  The  Almighty  has 
put  it  into  the  hearts  of  insects  to 
dance  in  the  afternoon  sun,  and  of 
men  and  women  in  every  age  and 
every  land  to  dance  round  the  gath- 
ered crop,  whether  it  be  corn,  or  oil, 
or  wine,  or  any  other  familiar  mir- 
acle that  springs  up  sixty-fold  and 
nurtures  and  multiplies  the  lite  of 
man.  More  fire,  fiddlers!  play  to 
the  foot,  —  play  to  the  heart  the 
sprightly  "  Day  in  June."  Ay,  foot 
it  freely,  lads  and  lasses  ;  my  own 
heart  is  warmer  to  think  you  are 
merry  once  <>r  twice  in  your  year  of 
labor.  Dance,  my  poor  brothers  and 
sisters,  sons  and  daughters  of  toil ! 


204 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


After  several  dances,  Mrs.  May- 
field,  who  had  been  uneasy  in  her 
mind  at  remaining  out  of  the  fun, 
could  hear  inaction  no  longer;  so  she 
pounced  on  Eobert  Hathorn  and 
drew  him  into  the  magic  sqtiare. 
Robert  danced,  but  in  a  very  listless 
way ;  so  much  so,  that  his  mother, 
Avho  stood  by,  took  occasion  to  give 
him  a  push  and  say:  "Is  that  the 
way  to  dance  ?  "  at  which  poor  Robert 
tried  to  do  better,  but  his  limbs,  as 
well  as  his  face,  showed  how  far  his 
heart  was  from  his  heels. 

Now,  in  the  middle  of  this  dance, 
suddenly  loud  and  angry  sounds 
were  heard  approaching,  and  the 
voice  of  old  Patrick  was  soon  dis- 
tinguished, and  the  next  moment  he 
was  seen  following  Mr.  Hickman, 
and  hanging  on  his  rear,  loading 
him  with  invective.  Rachael  was  by 
his  side,  endeavoring,  in  vain,  to 
soothe  him,  and  to  end  what  to  her 
was  a  most  terrible  scene.  At  a.  ges- 
ture from  Mrs.  Mayfield,  the  fiddlers 
left  off,  and  the  rustics  turned,  all 
curiosity,  towards  the  interruption. 
"  There  are  bad  hearts  in  the  world," 
shouted  Patrick  to  all  present,  —  "  ver- 
min that  steal  into  honest  houses  and 
file  *  them,  —  bad  hearts,  that  rob  the 
poor  of  that  which  is  before  life;  O 
yes,  far  before  life !  "  and,  as  he  ut- 
tered these  words,  Patrick  was  ob- 
served to  stagger. 

"  The  old  man  is  drunk,"  said 
Hickman.  "  I  don't  know  what  he 
means." 

Rachael  colored  high  and  cried : 
"  No,  Master  Robert,  I  assure  you 
he  is  not  drunk,  but  he  is  not  him- 
self ;  he  has  been  complaining  this 
hour  past ;  see !  look  at  his  eye. 
Good  people,  my  grandfather  is  ill "  ; 
and,  indeed,  as  she  said  these  words, 
Patrick,  who,  from  the  moment  he 
had  staggered,  had  stared  wildly  and 
confusedly  around  him,  suddenly 
bowed  his  head  and  dropped  upon 
his  knees;  he  would  have  fallen  on 
his  face,  but  Rachael's  arm  now  held 
him  up. 

*  For  defile. 


In  a  moment  several  persons  came 
round  them  ;  amongst  the  rest,  Rob- 
ert and  Mrs.  Mayfield.  Robert 
loosened  his  neckcloth,  and,  looking 
at  the  old  man's  face  and  eye,  he  said, 
gravely  and  tenderly  :  "  Rachael,  I 
have  seen  the  like  of  this  before  —  in 
harvest." 

"  O  Master  Robert,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Rachael,  it  is  a  stroke  of  the 
sun  ! "  He  turned  to  his  mother : 
"  God  forgive  us  all,  the  old  man  was 
never  fit  for  the  work  we  have  put 
him  to." 

"  Come,  don't  stand  gaping  there," 
cried  Mrs.  Mayfield ;  "  mount  my 
mare  and  gallop  for  the  doctor,  — 
d&n't  spare  her,  —  off  with  you ! 
Betsy,  get  a  bed  ready  in  my  "gar- 
ret." 

"Eh,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Hathorn, 
"  I  doubt  the  poor  thing's  troubles 
are  over  "  ;  and  she  put  up  her  apron 
and  began  to  crv. 

"  O  no  ! "  cried  Rachael.  "  Grand- 
father, —  don't  leave  me  !  —  don't 
leave  me  !  " 

Corporal  Patrick's  lips  moved. 

"  I  can't  see  ye !  I  can't  see 
any  of  ye !  "  he  said,  half  fretfully. 
"  Ah  !  "  he  resumed,  as  if  a  light  had 
broken  in  on  him.  "  Yes  !  "  said  he, 
very  calmly,  "I  think  I  am  going"; 
but  the  next  moment  he  cried  in 
tones  that  made  the  by-standers  thrill, 
so  wild  and  piteous  they  were : 
"  My  daughter !  my  daughter  !  —  she 
will  miss  me  !  " 

Robert  Hathorn  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  took  the  old  hand  with  one  of 
those  grasps  that  bring  soul  in  con- 
tact with  soul ;  the  old  soldier,  who 
was  at  this  moment  past  seeing  or 
hearing,  felt  this  grasp,  and  turned  to 
it  as  an  unconscious  plant  turns  to 
the  light.  "  I  can't  see  you,"  said  he, 
faintly  ;  "but,  whoever  you  are,  take 
care  of  my  child  !  —  she  is  such  a  good 
child  !  "  The  hands  spoke  to  one  an- 
other still ;  then  the  old  soldier  almost 
smiled,  and  the  anxious,  frightened 
look  of  his  face  began  to  calm. 
"  Thank  God,"  he  faltered,  "  they  are 
going  to  take  care  of  my  child  !  "  And 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


205 


almost  with  these  words  he  lost  all 
sense,  and  lay  pale,  and  calm,  and 
motionless  at  their  feet,  and  his  hand 
could  grasp  Robert's  no  more.  There 
was  a  moment  of  dead  silence  and  in- 
quiring looks.  Robert  looked  into 
his  face  gravely  and  attentively. 

When  he  had  so  inspected  him  a 
little  while,  he  turned  to  them  all, 
and  he  said,  in  a  deep  and  almost  a 
stern  voice  :  — 

"Hats  off!" 

They  all  uncovered,  and  stood  look- 
ing like  stricken  deer  at  the  old  sol- 
dier as  he  lay.  The  red  jacket  had 
nothing  ridiculous  now.  When  it 
was  new  and  bright  it  had  been  in 
great  battles.  They  asked  themselves 
now,  Had  they  really  sneered  at  this 
faded  raj;  of  England's  glory,  and  as 
that  withered  hero  ? 

"  Did  n't  think  the  old  man  was  a 
going  to  leave  us  like  that,"  said  one 
of  these  rough  penitents,  "or  I'd 
never  ha  wagged  my  tongue  again 
on." 

Mrs.  Mayfield  gave  orders  to  have 
him  carried  up  to  her  garret,  and  four 
stout  rustics,  two  at  his  head  and  two 
at  his  feet,  took  him  up  the  stairs, 
and  laid  him  there  on  a  decent  bed. 
When  Rachael  saw  the  clean  floor, 
the  little  carpet  round  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  the  bright  walls  and  windows, 
and  the  snowy  sheets,  made  ready  for 
her  grandfather,  she  hid  her  face  and 
wept,  and  said  but  two  words, — 
"  Too  late !  too  late  !  " 

As  Rachael  was  following  her 
grandfather  up  the  stairs,  she  met 
Hickman  :  that  worthy  had  watched 
this  sorrowful  business  in  silence;  he 
had  tears  in  his  eyes,  and,  coming  to 
her,  in-  whispered  in  her  ear,  "  Ra- 
chael, don't  fret, —  I  will  not  desert  you 
now."  On  the  landing,  a  moment 
alter,  Rachael  met  Robert  Hathotrn  : 
he  said  to  her,  "  Rachael,  your  grand- 
father trusted  you  to  me.' 

When  Hickman  said  that  to  her, 
Rachael  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

When  Robert  said  that  to  her, 
she  lowered  her  eyes  away  from 
him. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  poor  battered  soldier  lay  some 
hours  between  life  and  death.  Just 
before  sunrise  Rachael,  who  had 
watched  him  all  night,  and  often 
moistened  his  temples  with  vinegar; 
opened  the  window,  and,  as  the  morn- 
ing air  came  into  the  room,  a  change 
for  the  better  was  observed  in  the 
patient,  —  a  slight  color  stole  into  his 
pale  cheeks,  and  he  seemed  to  draw 
a  fuller  breath,  and  his  heart  beat 
more  perceptibly;  Rachael  kneeled 
and  prayed  for  him,  and  then  she 
prayed  to  him  not  to  leave  her 
alone ;  the  sun  had  been  up  about 
an  hour,  and  came  fiery  bright  into 
the  white-washed  room  ;  for  it  looked 
towards  the  east,  and  Corporal  Pat- 
rick's lips  moved,  but  without  uttering 
a  sound.  Rachael  prayed  for  him 
again  most  ferventlv.  About  nine 
o'clock  his  lips  moved,  and  this  time 
he  spoke: — 

"  —  Rear  rank,  right  wheel !  —  " 

The  next  moment,  a  light  shot 
into  his  eye.  His  looks  rested  upon 
Rachael :  he  smiled  feebly,  hut  con- 
tentedly, then  closed  his  eyes  and 
slumbered  again. 

Corporal  Patrick  lived.  But  it 
was  a  near  tiling,  a  very  near  thing, 
—  he  was  saved  by  one  of  those  acci- 
dents we  call  luck,  —  when  Mrs. 
Mayfield's  Tom  rode  for  the  doctor, 
the  doctor  was  providentially  out. 
Had  he  been  in,  our  talc  would  bo 
now  bidding  farewell  to  Corporal 
Patrick,  — for  this  doctor  was  one  of 
the  pi<j-stieking  ones.  He  loved  to 
stab  men  and  women  with  a  tool  that 
has  slain  far  more  than  the  sword  in 
modern  days  ;  it  is  called  "  the  lan- 
cet." Had  he  found  a  man  insensi- 
ble, he  Would  have  stabbed  him,  poor 
man  !  he  always  Btabbed  a  fellow- 
creature  when  he  caught  it  insensible: 
not  very  generous,  was  it? — now, 
had  he  drawn  from  those  old  veins 
one  tablespoonfu]  of  that  red  fluid 
which  is  the  lite  of  a  man,  the  age<C 
man  would  have  come  to  his  senses 
only  to  sink  the  next  hour,  and  die  for 


20  G 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


want  of  that  vital  stream  stolen  from 
him  by  rule. 

As  it  was,  he  breathed,  and  came 
back  to  life  by  slow  degrees.  At 
first  his  right  arm  was  powerless ; 
then  he  could  not  move  the  right  leg ; 
but  at  last  he  recovered  the  use  of  his 
limbs,  but  remained  feeble,  and  his 
poor  head  was  sore  confused  :  one  mo- 
ment he  would  he  quite  himself;  an- 
other, his  memory  of  recent  events 
would  be  obscured,  —  and  then  he 
would  shake  his  head  and  sigh.  But 
nature  was  strong  in  him  ;  and  he  got 
better,  —  but  slowly. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  walk, 
Rachael  proposed  to  Mrs.  Mayfield 
to  return  home,  but  Mrs.  Hatliorn 
interposed,  and  requested  Rachael  to 
take  her  own  servant's  place  for  an- 
other week,  in  order  to  let  the  ser- 
vant visit  her  friends.  On  these 
terms,  Kachael  remained,  and  did  the 
work  of  the  llathorns'  house,  and  it 
was  observed  that  during  th:s  period 
more  color  came  to  her  cheek,  and 
her  listlcssness  and  languor  sensibly 
diminished. 

She  was  very  active  and  zealous  in 
her  work,  and  old  Hathorn  was  so 
pleased  with  her,  that  he  said  one  day 
to  Mrs.  Hathorn  :  "  I  don't  care  if 
Betsy  never  comes  back  at  all ;  this 
one  is  worth  a  baker's  dozen  of  her, 
this  Rachael." 

"  Betsy  will  serve  our  turn  as  well 
in  the  long  run,"  said  Mrs.  Hathorn, 
somewhat  dryly  and  thoughtfully. 

"Betsy!"  replied  the  former,  con- 
temptuously ;  "  there  is  more  sense  in 
this  Rachael's  forefinger  than  in  that 
wench's  whole  carcass." 

It.  was  about  two  days  after  this 
that  the  following  conversation  took 
place  between  Robert  Hathorn  and 
his  mother  :  — 

"  Is  it  true,  what  I  hear,  that  Mr. 
Patrick  talks  about  going  next 
week  ?  " 

"  Have  not  they  been  here  long 
enough,  Robert '(  I  wish  they  may 
not  have  been  here  too  long." 

"  Why  too  long,  when  you  asked 
them  to  stay  yourself,  mother  ?  " 


"Yes,  I  did,  and  I  doubt  I  did 
very  wron^.  But  it  is  hard  for  a 
mother  to  deny  her  son." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  moth- 
er, but  I  don't  remember  that  ever  I 
asked  you." 

"  No !  no.  I  don't  say  that  you 
ever  spoke  your  mind,  Robert ;  but 
you  looked  up  in  my  face,  and  showed 
your  wish  plain  enough  to  my  eye ; 
and  yon  sec  a  poor  foolish  body  like  me 
does  n't  know  how  to  say  no  to  her 
boy  that  never  vexed  her.  I  should 
have  been  a  better  friend  to  you  if  I 
had  turned  my  head  away,  and  made 
believe  not  to  sec  what  is  in  your 
heart." 

Robert  paused  awhile,  then,  in  a 
low,  anxious  voice,  he  whispered  : 
"  Don't  you  like  her,  mother '(  ' 

"Yes!  I  like  her,  my  poor  soul. 
What  is  there  to  dislike  in  her  1  But 
I  don't  know  her." 

"  But  1  know  her  as  well  as  if  Ave 
had  been  seven  years  acquainted." 

"  You  talk  like  a  child  !  How  can 
you  know  a  girl  that  comes  from  a 
strange  part  1 " 

"  I  'd  answer  for  her,  mother." 

"  I  would  n't  answer  for  any  young 
wench  of  them  all !  I  do  notice  she 
is  very  close ;  ten  to  one  if  she  has 
not  an  acquaintance  of  some  sort,  good 
or  bad." 

"  A  bad  acquaintance,  mother ! 
Never  !  If  you  had  seen  her  through 
all  the  harvest-month,  as  I  did,  re- 
spect herself  and  make  others  respect 
her,  you  would  sec  that  girl  never 
could  have  made  a  trip  in  her  life." 

"  Now,  Robert,  what  makes  you  so 
sad,  like,  if  you  have  no  misgivings 
about  her  1  " 

"  Because,  mother,  I  don't  think 
she  likes  me  so  well  as  I  do  her." 

"All  the  better,"  said  Mrs.  Ha 
thorn,  dryly  ;  "  make  up  your  mind 
to  that." 

"  Do  not  say  so  !  do  not  say  so  !  " 
said  Robert,  piteously. 

"  Well,  Robert,  she  does  not  hate 
you,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  Why 
is  she  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  away  ? ' 

"  Because  she  has  some  one  in  hef 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


207 


own  country  she  likes  better  than 
me." 

"  Ay  !  that  is  the  way  you  boys 
read  women.  More  likely  she  is 
afraid  of  liking  you  too  well,  and 
making  mischief  in  a  family." 

"  O  mother,  do  you  think  it  is 
that  ? " 

"  There,  I  am  a  fool  to  tell  you 
such  things." 

"  0  no,  no,  no  !  There  is  no 
friend  like  a  mother." 

"  There  is  no  fool  like  a  mother, 
that  is  my  belief." 

"  No,  no !  Give  me  some  comfort, 
mother ;  tell  me  you  see  some  signs 
of  liking  in  her." 

"  Well,  then,  when  she  is  quite 
sure  you  are  not  looking  her  way,  I 
can  see  her  eye  dwell  upon  you  as  if 
it  was  at  home." 

"  0,  how  happy  you  make  me ! 
But,  mother,  how  you  must  have 
watched  her !  " 

"  ( )f  course  I  watched  her,  and  you 
too;  I  have  seen  a  long  while  how 
matters  were  going." 

"  Hut  you  never  spoke  to  Rose,  or 
my  father  ?  " 

"  If  I  had,  she  would  have  been 
turned  out  of  the  house,  and  a  good 
job  too;  but  you  would  have  fretted, 
you  know";  and  Mrs.  Hathorn  sighed. 

"Mother,  I  must  kiss  you.  I  shall 
have  courage  to  speak  to  father  about 
it  now." 

"  Take  a  thought,  Robert.  His 
heart  is  set  upon  your  marrying  your 
cousin.  It  would  be  a  hitter  pill  to 
the  poor  old  man,  and  his  temper  is 
very  hasty.  Fur  1  leaven's  sake  take 
a  thought  I  don't  know  what  to  do, 
I  am  sure." 

"  I  must  do  it  soon  or  late."  said 
Robert,  resolntely.  "  No  time  so  good 
as  now.  Father  is  hasty,  and  he  will 
he  angry,  no  doubt ;  but  after  a  while 
he  will  give  in,  I  don't  ask  him  fa- 
vors every  day.  Do  you  consent, 
mother  ?  '' 

"  <)  Robert,  what  is  the  use  asking 
me  whether  I  consent?  I  have  only 
one  son,  and  he  is  a  good  one.  I  am 
afraid  I  could  not  say  no  to  your  hap- 


piness, suppose  it  was  my  duty  to  say 
no  ;  but  your  father  is  not  such  a  lool 
as  I  am,  and  I  am  main  doubtful 
whether  he  will  ever  consent.  I  wish 
you  could  think  better  of  it." 

"  I  will  try  him,  mother,  no  later 
than  to-day.  Why,  here  he  comes. 
O,  there  is  Mr.  Casenower  with  him  ; 
that  is  unlucky.  You  get  him  away, 
mother,  and  I'll  open  my  mind  to 
father." 

Old  Hathorn  came  past  the  win- 
dow, and  entered  the  room  where 
Robert  and  Mrs.  Hathorn  were.  The 
farmer  stumped  in,  and  sat  down  with 
some  appeam nee  of  fatigue.  Mr. 
Casenower  sat  down  opposite  him. 

That  gentleman  had  in  his  hand  a 
cabbage.  He  was  proving  to  the 
farmer  that  this  plant  is  more  nutri- 
tious than  the  potato.  The  theory  was 
German  in  the  first  instance.  "  There 
are  but  three  nourishing  principles  in 
all  food,"  argued  Mr.  Casenower, 
"  and  of  those,  what  we  call '  fihrine  ' 
is  the  most  effective.  Now,  see,  I 
put  myT  nail  to  this  stalk,  and  it 
readily  reduces  itself  to  a  bundle  of 
little  fibres ;  sec,  those  are  pure  fi- 
brine,  and,  taken  into  the  stomach, 
make  the  man  muscular.  Can  any- 
thing be  clearer  ? " 

Mr.  Hathorn,  who  had  shown 
symptoms  of  impatience,  replied  to 
this  effect :  "  That  he  knew  by  per- 
sonal experience  that  cabbage  turns 
to  nothing  hut  hot  water  in  a  man's 
belly." 

"  There  are  words  to  come  out  of  a 
man's  mouth!"  objected  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn. 

"  Better  than  cabbage  going  into 
it,"  grunted  the  fanner. 

"  Ah,  you  know  nothing  of  chemis- 
try, my  e-ood  friend." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  say  there  is  a  deal 
of  heart  in  a  cabbage?" 

"  I  do." 

"Then  I  tell  you  what  T '11  do  with 
you,  sir.  There  is  some  fool  has 
been  and  planted  half  an  acre  of  cab- 
bagea  in  my  barley-field  —  " 

"  It  was  not  a  fool,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Hathorn,  sharply,  "it  was  me." 


208 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


"  It  was  not  a  fool,  you  see,  sir  ;  it 
was  a  woman,"  responded  Hathorn, 
mighty  dryly.  "  Well,  sir,  you  train 
on  the  Dame's  cabbages  for  a  month, 
and  all  that  time  I  '11  eat  nothing 
stronger  than  beef  and  bacon,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  month  I'll  fight  you 
for  a  pot  of  beer,  if  you  are  so  mind- 
ed." 

"  This  is  the  way  we  reason  in  the 
country,  eh,  Mr.  Robert  1  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  would  serve  father 
right  if  you  took  him  up,  sir,  with  his 
game  leg  ;  but  I  don't  bold  with  cab- 
bages for  all  that ;  a  turnip  is  watery 
enough,  but  a  cabbage  and  a  sponge 
are  pretty  much  one,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Mr.  Casenower,"put  in  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn, "  did  n't  you  promise  to  show 
me  a  pansy  in  your  garden,  that  is  to 
win  the  ne"xt  prize  at  Wallingford  ?  " 

"  I  did,  ma'am,  but  you  should  not 
call  it  '  Tansy ' ;  '  Heart's-ease  '  is  bad 
enough,  without  going  back  to  '  Pan- 
sy.' Viola  tricolor  is  the  name  of  the 
flower,  —  the  scientific  name." 

"  No,"  said  old  Hathorn,  stoutly. 

"  No !      What  do   you  mean  by 


no 


i  " 


"What  are  names  for?  To  re- 
member things  by  ;  then  the  seientif- 
ickest  name  must  be  the  one  that  it 
is  easiest  to  remember.  Now,  pansy 
is  a  deal  easier  to  remember  than 
'  vile  tricolor.'  " 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn ;  come  along,  for  Heaven's 
sake";  and  off  bustled  Mr.  Casc- 
nower towards  the  garden  with  Mrs. 
Hathorn. 

"  Father,"  said  Robert,  after  an 
uneasy  pause,  "  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you,  vci-y  particular." 

""Have    you,   though?    well,   out 
with  it,  my  lad  ! " 
"  Father !  —  " 

At  this  moment,  in  bustled  Mr. 
Cascnower  again.  "  O  Mr.  Robert, 
I  forgot  something.  Let  me  tell  you, 
DOW  1  think  of  it.  I  want  you  to 
find  out  this  Rebecca  Reid  for  me. 
She  lives  somewhere  near,  within  a 
few  miles.  I  don't  exactly  know  bow 
inany.     Can't  you  lind  her  out  ?  " 


"Why,  sir,"  said  Robert,  "it  is 
like  looking  for  one  poppy  in  a  field 
of  standing  wheat." 

"  No,  no !  When  you  go  to  mar- 
ket, ask  all  the  farmers  from  different 
parishes  whether  they  know  her." 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw !  "  went  Hathorn, 
senior.  "-Yes,  do,  Robert.  Ho, 
ho!" 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  he  is 
laughing  at  ?  "  said  Mr.  Cascnower, 
dryly. 

"  Father  thinks  you  will  make  mo 
the  laughing-stock  of  the  market, 
sir,"  said  Robert,  with  a  faint  smile  ; 
"  but  never  mind  him,  sir,  I  shall  try 
and  oblige  you," 

"  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Robert. 
I  must  go  back  to  Mrs.  Hathorn  "  ; 
and  off  he  bustled  again. 

"  Father,"  began  Robert ;  but  be- 
fore he  could  open  his  subject,  voices 
were  heard  outside,  and  Mrs.  May- 
field  came  in,  followed  by  Richard 
Hickman. 

"  Tic  !  tic  !  tic  !  "  said  poor  Robert, 
peevishly,  for  he  foresaw  endless  in- 
terruptions. 

Mr.  Hickman  bad  been  for  some 
minutes  past  employed  in  the  agree- 
able occupation  of  bringing  Mrs.  May- 
field  to  the  point ;  but,  for  various 
reasons,  Mrs.  Mayficld  did  not  want 
to  be  brought  to  the  point  that  fore- 
noon. One  of  those  reasons  was, 
that,  although  she  liked  Hickman 
well  enough  to  marry  him,  she  liked 
somebody  else  better,  and  she  was 
not  yet  sure  as  to  this  person's  in- 
tentions. She  wanted,  therefore,  to 
be  certain  she  could  not  have  Paid, 
before  she  committed  herself  to  Peter. 
Now,  certain  ladies,  when  they  do 
not  want  to  be  brought  to  the  point, 
have  ways  of  avoiding  it  that  a  man 
would  hardly  hit  upon.  One  of 
them  is,  to  'be  constantly  moving 
about ;  for,  they  argue,  "  If  he  can't 
pin  my  body  to  any  spot,  he  can't  pin 
my  soul,  for  my  soul  is  contained  in 
my  body  "  ;  and  there  is  a  certain  vul- 
gar philosophy  in  this.  Another  is, 
to  be  absorbed  in  some  small  mat- 
ter,  that  just  thc»  they   cannot    do 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


209 


JNStice  to  the  larger  question,  and  so 
modestly  postpone  it. 

"  Will  I  be  yours  till  death  us  do 
part  ?  now,  how  can  I  tell  you  just 
now  ?  such  a  question  demands  at 
least  some  attention  ;  and  look  at 
this  hole  in  my  lace  collar,  which  I 
am  mending ;  if  I  don't  give  my 
whole  soul  to  it,  how  can  I  mend  it 
properly  ?  " 

Mr.  Hickman  had  no  sooner  shown 
Mrs.  Mayfield  that  he  wanted  to 
bring  her  to  the  point,  than  he  found 
himself  in  for  some  hard  work  ;  twice 
he  had  to  cross  the  farmyard  with 
her ;  he  had  to  take  up  a  sickly  chick- 
en and  pronounce  upon  its  ailment, 
lie  had  to  get  some  milk  in  a  pail 
ami  give  one  of  her  calves  a  drink. 
He  had  to  bring  one  cow  from  pud- 
dock  to  stall,  and  another  from  stall 
to  paddock.  Heaven  knew  why ; 
and  when  all  this  and  much  more  was 
done,  the  lady  caught  sight  of  our 
friends  in  the  Hathorns'  kitchen,  and, 
crying  briskly,  "  Come  this  way," 
led  Mr.  Hickman  into  company  where 
she  knew  he  could  not  press  the  in- 
opportune topic. 

•'  Curse  her!"  muttered  the  enam- 
ored one,  as  he  followed  her  into 
the  Hathorns'  kitchen. 

After  the  usual  greetings,  the  farm- 
er, observing  Robert's  impatience,  said 
to  Hickman:  "  If  you  will  excuse  J 
me  for  a  minute,  farmer,  Robert 
wants  to  speak  to  me;  we  are  going 
towards  the  b.irn."  He  then  beck- 
oned Mrs.  Mayfield,  and  whispered 
in  her  ear  :  "Don't  let  this  one  set 
you  against  my  Robert,  that  is  worth 
a  hundred  of  him." 

Mrs.  Mayfield  whispered  in  return  : 
"  And  don't  let  your  Robert  shilly- 
shally so,  because  this  one  does  not 
—  you  understand  —  " 

""  All  right,"  replied  Hathorn  ; 
"  ten  to  one  if  it  is  not  you  he  wants 
to  ipeak  to  me  about." 

Hathorn  and  his  son  then  saun- 
tered into  the  farm-yard,  and  1 1 i<  k- 
man  gained  what  he  had  been  trying 
for  >o  long,  a  quiet  tete-h-t&te  with 
Mrs.   Mayfield  ;    for  all    that,   if   a ' 


woman  is  one  of  those  that  have  a 
wish,  it  is  dangerous  to  drive  her  to 
the  point. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Mayfield,"  said  he, 
quietly  but  firmly,  "  I  am  courting 
you  this  six  months,  and  now  I 
should  be  glad  to  have  my  answer. 
'  Yes,'  or  '  no,'  if  you  please." 

Mrs.  Mayheld  sidled  towards  the 
window ;  it  commanded  the  farm- 
yard. Robert  and  his  father  were 
walking  slowly  up  and  down  by  the 
side  of  the  farm-yard  pond.  Mrs. 
Mayfield  watched  them  intently,  then, 
half  turning  towards  Hickman,  she 
said  slowly  :  "  Why,  as  to  that,  Mr. 
Hickman,  you  have  certainly  come 
after  me  awhile,  and  I  '11  not  deny  I 
find  you  very  good  company ;  but  I 
have  been  married  once  and  made  a 
great  mistake,  as  you  have  heard,  I 
dare  say  ;  so  now  I  am  obliged  to  be 
cautious." 

"  What,  are  you  afraid  of  my  tem- 
per, Rose  ?  I  am  not  reckoned  a 
bad-tempered  one,  any  more  than 
yourself." 

"  ()  no !  I  have  no  fault  to  find 
with  you,  —  only  we  have  not  been 
acquainted  so  very  long." 

"  That  is  a  fault  will  mend  every 
day." 

"  Of  course  it  will ;  well,  when  yon 
are  settled  on  Bix,  we  shall  see  you 
mostly  every  day,  and  then  we  shall 
know  one  another  better;  for,  if  you 
have  no  faults,  I  have;  and  then  you 
will  know  better  what  sort  of  a  bar- 
gain you  are  making:  and  then — ■ 
we  will  see  about   it." 

"  Better  tell  tin'  truth,"  said  the 
all-observant  Hickman. 

"The  truth!" 

"  Ay,  that  the  old  man  wants  you 
to  marry  Bob  Hathorn.  O,  1  am 
down  upon  him  this  many  a  day." 

"Robert    Hathorn   is   nothing  to 

me,"  replied  the  Mayfield  ;  "  but,  since 
you  put  him  in  my  head,  I  confess  I 
might  do  worse." 

"  How  conld  you  do  worse  than 
many  a  lad  who  has  nothing  but  his 
two  arms  ' 

Mrs.  Mayfidd, looking  slyly  through 
N 


210 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


the  window,  observed  Robert  and  bis 
father  to  be  in  earnest  conversation ; 
this  somewhat  colored  her  answer. 
She  replied  quickly,  "  Better  poor  and 
honest,  than  half  rich  and  three  parts 
of  a  rogue  !  " 

"  Is  that  for  me,  if  you  please  ?  " 
said  Hickman,  calmly  but  firmly. 

"  No !  I  don't  say  it  is,"  replied  the 
lady,  fearful  she  had  gone  too  far; 
"  but  still  I  wonder  at  your  choosing 
this  time  for  pressing  me." 

"  Why  not  this  time,  as  well  as 
another,  pray  1 "  and  Hickman  eyed 
her  intently,  though  secretly. 

"  Why  not !  "  said  she,  and  she 
paused  ;  for  the  dialogue  between  Ha- 
thorn  and  his  son  was  now  so  ani- 
mated, that  the  father's  tones  reached 
even  to  her  ear. 

"  Ay !  why  not  ?  "  repeated  Hick- 
man. 

The  lady  turned  on  him,  and,  with 
a  sudden  change  of  manner,  said  very 
sharply,  "  Ask  your  own  conscience." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !  " 

"  I  '11  tell  you.  This  old  Patrick 
was  miscalling  you,  when  he  fell  ill. 
They  say  it  was  a  stroke  of  the  sun, 
—  maybe  it  was  :  but  I  should  say 
passion  had  something  to  do  with  it 
too ;  the  old  man  said  words  to  you 
that  none  of  the  others  noticed,  but  I 
did.  He  said  as  much  as  that  you 
had  robbed  some  one  of  what  is  before 
life  in  this  world." 

"  Ay,  and  what  is  before  life,  I  won- 
der ?  "  said  the  satirical  Hickman. 

"  Why,  nothing,"  replied  the  frank 
Mrs.  Mayfield,  "  if  you  go  to  that ; 
but  it  is  a  common  saying  that  a 
'  good  name  is  before  life,'  and  that  is 
what  the  old  man  meant." 

"  I  wonder  you  should  take  any  no- 
tice of  what  that  old  man  says,  and 
above  all  his  daughter." 

"  His  daughter,  Mr.  Hickman  ! 
Why,  I  never  mentioned  his  daugh- 
ter, for  my  part.  You  have  been  and 
put  your  own  bricks  on  my  founda- 
tion." 

Hickman  looked  confused. 

"  You  arc  a  fool,  Richard  Hick- 
man !     You  have  told  me  more  than 


I  knew,  and  I  see  more  than  you  tell 
me.  You  have  led  that  girl  astray, 
and  deserted  her  likely,  you  little 
scamp  ! "  (Hickman  was  five  foot  ten.) 

"  Nonsense  !  "  put  in  Hickman. 
"  That  Rachael  shall  never  come  be- 
tween you  and  me  ;  but  I  '11  tell  you 
who  the  girl  stands  between  :  you  and 
your  Robert,  that  the  farmer  wants  to 
put  in  the  traces  with  }rou  against  his 
will." 

"  You  are  a  liar !  "  cried  Rose 
Mayfield,  coloring  to  her  temples. 

Hickman  answered  coolly  :  "  Thank 
you  for  the  compliment,  Rose.  No, 
it  is  the  truth.  You  see,  when  a  man  is 
wrapped  up  in  a  woman,  as  I  am  in 
you,  he  finds  out  everything  that  con- 
cerns her;  and  your  boy,  Tom,  tells 
me  that  Robert  is  as  fond  of  her  as  a 
cow  of  a  calf." 

"  He  fond  of  that  Rachael  ?  No  !  " 

"  Why,  Rachael  is  a  well-looking 
lass,  if  you  go  to  that." 

"  And  so  she  is,"  pondered  Mrs. 
Mayfield  ;  and  in  a  moment  many  lit- 
tle circumstances  in  Robert's  conduct 
became  clear  by  this  new  light  Hick- 
man had  given  her.  She  struggled, 
and  recovered  her  outward  composure. 
"  Well,"  said  she,  stoutly,  "  what  is  it 
to  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  not  much,  I  hope.  Give 
me  your  hand,  Rose ;  /  don't  fancy 
any  girl  but  you.  And  name  the  day, 
if  you  will  be  so  good." 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Rose  Mayfield, 
nearly  drying  with  vexation.  "  I 
won't  marry  any  of  you,  —  a  set  of 
rogues  and  blockheads.  And,  if  it  is 
true,  I  don't  thank  you  for  telling  me. 
You  are  a  sly,  spiteful  dog,  and  I 
don't  care  how  often  you  ride  past  my 
house  without  hooking  bridle  to  the 
gate,  Dick  Hickman." 

Hickman  bit  his  lips,  but  he  kept 
his  temper.  "  What !  all  this  because 
Bob  Hathorn's  taste  is  not  so  good  as 
mine  !  Ought  I  to  suffer  for  his  fol- 
ly?" 

"  O,  it  is  not  for  that,  don't  think 
it !  But  I  don't  want  a  lover  that 
has  ruined  other  women ;  it  is  not 
lucky,  to  say  the  least." 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


211 


"What,   all    this,   because   a   girl 

1'umped  into  my  arms  one  day  ?  Why, 
;  am  not  so  hard  upon  you.  I  hear 
tales  about  you,  you  know,  but  I  only 
laugh,  —  even  about  Frank  Fairfield 
ami  you."  (Mrs.  Maytield  gave  a  lit- 
tle start.)  "  Neither  you  nor  I  are  an- 
gels, you  know.  Why  should  we  be 
hard  on  one  another  ?  " 

Mrs.  Maytield,  red  as  fire,  inter- 
rupted him.  "  My  faults,  if  I  have 
any,  have  hurt  me  only ;  but  yours 
never  hurt  you,  and  ruined  others  ; 
and  you  say  no  more  about  me  than 
you  know,  or  you  will  get  a  slap  in 
the  mouth,  and  there  's  my  door  ;  you 
take  it  at  a  word,  and  I  '11  excuse  any 
further  visits  from  you,  Mr.  Hick- 
man." 

These  words,  with  a  finger  pointing 
to  the  door,  and  a  flashing  eye,  left 
nothing  for  Hickman  but  to  retire, 
which  he  did,  boiling  with  indignation, 
mortification,  and  revenge.  "  This  is 
all  along  of  ltachael.  hhe  has  blown 
me,"  muttered  he,  between  his  teeth. 
"  I  have  got  the  bag ;  you  sha'  n't  gain 
anything  by  it,  Rachael !  " 

It  will  be  remembered  that  when 
Patrick  lay  dying  or  dead,  as  he  sup- 
posed, this  Hickman  had  a  good  im- 
pulse, and  told  Kachael  he  wrould 
never  desert  her :  in  this  he  was  per- 
fectly sincere  at  the  moment.  People 
utterly  destitute  of  principle  abound 
in  impulses.  They  have  good  im- 
pulses, which  generally  come  to  noth- 
ing or  next  to  nothing ;  and  bad 
impulses,  which  they  put  iu  prac- 
tice. 

Mr.  Hickman  had  time  to  think 
over  his  good  impulse,  and,  according- 
ly, he  thought  better  of  it,  and  found 
that  Rose  Maytield  was  too  great  a 
prize  to  resign,  lie  therefore  kept 
out  of  the  way  more  than  a  week  (a 
suspicions  circumstance,  which  Mis. 
Maytield  did  not  fail  to  couple  with 
old  Patrick's  words),  and  his  pity  for 
Kachael  evaporated  in  all  that  time. 
"  What  the  worse  is  sin-  tor  me  now? 
Hang  her,  I  offered  her  money,  and 
what  not ;  but  I  suppose  nothing  will 
serve  her  turn  but    hooking   me   for 


life,  or  else  having  her  spite  out,  and 
spilling  my  milk  for  me  here." 

It  was  a  fixed  notion  in  this  man's 
mind  that  Rachael  would  do  all  she 
could  to  ruin  his  suit  with  Mrs.  May- 
field,  and  when  he  got  the  "  sack,"  or, 
as  he  vulgarly  called  it,  "  the  bag," 
he  attributed  it,  in  spite  of  Rose  May- 
field's  denial,  to  some  .secret  revela- 
tion on  Rachael's  part,  and  a  furious 
impulse  to  be  revenged  on  her  took 
possession  of  him. 

Now  this  bad  impulse,  unlike  his 
good  one,  had  no  time  to  cool.  As 
he  went  towards  the  stable,  the  Devil 
would  have  it  he  should  meet  Robert 
Hathorn.  At  sight  of  him  our  worthy 
acted  upon  his  impulse.  Robert,  who 
was  coming  hastily  from  his  father, 
with  his  brow  knit  and  his  counte- 
nance flushed,  would  have  passed 
Hickman  with  the  usual  greeting, 
but  Hickman  would  not  let  him  off  so 
easily. 

"  What,  so  you  have  got  my  old 
lass  here  still,  Master  Robert?" 

"  Your  old  lass  !  Not  that  I  know 
of." 

"  Rachael  Wright,  you  know." 

"  Rachael  Wright  your  lass !  " 

"  Ay  !  and  a  very  nice  lass  too,  till 
we  fell  out.  She  gave  me  a  broad 
hint  just  now,  but  I  am  for  higher 
game.  You  could  not  lend  me  a  spur, 
could  you,  Mr.  Robert  ?  Mine  is 
broken." 

"No." 

"  Never  mind ;  good  morning ! 
good  morning !  " 

Hickman's  looks  and  contemptuous 
tones  had  eked  out  the  few  word? 
with  which  lie  had  stabbed  Robert, 
and,  together  with  the  libertine  char- 
acter of  the  man,  had  effectually 
blackened  Kachael  in  Robert's  eyes. 

This  done,  away  went  the  poisoner, 
and  chuckled  as  he  vent. 

Robert  Ha  thorn  stood  pale  as  death, 
looking  after  him.  To  this  stupefac- 
tion succeeded  a  feeling  of  sickness, 
and  a  sense  of  despair,  and  Robert  sat 
down  upon  the  shaft  of  an  empty 
cart,  and  gazed  with  stony  eye  upon 
the  ground  at  his  feet.     His  feelings 


212 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


were  inexpressibly  bitter.  Where 
was  he  to  hope  to  find  a  woman  he 
could  respect,  if  this  paragon  was  a 
girl  of  loose  conduct  1  Then  came  re- 
morse :  for  this  Hachael  he  had  this 
moment  all  but  quarrelled  with  his 
father,  —  their  first  serious  misunder- 
standing. After  a  fierce  struggle 
with  himself,  he  forced  himself  to  see 
that  she  must  be  wrenched  out  of  his 
heart.  He  rose,  pale  but  stern,  after 
a  silent  agony  that  lasted  a  full  hour, 
though  to  him  it  seemed  but  a  minute, 
and  went  and  looked  after  his  father. 
He  found  him  in  the  barn  watching 
the  threshers,  but  like  one  who  did 
not  see  what  he  was  looking  at.  His 
countenance  was  fallen  and  sad  ;  the 
great  and  long-cherished  wish  of  his 
heart  had  been  shaken,  and  by  his 
son  ;  and  then  he  had  given  that  son 
bitter  and  angry  words,  and  threatened 
him ;  and  that  son  had  answered  re- 
spectfully, but  firmly  as  iron,  and  the 
old  man's  heart  began  to  sink. 

He  looked  up,  and  there  was  Rob- 
ert, pale  and  stern,  looking  steadfast- 
ly  at  him,  with  an  expression  he 
quite  misunderstood.  ■  Old  Hathorn 
lifted  his  head,  and  said  sharply  and 
bitterly  to  his  son  :  "  Well  ?  " 

"Father,"  said  Robert,  in  a  lan- 
guid voice,  "  I  am  come  to  ask  your 
pardon." 

Fanner  Hathorn  looked  astonished. 
Robert  went  on. 

"  I  '11  marry  any  woman  you  like, 
father,  —  they  are  all  one  to  me  now." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Bob  '? 
that  is  too  much  the  other  way." 

"And  if  I  said  anything"  to  vex 
you,  forgive  me,  father,  if  you 
please." 

"  No  !  no !  no  !  "  cried  old  Hathorn, 
"  no  more  about  it,  Bob ;  there  was 
no  one  to  blame  but  my  hasty  temper, 
—  no  more  about  it.  Why,  if  the 
poor  chap  hasn't  taken  it  quite  to 
heart,  has  n't  a  morsel  of  color  left  in 
his  cheek !  " 

"  Never  mind  my  looks,"  gasped 
Robert. 

"  And  don't  you  mind  my  words 
either,  then.     Robert,  you  have  made 


me  happier  than  I  have  been  any 
time  this  twenty  years  !  " 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  gasped  Robert. 
"  I  '11  look  to  this,  if  you  have  any- 
thing else  to  do."  He  wanted  to  he 
alone. 

"  Thank  you,  Bob  ;  I  want  to  go 
into  the  village  ;  keep  up  your  heart, 
my  lad.  She  is  the  best-looking  wo- 
man I  know,  with  the  best  heart 
/  ever  met,  and  I  am  older  than  you, 
and  you  see  the  worst  of  her  the  first 
day  ;  her  good  part  you  are  never  at 
the  bottom  of;  it  is  just  the  contrary 
with  the  sly  ones.  There,  there  !  I  '11 
say  no  more.  Good  by."  And  away 
went  the  old  farmer,  radiant. 

"Be  happy,"  sobbed  Robert;  "I 
am  glad  there  is  one  happy."  And 
he  sat  down  cold  as  a  stone  in  his  fa- 
ther's place.  After  a  while  he  rose 
and  walked  listlessly  about,  till  at  last 
his  feet  took  him  through  habit  into 
his  father's  kitchen  ;  on  entering  it, 
his  whole  frame  took  a  sudden  thrill, 
for  he  found  Rachael  there  tying  up 
her  bundle  for  a  journey.  She  had 
heard  his  step,  and  her  head  wa» 
turned  away  from  the  door ;  but  neat 
her  was  a  small  round  old-fashioned 
mirror,  and,  glancing  into  this,  Rob. 
ert  saw  that  tears  were  stealing  down 
her  face. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Old  Hathorn  paced  down  the  vil- 
lage, with  his  oak  stick,  a  happy  man  ; 
but  for  all  that  he  was  a  little  mysti- 
fied. But  two  hours  ago  Robert  had 
told  him  he  loved  Rachael,  and  had 
asked  his  leave  to  marry  her,  and  in  an- 
swer to  his  angry,  or,  to  speak  more 
correctly,  his  violent  refusal,  had  told 
him  his"  heart  was  bound  up  in  her, 
and  he  would  rather  die  than  marry 
anv  other  woman.  What  could  have 
worked  such  a  sudden  change  in  the 
young  man's  mind  ?  "  Maybe  I  shall 
find  out,"  was  his  concluding  reflec- 
tion ;  and  he  was  right;  he  did  find 
out,  and  the  information  came  from 
a  most  unexpected  quarter.    As   he 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


213 


I 


passed  the  village  public-house  he  was 
hailed  from  the  parlor  window  ;  he 
looked  up,  and  at  it  was  Farmer  Hick- 
man, mug  in  hand.  Now,  to  tell  the 
truth,  Hathorn  was  not  averse  to  ale, 
especially  at  another  man's  expense, 
and,  thought  he,  "  Farmer  is  getting 
beery,  looks  pretty  red  in  the  face  ; 
however,  I  '11  see  if  I  can't  pump  some- 
thin"-  out  of  him  and  Rose."  So  he 
joined  Hickman ;  and  in  about  half 
an  hour  he  also  was  redder  in  the  face 
than  at  first. 

If  the  wit  is  out  when  the  wine  is 
in,  what  must  it  be  when  the  beer  is  in  1 

Old  Hathorn  and  Hickman  were 
much  freer  over  their  glass  than  they 
had  ever  been  before,  and  Hathorn 
nimped  Hickman ;  hut  inasmuch  as 
Iickman  desired  to  be  pumped,  and 
was  rather  cunninger  half  drunk  than 
sober,  the  old  farmer  drew  out  of  him 
nothing  about  Rose,  but  he  elicited 
an  artful  and  villanous  mixture  of 
truth  and  falsehood  about  Rachael 
Wright;  it  was  not  a  vague  sketch 
like  that  with  which  he  had  destroyed 
Robert's  happiness ;  it  was  a  long, 
circumstantial  history,  full  of  discol- 
ored truths  and  equivokes,  and  embel- 
lished with  one  or  two  good  honest 
lies  ;  hut  of  these  there  were  not  many  ; 
poor  Richard  could  not  be  honest 
even  in  dealing  with  the  Devil,  —  a 
great  error,  since  that  personage  is 
not  to  be  cheated ;  honesty  is  your 
only  card  in  any  little  transaction  with 
him.  The  symposium  broke  up. 
Hickman's  horse  was  led  round,  he 
mounted,  bade  Hathorn  good  day, 
and  went  of.  In  passing  the  form 
his  red  face  turned  black,  and  he 
shook  his  list  at  it,  and  said,  "  Fight 
it  out  now  amongst  ye."  And  the 
poisoner  cantered  away. 

In  leading  Robert  Hathorn  and 
others  so  far,  we  have  shot  ahead  of 
some  little  matters  which  must  not 
be  left  behind,  since  without  them  the 
general  posture  which  things  had 
reached  when  Robert  foand  Rachael 
tying  up  her  bundle  could  hardly  he 
understood. 

When  Mrs.  Mayfield  gave  Hickman 


"  the  sack,"  or,  as  that  coarse  young 
man  called  it,"  the  bag,"  she  was  in 
a  towering  passion ;  and,  not  being 
an  angel,  but  a  female  with  decided 
virtues  and  abominable  faults,  she 
was  just  now  in  anything  but  a  Chris- 
tian temper,  and  woe  to  all  who  met 
her. 

The  first  adventurer  was  Mr.  Case- 
nower :  he  saw  her  at  a  distance,  for 
she  had  come  out  of  the  house,  in 
which  she  found  she  coidd  hardly 
breathe,  and  came  towards  her  with 
a  face  all  wreathed  in  smiles.  Mr. 
Casenower  had  of  late  made  many 
tenders  of  his  affection  to  her,  which 
she  had  parried,  by  positively  refus- 
ing to  see  anything  more  than  a  jest 
in  them ;  but  Casenower,  who  was 
perfectly  good-humored  and  light- 
hearted,  had  taken  no  offence  at  this, 
nor  would  he  consider  this  sort  of 
thing  a  refusal ;  in  short,  he  told  her 
plainly  that  it  gave  him  great  pleasure 
to  afford  her  merriment,  even  at  his 
own  expense ;  only  he  should  not 
leave  off  hoping  until  she  took  his 
proposal  into  serious  consideration ; 
that  done,  and  his  fate  seriously  pro- 
nounced, he  told  her  she  should  find 
he  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  not 
to  respect  a  lady's  will ;  only,  when 
the  final  "  No  "  was  pronounced,  he 
should  leave  the  farm,  since  he  could 
not  remain  in  it  and  see  its  brightest 
attraction  driven  to  another.  Here  he 
caught  her  on  the  side  of  her  good- 
nature, and  she  replied,  "  Well,  I  am 
not  anybody's  yet."  She  said  to  her- 
self, "  The  poor  soul  seems  happy 
here,  with  his  garden,  and  his  form 
of  two  acres,  and  his  nonsense,  and 
why  drive  the  silly  goose  away  before 
the  time  !  "  so  she  suspended  the  final 
"No,"  and  he  continued  to  otter  ad- 
miration, and  she  to  laugh  at  it. 

It  must  be  owned,  moreover,  that 
she  began  at  times  to  have  a  sort  of 
humorous    terror    of    this    man.       A 

woman  knows  by  experience  that  it  is 

the  fate  of  a  woman  not  to  do  what 
she  would  like,  and  to  do  just  what, 
she  would  rather  not,  and  often, 
though  apparently  free,  to  be  fettered 


214 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


by  sundry  cobwebs,  and  driven  into 
some  unwelcome  corner  by  divers 
whips  of  gossamer.  One  day  Mes- 
dames  Hathorn  and  Mayfield  had 
looked  out  of  the  parlor  window  into 
the  garden,  and  there  they  saw  Mr. 
Casenower,  running  wildly  among  the 
beds,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  What  is  up  now  ri  "  said  Mrs. 
Mayfield,  scornfully. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  a  butterfly,"  was 
the  answer  ;  "  he  collects  them." 

"  What  a  fool  he  is,  Jane." 

"  He  is  a  good  soul  for  all  that." 

"  Fools  mostly  are,  Jane ! "  said 
Mrs.  Mavfield,  very  solemnly. 

"Yes,  Rose!" 

"  Look  at  that  man  ;  look  at  him 
well,  if  you  please.  Of  all  the  men 
that  pester  me,  that  is  the  one  that  is 
the  most  ridiculous  in  my  eye.  Ha  ! 
ha !  the  butterfly  has  got  safe  over  the 
wall,  I  'm  so  glad  !  —  Jane  !  " 

"  Well !  " 

"  You  mark  my  words,  —  I  sha'  n't 
have  the  butterfly's  luck.  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  That  man  is  to  be  my  husband  !  — 
that  is  all." 

"  La,  Rose,  how  can  you  talk  so  ! 
you  know  he  is  the  last  man  you 
will  ever  take." 

"  Of  course  he  is,  and  so  he  will  take 
me ;  I  feel  he  will ;  I  can't  bear  the  sight 
of  him,  so  he  is  sure  to  be  the  man. 
You  will  see !  you  will  sec  ! "  and, 
casting  on  her  cousin  a  look  that  was 
a  marvellous  compound  of  fun  and 
bitterness,  she  left  the  room  bruscpicly, 
with  one  savage  glance  flung  over  her 
shoulder  into  the  garden. 

1  do  not  say  that  such  misgivings 
were  frequent ;  this  was  once  in  a 
way  ;  still  it  was  characteristic,  and 
the  reader  is  entitled  to  it. 

Mr.  Casenower  then  came  to  Mrs. 
Mayfield,  and  presented  her  a  clove- 
pink  from  his  garden  ;  he  took  off  his 
hat  with  a  flourish,  and  said,  with  an 
innocent,  but  somewhat  silly  playful- 
ness, "  Accept  this,  fair  lady,  in  token 
that  some  day  you  will  accept  the 
grower." 

The  gracious  lady  replied  by  knock- 


ing the  pink  out  of  his  hand  and  say- 
ing, "  That  is  how  I  accept  the  pair." 

Mr.  Casenower  colored  very  high, 
and  the  water  came  into  his  eyes  ;  but 
Mrs.  Mayfield  turned  her  back  on  him, 
and  flounced  into  her  own  house. 
When  there,  she  felt  she  had  been 
harsh,  and  looking  out  of  the  window 
she  saw  poor  Casenower  standing  de- 
jected on  the  spot  where  she  had  left 
him  !  she  saw  him  stoop  and  pick  up 
the  pink ;  he  eyed  it  sorrowfully, 
placed  it  in  his  bosom,  and  then 
moved  droopingly  away. 

"  What  a  brute  I  am!"  was  the 
Mayfield's  first  reflection.  "I  hate 
you  !  "  was  the  second. 

So  then,  being  discontented  with 
herself,  she  accumulated  bitterness, 
and  in  this  mood  flounced  into  the  gar- 
den, for  she  saw  Mrs.  Hathorn  there. 
When  she  reached  her,  she  found  that 
her  cousin  was  looking  at  Rachael, 
who  was  cutting  spinach  for  dinner ; 
while  the  old  corporal,  seated  at  some 
little  distance,  watched  his  grand- 
daughter ;  and  as  he  watched  her  his 
dim  eye  lighted  every  now  and  then 
with  affection  and  intelligence. 

Mrs.  Mayfield  did  not  look  at  the 
picture  ;  all  she  saw  was  Rachael  ; 
and  after  a  few  trivial  words  she  said 
to  Mrs.  Hathorn  in  an  undertone,  but 
loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  Rachael : 
"  Are  these  two  going  to  live  with  us 
altogether  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hathorn  did  not  answer  ;  she 
colored  and  cast  a  deprecating  look  at 
her  cousin  :  Rachael  rose  from  her 
knees,  and  said  to  Patrick  in  an  un- 
dertone, the  exact  counterpart  of  Mrs. 
Mayfield's  :  "  Grandfather,  we  have 
been  here  long  enough,  come  "  ;  and 
she  led  him  into  the  house. 

There  is  a  dignity  in  silent,  unob- 
trusive sorrow,  and  some  such  dignity 
seemed  to  belong  to  this  village  girl, 
Rachael,  and  to  wait  upon  all  she  said 
or  did ;  and  this  seemed  to  put  every- 
body in  the  wrong  who  did  or  said 
anything  against  her.  When  she  led 
off  her  grandfather  with  those  few 
firm,  sad  words,  in  the  utterance  of 
which   she   betrayed   no   particle   of 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


215 


anger  or  pique,  Mrs.  Hathom  cast  a 
glance  of  timid  reproach  at  her  cousin, 
and  she  herself  turned  paler  directly  ; 
but  she  replied  to  Mrs.  Hathorn's  look 
only  by  a  disdainful  toss  of  the  head  ; 
and,  not  choosing  to  talk  upon  the  sub- 
ject, she  flounced  in  again  and  shut 
herself  up  in  her  own  parlor ;  there 
she  walked  up  and  down  like  a  little 
hyena.  Presently  she  caught  sight  of 
the  old  farmer,  standing  like  a  statue, 
near  the  very  place  where  llobert  had 
left  him  after  announcing  his  love 
for  llachael,  and  his  determination  to 
marry  no  other  worn. in.  At  sight  of 
the  farmer,  an  idea  struck  Mrs.  May- 
field  :  "  That  Hickman  is  a  liar,  after 
all  ;  don't  let  me  be  too  hasty  in  be- 
lieving all  this  about  Robert  and  that 
girl.     1  'II  draw  the  farmer." 

"  I  '11  draw  the  farmer !  "  My  refined 
reader  is  looking  to  me  to  explain  the 
lady's  phraseology.  That  which  in 
country  parlance  is  called  "  drawing  " 
is  also  an  art,  O  pencil!  —  men  that 
have  lived  thirty  or  forty  years,  and 
done  business  in  this  wicked  world, 
learn  to  practise  it  at  odd  times.  Wo- 
rn n  have  not  to  wait  for  that;  it  is 
born  with  most  of  them  an  instinct, 
no;  an  art.  It  works  thus  ;  you  sus- 
pect something,  but  you  don't  know  : 
you  catch  some  one  who  does  know, 
and  you  talk  to  him  as  if  you  knew  all 
about  it.  Then,  if  he  is  not  quite  on 
his  guard,  he  lets  out  what  you  want- 
ed to  know. 

.Mrs.  Mayfield 'walked  up  to  Ha- 
thoni  with  a  great  appearance  of 
unpremeditated   wrath,  and   said  to 

him:     "A    tine    fool    you    h;i\e     Imvii 

making  of  me,  pretending  your  Rob- 
ert looked  my  way,  when  he  is  over 
head  and  ears  in  Love  with  that  Ra- 
chael!" 

'•  O,"  cried  the  farmer,  "  what,  the 
fool  has  been  and  told  you  too  I 

"  So  it  is  true,  then  !  "  cried  the 
.Maylield,  sharply. 

Machiavel   No.  •>  saw  his  mistake 

too    late,    and     tried     to     hark     hack. 

"No!  he ia not  over  head  and  ears; 
it  is  all  nonsense  and  folly  ;  it  will 
pan  ;  you  set  your  hack  to  mine,,  and 


we  will  soon  bring  the  ninny  to  his 
senses." 

"  I  back  you  to  force  your  son  my 
way  !  "  cried  Rose,  in  a  fury  ;  "  what 
do  I  care  for  your  son  or  you  either, 
you  old  fool  !  let  him  marry  his 
Rachael  !  the  donkey  will  find  wheth- 
er your  mock-modest  ones  are  bet- 
ter or  worse  than  the  frank  ones,  — 
ha  !  ha !  " 

"Tiose,"  cried  the  farmer,  illumi- 
nated with  sudden  hope ;  "  if  you  know 
anvthing  against  her,  you  tell  me, 
and  I  '11  tell  Robert." 

"  No  !  "  said  she,  throwing  up  her 
nose  into  the  air  in  a  manner  pretty 
to  behold,  "  I  am  no  scandal-monger, 
—  it  is  your  affair,  not  mine  ;  let  him 
marry  his  Rachael,  ha !  ha !  oh  !  " 
and  off  she  went,  laughing  with  mal- 
ice and  choking  with  vexation. 

There  now  remained  to  insult  only 
Robert  and  Mrs.  Hathorn.  But  the 
virago  was  afraid  to  scold  Mrs.  Ha- 
thorn, who  she  knew  would  burst 
out  crying  at  the  first  hard  word,  and 
then  she  would  have  to  beg  the  poor 
soul's  pardon  :  and  Robert  she  could 
not  find  just  then.  Poor  fellow  !  at 
this  very  moment  he  was  writhing 
under  Hickman's  insinuations,  and 
tearing  his  own  heart  to  pieces  in  his 
efforts  to  tear  Rachael  from  it. 

So  the  Mayfield  ran  np  stairs  to 
her  own  bedroom  and  locked  herself 
in,  for  she  did  not  want  sense,  and 
she  began  to  see  and  feel  that  she  was 
hardly  safe  to  be  about. 

.Meantime  Rachael  had  come  to 
take  leave  of  Mrs.  Hathorn;  that 
<;ood  lady  remonstrated,  but  feebly  ; 
she  felt  that  there  would  never  he 
peace  now  till  the  poor  girl  was  ironc  ; 
but  she  insisted  upon  one  thing  ;  the 
old  man  in  his  weak  state  should  not 
go  on  foot. 

"  You  are  free  to  go  or  stay  for  me, 
Rachael,"  said  she,  "  but,  if  you  go, 
1  will  not  have  any  harm  come  to  tho 
poor  old  man  within  ten  miles  of 
this  door." 

So,  to  get  away,  Rachael  consented 

to  take  a  horse  and  cart  of  the  farm- 
er's, and  this  is  how  it  came  about 


21G 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


that  Robert  found  Rachael  tying  up 
her  bundle  of  clothes.  Her  tears 
fell  upon  her  little  bundle  as  she  tied 
it. 


CHAPTER   V. 

Robert  Hathorn  had  found  in 
Hickman's  insinuation  a  natural  so- 
lution of  all  that  had  puzzled  him 
in  Rachael.  She  was  the  deserted 
mistress  of  a  man  whom  she  still 
loved,  —  acting  on  this  he  had  apol- 
ogized to  his  lather,  had  placed  his 
future  fate  with  heart-sick  indifference 
in  that  father's  hands,  and  had  de- 
spaired of  the  female  sex,  and  re- 
feigned  all  hope  of  heart-happiness  in 
this  world.  But  all  this  time  Rachael 
had  been  out  of  sight.  She  stood 
now  before  him  in  person,  and  the 
sight  of  her,  beautiful,  retiring,  sub- 
missive, sorrowful,  smote  his  heart 
and  bewildered  his  mind.  Looking 
at  her,  he  could  not  see  the  possibility 
of  this  creature  having  ever  been 
Hickman's  mistress.  He  accused  him- 
self of  having  been  too  hasty ;  he 
would  have  given  worlds  to  recall  the 
words  that  had  made  his  father  so 
happy,  and  was  even  on  the  point  of 
leaving  the  kitchen  to  do  so  ;  but  on 
second  thoughts  he  determined  to 
try  and  learn  from  Rachael  herself 
whether  there  was  any  truth  in  Hick- 
man's scandal,  and,  if  there  was,  to 
think  of  her  no  more. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Rachael  ?  " 

"  I  am  tying"  up  my  things  to  go, 
Master  Robert." 

"  To  go  1 " 

"  Yes !  we  have  been  a  burden  to 
vour  mother  some  time ;  still,  as  I 
did  the  work  of  the  house,  I  thought 
my  grandfather  would  not  be  so  very 
much  in  the  way  ;  but  I  got  a  plain 
hint  from  Mrs.  Mavfield  just  now." 

"  Confound  her  !*" 

"  No,  sir !  we  are  not  to  forget 
months  of  kindness  for  a  moment  of 
ill-humor.  So  I  am  going,  Mr.  Rob- 
ert, and  now  I  have  only  to  thank 
you  for  all  your  kindness  and  civility. 


We  are  very  grateful,  and  wish  we 
could  make  a  return  ;  but  that  is  not 
in  our  power.  But  grandfather  is  an 
old  man  near  his  grave,  and  he  shall 
pray  for  you  by  name  every  night, 
and  so  will  I ;  so  then,  as  we  are  very 
poor  and  have  no  hopes  but  from 
Heaven,  it  is  to  be  thought  the  Al- 
mighty will  hear  Us  and  bless  you 
sleeping  and  waking  for  being  so  good 
to  the  unfortunate." 

Robert  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  a 
moment ;  this  was  the  first  time  she 
had  ever  spoken  to  him  so  warmly 
and  so  sweetly,  and  at  what  a  moment 
of  dark  suspicion  did  these  words 
come  to  him  !  Robert  recovered  him- 
self, and  said  to  Rachael,  "  Are  you 
sure  that  is  the  real  cause  of  your 
leaving  us  so  sudden  ?  " 

Rachael  looked  perplexed.  "  In- 
deed, I  think  so,  Mr.  Robert.  At 
least  I  should  not  have  gone  this  very 
day  but  for  that." 

"  Ah  !  but  you  know  very  well  yau 
had  made  up  your  mind  to  go  before 
that  %  " 

"  Of  course,  I  looked  to  go,  some 
day ;  we  don't  belong  here,  grandfa- 
ther and  I." 

"  That  is  not  it,  either.  Rachael, 
there  is  an  ill  report  sprung  tip  about 
you." 

"  What  is  that,  sir  ?  "  said  Rachael, 
with  apparent  coldness. 

"  What  is  it  ?  How  can  I  look  in 
your  face  and  say  anything  to  wound 
you  1  " 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Robert.  I  am 
glad  there  is  one  that  is  inclined  to 
show  me  some  respect." 

"  Do  something  for  me  in  return, 
dear  Rachael ;  tell  me  your  story, 
and  I  '11  believe  your  way  of  telling 
it,  and  not  another's  ;  but,  if  you  will 
tell  me  nothing,  what  can  I  do  but 
believe  the  worst,  impossible  as  it 
seems  ?  Why  are  you  so  sorrowful  ? 
Why  are  you  so  cold,  like  1 " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you,  Mr. 
Robert ;  if  any  07ie  has  maligned  mo, 
may  Heaven  forgive  them  ;  if  you  be- 
lieve them,  forjjet  me.  I  am  going 
away.     Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind." 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


217 


"  What !  can  a  girl  like  yon,  that 
has  won  all  our  respects,  go  away 
and  leave  scandal  behind  her  ?  No  ! 
stay  and  face  it  out,  and  let  us  put  it 
down  forever." 

"  Why  should  I  trouble  myself  to 
do  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Because,  if  you  do  not,  those  who 
love  you  can  love  you  no  more." 

Rachael  sighed,  but  she  wrapped 
herself  in  her  coldness,  and  replied, 
"But  I  want  no  one  to  love  me." 

"  You  don't  choose  that  any  one 
should  ever  marry  you,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Robert,  I  do  not." 

"  You  would  not  answer  Richard 
Hickman  so ! " 

"  Richard  Hickman  !  "  said  Ra- 
chael,  turning  pale. 

When  she  turned  pale,  Robert 
turned  sick. 

"  He  says  as  much  as  that  you 
could  not  say  '  No '  to  him." 

"  Richard  Hickman  speaks  of  me 
to  you  !  "  cried  Rachael,  opening  her 
eyes  wildly.  Then  in  a  moment  she 
was  ice  aeain.  "  AVell,  I  do  not 
speak  of  him  !  " 

"  Rachael,"  cried  Robert,  "what  is 
all  this  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  be 
frank  with  me.  Don't  make  me  tear 
the  words  out  of  you  so;  give  me 
something  to  believe,  or  something  to 
forgive.  I  should  believe  anything 
you  told  me  :  I  am  afraid  I  should 
forgive  anything  yon  had  done." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  do  either, 
sir." 

"  She  will  drive  me  mad  !  "  cried 
Robert,  frantically.  "  Kachacl,  hear 
mo.  I  love  you  more  than  a  woman 
was  ever  loved  before  !  Vou  talk  of 
being  grateful  to  me.  I  don't  know 
why  you  should,  but  you  say  so.  If 
you  are,  be  generous,  he  merciful !  I 
leave  it  to  you.  Be  my  wife  !  and 
then,  perhaps,  you  will  not  lock  your 
henft  and  your  story  from  your  hus- 
band. I  cannot  believe  ill  of  you. 
You  may  have  been  maligned,  or  yon 
may  have  heeu  deceived,  bttl  vmi  can- 
not !>e  guilty.  There  !  "  cried  he, 
wildly,  "no  word  but  one!  Will 
you  he  my  wife,  Rachael  '  " 
10 


Rachael  did  not  answer,  at  least  in 
words  ;  she  wept  silently. 

Robert  looked  at  her  despairingly. 
At  last  he  repeated  his  proposal  al- 
most fiercely  :  "  I  ask  you,  Rachael, 
will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

As  he  repeated  this  question,  who 
should  stand  in  the  doorway  but  Mrs. 
Mayfield.  She  was  transfixed,  petri- 
fied, at  these  words  of  Robert ;  but, 
being  a  proud  woman,  her  impulse 
was  to  withdraw  instantly,  and  hear 
no  more.  Ere  she  was  out  of  hear- 
ing, however,  Rachael  replied. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Robert !  I  must 
refuse  you ! " 

"  You  refuse  to  be  my  wife !  " 

"  I  do,  sir  ! "  but  still  she  wept. 

Mrs.  Mayfield,  as  she  retreated, 
heard  the  words,  but  did  not  see  the 
tears.  Robert  saw  the  tears,  but 
could  not  understand  them.  He  gave 
a  hasty,  despairing  gesture,  to  show 
Rachael  that  he  had  no  more  to  say  to 
her,  and  then  he  flung  himself  into  a 
chair,  and  laid  his  brow  on  the  table. 
Rachael  glided  softly  away.  At  the 
door  she  looked  back  on  Robert,  with 
her  eyes  thick  with  tears.  She  had 
hardly  been  gone  a  minute  when  Rose 
Mayfield  returned,  and  came  in  and 
sat  gently  down  opposite  Robert,  and 
watched  him  intently,  wit*  a  counte- 
nance in  which  the  most  opposite  feel- 
ings might  be  seen  struggling  for  the 
mastery. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Roueut  lifted  his  head,  and  saw 
Mrs.  Mayfield  He  spoke  to  her  sul- 
lenly. "  So  you  turn  away  our  ser- 
vants ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  replied  Mr9.  Mayfield, 
sharply. 

"  It  is  not  wo  that  send  away  Ra- 
chael, it  is  you." 

"  I  tell  you  no  ;  do  you  believe  that 
e,irl  before  me  ? " 

"  You  affronted  her.  What  hail 
she  done  to  you  1 " 

"  I  only  just  asked  her  how  long 
she  meant  to  stay  here,  or  something 


218 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


like  that.  Hang  me  if  I  remember 
what  I  said  to  her  !  They  are  a  bad 
breed,  all  these  girls  ;  haughty  and 
spiteful ;  you  can't  say  a  word  but 
they  snap  your  head  off."  Mrs.  May- 
field  said  no  more,  for  at  that  moment 
Rachael  came  into  the  room  with  her 
grandfather  and  Mrs.  Hathorn,  who 
appeared  to  he  smoothing  matters 
down. 

"  No,  Daddy  Patrick,"  said  she,  in 
answer  to  some  observation  of  the  old 
man's,  "  nobody  sends  you  away ; 
you  leave  us  good  friends,  and  you 
are  going  to  drink  a  cup  of  ale  with 
us  before  you  go." 

A  tray  was  then  brought  in  and  a 
jug  of  ale,  and  Patrick  drank  his  mug 
of  ale  slowly ;  but  Rachael  put  hers  to 
her  lips  and  set  it  down  again. 

Then  Robert  went  and  sat  on  the 
window-seat,  and  there  he  saw  them 
bringing  round  the  wagon  to  carry 
away  Rachael  and*  her  grandfather. 
His  heart  turned  dead-sick  within 
him.  He  looked  round  for  help,  and 
looking  round  he  saw  Mrs.  May  field 
bending  on  him  a  look  in  which  he 
seemed  to  read  some  compassion, 
blended  with  a  good  deal  of  pique. 
In  his  despair  he  appealed  to  her : 
"  There,  they  are  really  going ;  is  it 
fair  to  send  away  like  that  folk  that 
have  behaved  so  well,  and  were  mind- 
ed to  go  of  themselves  only  mother 
asked  them  to  stay  ?  See  how  that 
makes  us  look ;  and  you  that  were  al- 
ways so  kind-hearted,  Mrs.  Mayfield. 
Rose,  dear  Hose  !  " 

Mrs.  Mayfield  did  not  answer  Rob- 
ert, whose  appeal  was  made  to  her  in 
an  undertone ;  but  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Hathorn  :  "  Jane,  the  house  is  yours  ; 
keep  them  if  it  suits  you,  I  am  sure 
it  is  no  business  of  mine." 

"  O,  thank  you,  Rose  !  "  cried  Rob- 
ert ;  but  his  thanks  were  cut  short  by 
the  voice  of  the  elder  Hathorn,  who 
had  just  come  in  from  the  yard. 
"  They  are  going,"  said  he,  "  I  make 
no  complaint  against  them.  There 
is  no  ill-will  on  either  side  ;  but  I 
say  they  ought  to  go,  and  go  they 
shall." 


"  Go  they  shall !  "  said  the  old  cor. 
poral,  with  a  mystified  look. 

The  farmer  spoke  with  a  firmness 
and  severity,  and  even  with  a  certain 
dignity  ;  and  all  felt  he  was  not  in  q 
mood  to  be  trifled  with. 

Robert  answered  humbly  :  "  Fa- 
ther, you  are  master  here,  —  no  one 
gainsays  you  ;  but  you  are  a  just 
man.  If  you  were  to  be  cruel  to  the 
poor  and  honest,  you  would  be  sorry 
for  it  all  your  days." 

Before  the  farmer  could  answer, 
Rose  Mayfield  put  in  hastily :  "  There, 
bid  them  stay, — you  see  your  son 
holds  to  the  girl,  and  you  will  have 
to  marry  them  one  day  or  other,  and 
so  best,  —  that  will  put  an  end  to  all 
the  nonsense  they  talk  about  the  boy 
and  me.  I  dare  say  Robert  is  fool 
enough  to  think  I  wanted  him  for 
myself." 

"  1,  Mrs.  Mayfield  1  never.  What 
makes  you  fancy  that  "i  " 

"  And,"  cried  Mrs.  Mayfield,  as  if 
a  sudden  light  broke  in  upon  her, 
"  what  are  we  all  doing  here  ?  we 
can't  help  folks'  hearts.  Robert  loves 
her.  Are  we  to  persecute  Hobert, 
an  innocent  lad,  that  never  offended 
one  of  us,  and  has  been  a  good  son 
to  you,  and  a  good  friend  and  brother 
to  me  ever  since  we  could  walk  1  I 
think  the  Devil  must  have  got  into 
my  heart ;  but  I  shall  turn  him  out, 
whether  he  likes  or  no.  I  say  he  shall 
have  the  girl,  old  man ;  and,  more 
than  that,  I  have  got  a  thousand 
pounds  loose  in  Wallingford  Bank ; 
they  shall  have  it  to  stock  a  farm ; 
it  is  little  enough  to  give  Robert,  — 
I  owe  him  more  than  that  for  Ux- 
moor,  let  alone  years  of  love  and 
|  good-will.  There  now,  he  is  going 
to  cry,  I  suppose.  Bob,  don't  cry, 
for  Heaven's  sake ;  I  can't  abide  to 
see  a  man  cry." 

"  It  is  you  make  me,  Rose,  prais- 
ing me  just  when  everybody  seemed 
to  turn  against  me." 

"  You  are  crying  yourself,  Hose," 
whimpered  Mrs.  Hathorn. 

"  If  I  am,  I  don't  feel  it,"  replied 
Mrs.  Mayfield. 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


219 


Rachael  trembled  ;  but  she  said  in 
her  low,  firm  voice  :  "  We  are  going 
away  of  our  own  accord,  Mistress 
Mayfield,  and  we  thank  you  kindly 
for  this,  and  for  all,  —  hut  we  are 
goin^  away." 

"  You  don't  love  Robert,  then  ?  " 
"  No,  Mrs.  May  field,"  said  Ra- 
chael, with  the  air  of  one  confessing 
theft  or  sacrilege,  "  I  don't  love  Mr. 
Robert !  "  and  she  lowered  her  eyes 
with  their  long  lashes,  and  awaited 
her  sentence. 

"Tell  that  to  the  men,"  replied 
Rose,  "  you  can't  draw  the  wool  over 
a  sister's  eye,  young  lady." 

"The  young  woman  is  the  only 
one  among  you  that  has  a  grain  of 
sense,"  said  old  Hathorn,  roughly. 
"  Why  don't  you  let  her  alone, — she 
would  thank  you  for  it." 

"  Can  you  read  a  woman's  words, 
you  old  ass  ?  "  was  the  contemptuous 
answer. 

"  I  am  not  an  ass,  young  woman," 
said  Hathorn,  gravely  and  sternly, 
"  and  I  am  in  my  own  house,  which 
you  seem  to  forget," — Rose  colored 
up  to  the  eyes,  —  "and  I  am  the 
master  of  it,  so  long  as  it  is  your 
pleasure  I  should  be  here." 

"  John  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Hathorn,  with 
a  deprecating  air. 

"  And  I  am  that  young  man's  fa- 
ther, and  it  is  his  duty  to  listen  to 
me,  and  nunc  not  to  let  him  make 
a  fool  of  himself.  I  don't  pretend 
to  be  so  particular  as  Robert  is, — 
used  to  lie,  I  mean,  —  and  I  was  tell- 
ing him  only  yesterday,  that  supposo 
vmi  have  kicked  over  the  traces  a 
bit,  as  you  have  never  broken  your 
knees,  leastways  to  OUT  knowledge, 
Rose,  it  did  not  much  matter." 

"Thank  you,  Daddy  Hathorn; 
much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure." 

"  Hut  there's  reason  in  masting  of 
Cggs  ;  this  one  has  been  off  the 
course  altogether,  and  therefore,  I  say 
again,  she  shows  seme  by  going  home, 
and  yon  show  no  Bensfl  by  trying  to 
keep  lea-  here." 

"  Father,"  -aid  Robert,  "  you  'j'>  too 
far;  we  know  nothing  against   Eta- 


chael,  and  till  I  know  I  won't  believe 
anything." 

"  Why,  Bob,  I  thought  Hickman 
had  told  you  all  about  it,  —  I  under- 
stood him  so,  —  ay,  and  he  must  too, 
or  why  did  you  come  to  me  in  the 
yard  and  eat  humble  pie  1 " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by 
telling  me  all  about  it,  father :  he  hint- 
ed as  much  as  that  he  and  Racliael 
had  been  too  familiar  once  upon  a 
time." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  how  often  has  he  told  thq 
same  lie  of  a  dozen  others  .'  that  is  a 
common  trick  of  Dick  Hickman's,  to 
pretend  he  has  been  thick  with  a  girl, 
that  perhaps  does  not  know  his  faco 
from  Adam's.  Father,  1  can't  believe 
a  known  liar's  tongue  against  such 
a  face  as  that." 

"  Face  as  that  J  It  is  a  comely  one, 
but  seems  to  me  it  does  not  look  us 
so  very  straight  in  the  face  just  now : 
and  there  's  more  than  a  liar's  tongus 
on  t'other  side,  there  's  chapter  and 
verse,  as  the  saying  is." 

"  I  don't  understand  your  hints, 
and  I  don't  believe  that  blackguard's. 
I  am  not  so  old  as  you,  but  I  have 
learned  that  truth  does  not  lie  in 
hints." 

"  I  'm  older  than  you,  and  a  wo 
man's  face  can't  make  me  blind  ami 
deaf  to  better  witnesses." 

"There  are  no  better  witnesses! 
For  shame,  father!  Hickman  is  no 
authority  with  Hathorn." 

"  Hut  the  Parish  Register  is  an  au- 
thority," said  the  old  m:wi  sternly, 
and  losing  all  his  patience. 

"The  Parish  Register!" 

"And  if  you  look  at  the  Parish 
Register  of  Long  Compton,  you  will 
find  the  name  of  a  child  she  is  the 
mother  of,  ami   no  father  to  show." 


"  Father ! " 

"Ask  herself!  —  you  sec  she  does 
n't  deny  it." 

All  eves  turned  and  fastened  upon 
Rachael  ;  and  those  who  saw  her  at 
this  moment  will  carry  her  face  and 


220 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


her  look  to  their  graves,  so  fearful 
was  the  anguish  of  a  high  spirit, 
ground  into  the  dust  and  shame ;  her 
body  seemed  that  moment  to  be 
pierced  with  a  hundred  poisoned  ar- 
rows. She  rose  white  to  her  very 
lips,  and  stood  in  the  midst  of  them 
quivering  like  an  aspen-leaf,  her  eyes 
preternaturally  bright  and  large,  and 
she  took  one  uncertain  step  forwards, 
as  if  to  fling  herself  on  the  weapons 
of  scorn  that  seemed  to  hem  her  in ; 
and  she  opened  her  mouth  to  speak, 
but  her  open  lips  trembled,  and  trem- 
bled, and  no  sound  came.  And  all 
the  hearts  round,  even  the  old  farm- 
er's, began  now  to  freeze  and  fear 
at  the  siirht  of  this  wild  agony ;  and 
at  last,  after  many  efforts,  the  poor 
soul  would  have  said  something,  God 
knows  what,  but  a  sudden  and  most 
xinexpected  interruption  came.  Cor- 
poral Patrick  was  by  her  side,  nobody 
saw  how ;  and,  seizing  her  firmly  by 
the  arm,  he  forbade  her  to  speak. 

"  Silence,  girl !  "  cried  the  old  sol- 
dier, fiercely.  "  I  dare  you  to  say  a 
word  to  any  of  them  !  " 

Then  Kachael  turned  and  clung 
convulsively  to  his  shoulder,  and 
trembled  and  writhed  there  in  silence. 
All  this  while  they  had  not  observed 
the  old  man,  or  they  would  have  seen 
that  the  mist  had  gradually  cleared 
away  from  his  faculties ;  his  mind, 
brightened  by  his  deep  love  for  Ra- 
chael,  was  keenly  awake  to  all  that 
concerned  her ;  and  so  her  old  cham- 
pion stood  in  a  moment  by  her  side 
with  scarce  a  sign  left  of  age  or  weak- 
ness, upright  and  firm  as  a  tower. 

"  Silence,  girl !  I  dare  you  to  say  a 
word  to  any  of  them !  " 

"  There,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Hathorn, 
"  you  thought  the  poor  old  man  was 
past  understanding,  and  now  you 
make  him  drink  the  bitter  cup,  as 
well  as  her." 

"  Yes  !  I  must  drink  my  cup  too," 
said  old  Patrick.  "  I  thought  I  was 
going  to  die  soon,  and  to  die  in  peace ; 
but  I  '11  live  and  lie  young  again,  if  it 
is  but  to  tell  ye  ye  are  a  pack  of  curs. 
The  Parish  Register'-  does  the  Parish 


Register  tell  you  the  man  married 
her  with  a  wife  living  in  another  part  ? 
Is  it  wrote  down  along  with  that 
child's  name  in  the  Parish  Register, 
how  his  father  fell  on  his  knees  to  his 
mother,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  and 
begged,  for  the  dear  life,  she  would  n't 
take  the  law  of  him  and  banish  him 
the  country  ?  What  was  she  to  think  ? 
could  she  think  that,  when  his  sick 
wife  died,  he  'd  reward  her  for  spar- 
ing him  by  flying  the  country,  not  to 
do  her  right  1  The  Parish  Register ! 
You  welcome  this  scoundrel  to  your 
house,  and  you  hunt  his  victim  out 
like  a  vagabond,  ye  d — d  hypocrites ! 
Come,  Rachael,  let  us  crawl  away 
home,  and  die  in  peace." 

"  No  !  no  !  you  must  not  go  like 
that,"  cried  Mrs.  Hathorn,  and  Rob- 
ert rose,  and  was  coming  to  take  his 
hand ;  but  he  waved  his  staff"  furious- 
ly over  his  head. 

"  Keep  aloof,  I  bid  ye  all,"  he  cried ; 
"  I  have  fought  against  Bonaparte, 
and  I  despise  small  blackguards." 
He  seized  Rachael  and  drew  her  to  the 
door :  then  he  came  back  at  them 
again  :  "  'T  is  n't  guilt  you  have 
punished ;  you  have  insulted  inno- 
cence and  hard  fortune;  you  have  in- 
sulted your  own  mothers,  for  you 
have  insulted  me,  and  I  fought  for 
them  before  the  best  and  oldest  of  you 
was  born,  —  no  skulking  before  the  en- 
emy, girl,"  —  for  Rachael  was  droop- 
ing and  trembling,  —  "  right  shoul- 
ders forward,  march  !  "  and  he  almost 
tore  her  out  of  the  house.  He  was 
great,  and  thundering,  and  terrible,  in 
this  moment  of  fury;  he  seemed  a 
giant  and  the  rest  but  two  feet  high. 
His  white  hair  streamed,  and  his  eyes 
blazed  defiance  and  scorn.  He  was 
great  and  terrible  by  Ins  passion  and 
his  age,  and  his  confused  sense  of  past 
battles  and  present  insult.  They  fol- 
lowed him  out  almost  on  tiptoe.  He 
lifted  Paehael  into  the  wagon,  placed 
her  carefully  on  a  truss  of  hay  in  the 
wagon,  and  the  carter  came  to  the 
horses'  heads,  and  looked  to  the  house 
to  know  whether  he  was  to  start  now. 

Robert  came  out  and  went  to  Ra- 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


221 


chad's  side  of  the  wagon,  but  she 
turned  her  head  away. 

"  Won't  you  speak  to  me,  Ra- 
chael  i  "  said  Robert. 

Rachael  turned  her  head  away,  and 
was  silent. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Robert  quietly, 
very  quietly. 

"  Go  on,"  cried  old  Hathom. 

The  next  moment  there  was  a  fear- 
ful scream  from  the  women,  and  Rob- 
ert was  seen  down  among  the  horses' 
feet,  and  the  carter  was  forcing  them 
back,  or  the  wagon  would  have  been 
over  him ;  the  carter  dragged  him  up, 
—  he  was  not  hurt,  but  very  pale ;  he 
told  his  mother,  who  came  running 
to  him,  that  he  had  felt  suddenly  faint 
and  had  fallen,  and  he  gave  a  sickly 
smile,  and  bade  her  not  be  frightened, 
he  was  better. 

Rose  Mayheld  was  as  white  as  a 
sheet. 

"  Go  on,"  cried  the  farmer,  again, 
and  at  a  word  from  the  carter  the 
horses  drew  the  wagon  out  of  the 
yard,  and  went  away  down  the  lane 
with  Rachael  and  Patrick. 

They  were  gone. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Corporal  Patrick  was  correct  in 
his  details  ;  the  Parish  Register  gave 
a  very  vajjuc  outline  of  Kachael 
Wright's  history.  Mr.  Hickman  had 
gone  through  the  ceremony  of  marry- 
ing her;  nay,  more,  ;it  tbe  time,  he 
had  firmly  intended  the  ceremony 
slinnld  be  binding,  for  his  wife  lay  dy- 
ing a  hundred  miles  olf,  and  Rachael 
had  at  this  period  great  expectations 
from  her  aunt,  Mis.  Clayton.  This 
Mrs.  Clayton  was  the  possessor  of 
Pix  Farm.  Sin'  was  a  queer-tem- 
pered woman, and  a  seven'  economist ; 
this  did  not  prevent  her  allowing  l'at- 
riik  and  Rachael  a  yearly  SUnS,  which 

le  Iped  to  maintain  them  in  homely 

comfort      And  she  used  to  throw  out 
mysterious   hints   that,  at    her  death, 

the  pair  would  be  belter  oil'  than  other 


relations  of  hers  who  dressed  finer 
and  held  their  heads  higher  at  present. 
Unfortunately  for  Rachael,  this  aunt 
was  alive  at  the  period  when  Hick- 
man's bigamy  was  discovered  by  old 
Patrick.  The  said  aunt  had  never 
done  anything  of  the  kind  herself, 
nobody  had  ever  married  her  illegally, 
and  she  could  not  conceive  how  such 
a  thing  could  take  place  without  the 
woman  being  in  fault  as  well  as  the 
man ;  so  she  was  very  cross  about  it, 
and  discontinued  her  good  offices. 
The  Corporal  wished  to  apply  the 
law  at  once  to  Hickman  ;  but  he 
found  means  to  disarm  Kachael,  and 
Kachael  disarmed  the  old  soldier. 
Kachael,  young,  inexperienced,  and 
honest,  was  easily  induced  to  believe 
in  Hickman's  penitence,  and  she  never 
doubted  that,  upon  his  wife's  death, 
who  was  known  to  be  incurably  ill, 
Richard  would  do  her  ample  right. 
So  meantime  she  agreed  to  do  herself 
injustice. 

Mrs.  Hickman  died  within  a  short 
time  of  the  exposure ;  but,  unfortu- 
nately for  Rachael,  another  person 
died  a  week  or  two  before  her,  and 
that  person  was  Rachael's  aunt.  No 
will  appeared,  except  an  old  one, 
which  was  duly  cancelled  by  the  old 
lady  herself,  in  the  following  man- 
ner :  First,  all  the  words  were  inked 
out  with  a  pen;  secondly,  most  of 
them  were  scratcbed  out  with  a  knife ; 
lastly,  a  formal  document  was  affixed 
and  witnessed,  rendering  the  said  in- 
strument null  as  well  as  illegi- 
ble. This  unfortunate  testament  be- 
queathed Bix  Farm  to  Jack  White, 
her  graceless  nephew,  lie  had  of- 
fended her  after  the  will  was  made,  so 
she  annulled  the  will.  The  graceless 
nephew  could  afford  to  smile  at  these 
evidences  of  wrath  ;  he  happened  to 
lie  her  heir-at-law,  and  succeeded  to 
Kix  in  the  absence  of  all  testament  to 
the  contrary.  11  iekman  was  with  his 
dying  wife  in  Somersetshire.  The 
news  about  Bix  reached  him,  and   he 

secretly  resolved  to  have  nothing  more 
to  do  with  Rachael.  To  carry  out 
this   with    more   security,  the  wretch 


222 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


wrote  her  affectionate  letters  from 
time  to  time,  giving  plausible  excuses 
for  remaining  in  Somersetshire  ;  and 
so  he  carried  on  the  game  for  three 
months  after  his  wife  was  dead  ;  he 
then  quietly  dropped  the  mask  and 
wrote  no  more. 

So  matters  went  on  for  some  years, 
until  one  day  the  graceless  nephew, 
finding  work  a  bore,  announced  Bix 
Farm  to  let.  Poor  Hickman  had  set 
his  heart  upon  this  Bix,  and,  as  he 
could  not  have  it  for  his  own,  he 
thought  he  should  like  to  rent  it ;  so 
he  came  up  and  made  his  offer,  and 
was  accepted  as  tenant.  The  rest  the 
reader  knows,  I  believe;  but  what 
iron  passed  through  the  hearts  of  Ra- 
chael  and  the  old  soldier  all  this  time, 
that  let  me  hope  he  knows  not. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  events  we  have  recorded  had 
no  sooner  taken  place,  than  a  great 
change  seemed  to  come  over  Mrs. 
Mayfield.  She  went  about  her  avo- 
cations as  usual,  but  not  with  the 
same  alacrity ;  and  her  spirits  were 
so  unstrung,  that  every  now  and  then 
she  burst  into  tears.  The  female  ser- 
vants, honest  country  wenches  that 
were  not  sublimely  indifferent,  like 
London  domestics,  to  everybody  in 
the  house  but  themselves,  seeing  the 
gloom  of  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Mayfield 
continually  crying  who  never  cried 
before,  began  to  whimper  for  sympa- 
thy, and  the  house  was  a  changed 
house.  Robert  had  disappeared  ;  and 
they  all  felt  it  was  a  charity  not  to 
ask  where,  or  to  go  near  him  for  a 
while  •  all  but  the  mother,  who  could 
not  resist  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's 
nature;  she  crept  silently  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  watched  her  boy,  lest  per- 
chance evil  should  befall  him. 

.Mrs.  Mayfield  then,  after  many  ef- 
forts to  go  through  her  usual  duties, 
gave  wny  altogether,  and  sat  herself 
down  in  her  own  parlor,  and  cried 


over  all  the  sorrow  that  had  come  on 
the  farm  ;  and  as  all  generous  natures 
do,  if  you  give  them  time  to  think,  she 
blamed  herself  more  than  any  one  else, 
and  wished  herself  dead  and  out  of  the 
way,  if  by  that  means  the  rest  could 
only  be  made  happy  as  they  used  to  be. 
While  she  was  in  this  mood,  her  head 
buried  in  her  hands,  she  heard  a  slight 
noise,  and,  looking  up,  saw  a  sorrow- 
ful face  at  the  door :  it  was  Mi-. 
Casenower. 

"I  am  come  to  bid  you  good  by, 
Mrs.  Mayfield." 

"  Come  to  bid  me  good  by  1 " 

"  Yes ;  all  my  things  are  packed  up 
except  this,  which  I  hope  you  will  do 
me  the  favor  to  accept,  since  I  am 
going  away,  and  shall  never  tease  you 
again." 

"  You  never  teased  me,  that  I 
know,"  said  Mrs.  Mayfield,  very 
gently.     "  What  is  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  collection  of  birds'  eggs  : 
will  you  look  at  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Why,  here  arc  a  hundred 
different  sorts,  and  no  two  kinds 
alike." 

"  No  two  kinds  1  I  should  think  not. 
No  two  eggs,  you  mean." 

"  How  beautiful  they  look  when  you 
see  them  in  such  numbers  ! " 

"They  are  beautiful.  Nature  is 
very  skilful ;  we  don't  take  half  as 
many  hints  from  her  as  we  might. 
PJo  you  observe  these  eggs  all  of  one 
color,  —  these  delicate  blues,  these  ex- 
quisite drabs'?  If  you  ever  wish  to 
paint  a  room,  take  one  of  these  eggs 
for  a  model,  and  yon  will  arrive  at 
such  tints  as  no  painter  ever  imagined 
out  of  Ins  own  head,  I  know.  1  once 
hoped  we  should  make  these  experi- 
ments together  ;  but  it  was  not  to  be. 
Good  by,  dear  Mrs.  Mayfield  ! " 

"  O  Mr.  Casenower !  I  did  not  think 
you  came  to  quarrel  with  me." 

"  Heaven  forbid !  But  you  love 
somebody  else." 

"  No  :  I  don't." 

"  Yes  :  you  know  you  do  ,*  and  you 
rejected  me  this  morning." 

"  I  remember  I  was  rude  to  you, 
sir;  I  knocked  a  flower  out  of  your 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


223 


hand.     Docs  that  rankle  in  your  heart 
so  long  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Mayfield,  it  is  for  your  sake 
J  am  going,  not  out  of  anger ;  you 
know  that  very  well." 

"  I  know  no  such  thing,  it  is  out  of 
spite,  and  a  pretty  time  to  show  your 
spite,  when  ray  heart  is  breaking.  If 
you  went  to  please  me,  you  woidd 
wait  till  1  hid  you  go." 

"  You  don't  bid  me  go,  then  1 " 

"It  does  n't  seem  like  it." 

"  You  bid  me  stay  1 " 

"  Not  I,  sir.  Don 't  let  me  keep  yon 
here  against  your  will." 

"  But  it  is  not  against  my  will ;  only 
you  seemed  to  hale  me  this  morning." 

"  What  signifies  what  I  did  this 
morning  1  "  cried  Mrs.  Mayfield, 
sharply;  " it  is  afternoon  now.  This 
morning  they  put  me  out;  I  wanted 
somebody  to  quarrel  with  ;  you  came 
in  my  way,  so  I  quarrelled  with  you. 
Now  I  have  made  you  all  unhappy,  so 
I  am  miserable  myself,  as  I  deserve  ; 
and  now  I  want  somebody  to  comfort 
me,  and  you  come  to  me  :  hut,  instead 
of  comforting  me,  all  you  can  think  of 
is  to  quarrel  with  me,  —  oh  !  oh !  oli !  " 
This  speech  was  followed  by  a  flood 
of  tears. 

Casenower  drew  his  chair  close  to 
hers,  and  took  her  hand,  and  promised 
to  console  her,  —  to  die  for  her,  if 
necessary. 

"  Tell  me  your  trouble,"  said  he, 
"and  you  shall  see  how  soon  I  will  cure 
it,  if  a  friend  can  cure  it.  Mrs.  May- 
field,  —  Rose,  —  what  is  the  matter?"" 

"  Dear  Mr.  Casenower,  Robert  is  in 
love  wiili  that  Raohael,  —  the  farmer 
lias  insulted  her,  and  sent  her  and  her 
grandfather  away,  —  Robert  is  break- 
ing his  heart  ;  —  and  all  this  began 
With  a  word  of  mine,  though  that 
blackguard  Hickman  is  more  to  blame 
still.  But  I  am  a  woman  that  likes  to 
make  people  happy  about  me;  I  may 
B81  I  five  lor  that  ;  and  now  they  are 
all  unhappy  :  and  if  I  knew  where  to 
8hd  a  dose  of  poison  1  would  not  he 
long  before  I  would  take  it  'his  day. 
1  can  't  bear  to  make  people  unhappj , 
—  oh!  oh!  oh!" 


"Don't  cry,  clearest,"  said  Case- 
nower; "you  shall  have  your  wish; 
you  shall  make  everybody  happy  1" 

"  O  no,  no !  that  is  impossible 
now." 

"  No  such  thing,  —  there  is  no  mis- 
chief that  can't  be  cured.  Look  here, 
Hose,  the  old  farmer  is  very  fond  of 
money ;  Raehael  is  poor ;  well,  I  am 
rich.  I  will  soon  find  Robert  a 
thousand  pounds  or  two,  and  he  shall 
have  the  girl  he  likes." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Casenower,  if  money 
could  do  it  I  should  have  settled  it 
that  way  myself.  O,  what  a  good 
creature  you  are  !  I  love  you,  —  no, 
I  don't,  I  hate  you,  because  I  sec 
how  all  this  is  to  end.  No,  no  !  wc 
have  insulted  the  poor  things  and 
set  their  hearts  against  us,  and  we 
have  set  poor  Robert  against  the 
girl,  who  is  worth  the  whole  pack  of 
us  twice  counted.  They  are  gone, 
and  the  old  man's  curse  hangs  like 
lead  upon  the  house  and  all  in  it." 

"  Where  are  they  gone  1 " 

"  Newbury  way." 

"  How  long  1  " 

"  An  hour  and  a  half." 

"  In  two  hours  I  '11  have  tnem 
back  here." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool  now,  talking 
nonsense." 

"  Will  yon  lend  me  your  mare  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  no  !  The  old  farmer  would 
kill  us." 

"Hans  the  old  fanner!  Who 
cares  for  him  ?  Is  this  your  house 
or  his  '  " 

"  Mine,  to  be  sure." 

"  Then  I  shall  bring  them  to  this 
house." 

"Yes,  but  — but  —  " 

"  You  have  a  right  to  do  what  you 
like  in  your  own  house,  I  suppose. 
Why,  how  seared  you  look!  Where 
is  all  your  spirit  '.  You  have  plenty 
of  it  sometime--." 

"Dear  Mr.  Casenower,  don't  tell 
anybody,  I  have  not  a  grain  of  real 
spirit.    I  am  the  most  chicken-hearted 

creature  in  the  world,  only  1  hide  it 
when  1  fall  in  with  other  cowards, 
and   so   then   1   can  bully   them,   yOU 


224 


CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE. 


know.  I  have  hectored  it  over  you 
more  than  once,  and  so  I  would 
again  ;  but  it  would  be  a  shame,  you 
are  so  good, —  and  besides  you  have 
found  me  out." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  afraid  of  any- 
body, if  I  can  please  you.  I  will 
ride  after  them  and  fetch  them  here, 
and,  if  you  are  afraid  to  give  them 
house-room,  I  will  hire  that  empty 
house  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  and  this 
very  night  they  shall  be  seated  in  a 
good  house,  by  a  good  fire,  before  a 
good  supper,  within  fifty  yards  of 
your  door." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you.  You  don't 
know  the  way." 

"  Thank  you,  I  should  be  sure  to 
lose  the  way  by  myself ;  go  and  get 
your  habit  on.  Lose  no  time.  I  will 
saddle  the  horses." 

"  How  a  man  takes  the  command 
of  us,"  thought  Mrs.  Mayficld.  "  I 
shall  have  to  marry  you  for  this,  I 
suppose,"  said  she,  gayly,  shining 
through  her  late  tears. 

"  Not  unless  you  like,"  said  Case- 
nower,  proudly.  "  I  don't  want  to 
entrap  you,  or  take  any  woman 
against  her  will." 

The  Mayficld  colored  up  to  her 
eyes. 

"You  had  better  knock  me  down," 
said  she.  "  I  know  you  would  like 
to  "  ;  and,  casting  on  her  companion 
a  glance  of  undisguised  admiration, 
she  darted  up  stairs  for  her  habit. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  was  in  the 
saddle,  and,  giving  her  mare  the  rein, 
she  went  after  our  poor  travellers 
like  a  flash  of  lightning. 

Casenower  followed  as  he  might. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

It  was  a  glorious  evening-:  the 
Bun,  gigantic  and  red,  had  just  be- 
gun to  tip  the  clouds  with  gold,  and 
rubies,  and  promises  of  a  fine  day 
to-morrow  ;  the  farm  was  quiet ;  the 
farmer's  homely  supper  was  set  on  a 
table  outside  the  door,   and   he   and 


his   wife    sat  opposite  each  other  in 
silence. 

Mrs.  Hathorn  helped  herself  to  a 
morsel ;  but  she  did  not  care  to  cat 
it,  and,  in  fact,  she  only  helped  her- 
self to  encourage  her  husband  to  eat. 
She  did  not  succeed ;  Fanner  Ha- 
thorn remained  in  a  brown  study,  his 
supper  untasted  before  him. 
"  Eat  your  supper,  husband." 
"  Thank  you,  wife  ;  I  am  not  hun- 

gry" 

"  Take  a  drop  of  beer,  then." 

"  No,  Jane,  I  am  not  dry." 

"  You  are  ill,  then,  John ;  you 
don't  look  well." 

"  I  'm  well  enough,  I  tell  you." 

"  You  arc  in  trouble,  like  many 
more  in  this  house." 

"  Me  1  No  ;  I  never  was  happier 
in  my  life!  " 

"  Indeed !  What  is  there  to  be 
happy  about  ?  " 

"  Come,  now,  what  is  it  ? "  cried  the 
farmer,  angrily.  "  Out  with  it,  and 
don't  sit  looking  at  me  with  eyes  like 
an  adder's." 

"  My  man,  you  see  your  conscience 
in  your  wife's  eyes ;  that  is  all  the 
venom  they  have." 

"  You  had  better  tell  me  Robert  is 
in  his  senses  to  love  that  girl.  I 
would  cut  my  arm  off  at  the  shoulder 
sooner  than  consent  to  it." 

"  Would  you  cut  your  son  off  soon- 
er 1 "  said  Mrs.  Hathorn,  with  forced 
calmness. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  take  very  little  notice  of  what 
passes,  John." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  you  see  what  Robert  tried 
for  Avhen  the  wagon  started  with 
them  % " 

"  0,  about  his  fainting  !  I  could 
have  kicked  the  silly  fool  if  I  had  n't 
been  his  father." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  very  odd  he 
should  faint  like  that, — just  under 
the  wheel  of  a  wagon  1 " 

"  O,  when  a  chap  swoons  away,  he 
can't  choose  the  bed  he  falls  on." 

"  A  moment  more,  the  wheel  would 
have  been  on  his  head;    if  Thomas 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


225 


hart  n't  been  lightsome  and  stopped 
the  horses  all  in  a  minute,  Robert 
Ha  thorn  would  have  been  a  corpse  in 
this  house." 

"  Well ! " 
*   "Well!" 

The  old  man  lowered  his  voice : 
"  You  had  better  tell  me  you  think  he 
did  it  on  purpose  !  " 

Mrs.  Hathorn  leaned  over  the  table 
to  him. 

"  I  don't  think  it,  John  ;  I  am  sure 
of  it.  Robert  never  fainted at  all;  he 
was  as  white  as  his  shirt,  but  he  knew 
what  he  was  about,  from  first  to  last. 
He  chose  his  time  ;  and  when  Rachael 
turned  her  head  from  him,  he  just 
said,  '  Very  well  then,'  and  flung  him- 
self under  the  wheel.  YV  hat  did  Thom- 
as sav,  who  dragged  him  up  from  the 
horse's'  feet  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  old  Hathorn, 
half  sulkily,  half  tremhling. 

"  He  said,  '  That  is  flying  in  the 
face  of  Heaven,  young  master.' 
Jane  heard  him  say  it ;  and  you 
know  Thomas  is  a  man  that  speaks 
but  little.  What  did  Rose  Maytield 
say,  as  she  passed  him  next  minute  ? 
'  Would  you  kill  your  mother,  Rob- 
ert, and  break  all  our  hearts  ?  '  You 
cried  out, 'Go  on,  —  goon.'  Robert 
said  his  foot  had  slipped  ;  and  made 
as  though  he  would  smile  at  me.  Ah ! 
what  a  smile,  John  !  If  you  had  been 
as  near  it  as  I  was,  you  would  n't 
sleep  this  night."  And  .Mrs.  II  at  horn 
began  to  sob  violently,  and  rocked 
herself  to  and  fro. 

"  Then  Bead  for  them  back,"  cried 
the  fanner,  suddenly  starting  up 
"  Send,  before  worse  ill  comes,  — con- 
found  them  !  " 

"  They  will  never  come  back  here. 
They  are  poor,  but  honest  and  proud  ; 
and  we  have  stung  them  too  bitterly, 
reproaching  them  with  their  hard 
lot." 

"  Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  barn  ;  with  his  face  buried 
in  the  straw,  like  one  who  would  n't 
speak,  or  see,  or  hear  the  world 
again." 

"p.  i    a  !•'■'>  i  " 

10* 


"  No,  he  is  not  asleep." 

"  Give  him  time ;  he  '11  come  to 
when  he  has  cried  his  bellyful." 

"  He  shed  tears  ?  0  no  !  it  is  too 
deep  for  that ;  he  will  die  by  his  own 
hand,  or  fret  to  death.  He  won't  be 
long  here,  I  doubt :  look  for  dark 
days,  old  man  !  " 

"  Wife,"  said  Hathorn,  trembling, 
"  you  are  very  hard  upon  me  :  to  hear 
you,  one  would  say  I  am  a  bad  father, 
and  am  killing  my  son." 

"No,  —  no, — John!  But  we  were 
too  ambitious,  and  we  have  humbled 
the  poor  and  the  afflicted ;  and  Heav- 
en does  not  bless  them  that  do  so,  and 
never  will." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Jane." 

"  No  more  do  I,  except  pray  to 
God  :  that  is  my  resource  in  dangers 
and  troubles," 

"  Ay  !  ay !  that  can  do  no  harm  any 
way." 

While  the  old  couple  sat  there,  with 
gloomy  and  foreboding  hearts,  sud- 
denly a  cheerful  cry  burst  upon  their 
ears.  It  was  Mrs.  May  field's  voice; 
she  came  cantering  up  the  lane  with 
.Mr.  Casenower:  she  dismounted, 
flung  him  the  bridle,  and  ran  into  her 
own  house,  where  she  busied  herself 
in  giving  orders,  and  preparing  two 
rooms  for  some  expected  visitors. 
A  few  minutes  more,  and,  to  the  as- 
tonishment of  Hathorn  and  delight 
of  his  wife,  the  wagon  hove  in  sight 
with  Rachael  and  Patrick. 

They  descended  from  the  wagon, 
and  were  led  by  Mr.  Casenower  into 
Mrs.  Mayfield's  house,  and  there,  after 
all  this  day's  fatigues  and  sorrows, 
they  found  a  weleonie  and  bodily  re- 
pose. Rut  Rachael  showed  great 
uneasiness;  she  had  been  very  reluc- 
tant to  return  ;  but  Mrs.  Maytield 
had  begged  them  both  so  hard,  with 
the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  Patrick  had 
shown  .so  strong  a  wish  to  come  back, 
that  she  had  yielded  a  passive  con- 
sent. When  the  news  of  their  return 
was  brought  to  Robert  by  his  mother, 
be  betrayed  himself  to  her ;  he  threw 
bis  arms  round  her  neck  like  a  girl, 
—  but  in  bis  downcast  look,  and  dog' 
u 


22G 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


ged  manner,  none  of  the  others  could 
discover  whether  he  was  glad  or  sorry. 
He  went  about  his  work  next  morn- 
ing, as  usual,  and  did  not  even  make 
an  inquiry  about  Rachael. 

It  was  about  twelve  o'clock  the  next 
day,  that  Mrs.  Mayfield  observed  him 
return  from  the  field  and  linger  longer 
than  usual  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
house.  She  invited  Rachael  to  come 
and  look  at  her  pet  calf,  and  walked 
her  most  treacherously  right  up  to 
Robert. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  she,  "  you  must  ex- 
cuse me,  here  is  Robert,  he  will  do 
as  well.  Robert,  you  take  and  show 
her  my  calf,  the  red  and  white  one, 
that 's  a  good  soul,  they  want  me  in- 
doors." And  in  a  moment  she  was 
gone,  and  left  Robert  and  Rachael 
looking  alternately  at  each  other  and 
the  ground. 

When  Rose  left  these  two  together, 
she  thought,  innocently  enough,  that 
the  business  was  half  done,  as  far  as 
they  were  concerned.  She  had  not 
calculated  the  characters  of  the  par- 
ties, and  their  pride.  They  were 
little  nearer  each  other  now  than  at 
twentv  miles  distant, 

"Well,  Rachael,"  said  Robert, 
"  I  am  glad  you  are  here  again  ;  they 
were  wrong  to  insult  you,  and  now 
they  are  right  to  bring  you  back ;  but 
it  is  no  business  of  mine." 

"  No,  Master  Robert,"  said  Rachael, 
quietly,  "  and  it  is  against  my  will  I 
am  here." 

With  these  words  she  was  moving 
away,  when  Robert  intercepted  her, 
and,  intercepting  her, said  :  "O,  I  don't 
hinder  you  to  stay  or  to  go.  The 
folk  say  a  heap  of  things  about  you 
and  me ;  but  did  I  ever  say  a  word 
to  you  more  than  civility  ?  " 

"  No  !  nor  would  I  have  suffered  it." 

"  O,  you  are  proud !  it  suits  your 
situation,"  said  Robert,  bitterly. 

"  A  man  and  a  Christian  would 
think  twice  ere  he  reminded  me  of 
my  situation,"  cried  Rachael,  with 
flashing  eyes;  "and,  since  you  can't 
feel  for  it,  why  speak  to  me  at  all  1 " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  affront  you," 


said  Robert,  with  feeling.     "I  pity 
you." 

"  Keep  your  pity  for  one  that  ask9 
it,"  was  the  spirited  reply. 

"  What !  are  we  to  worship  you  1 " 

"Misfortune   that    does    not  com,* 
plain  should  meet  some  little  respect, 
I  think." 

"  Yes,  Rachael,  but  it  would  he 
more  respected  if  you  had  not  kept  it 
so  close." 

"  Master  Robert,"  answered  Ra- 
chael, in  what  we  have  already  de- 
scribed as  her  dogged  manner,  "  poor 
folk  must  work,  and  ought  to  Avork ; 
and  as  they  won't  let  a  girl  in  my 
situation,  as  you  call  it,  do  work  or 
be  honest,  I  concealed  my  fault,  - —  if 
fault  it  was  of  mine." 

"  And  I  call  it  cruel  to  let  a  man 
love  you,  and  hide  your  story  from 
him." 

"  Nay,  but  I  never  encouraged  any 
man  to  love  me ;  so  I  owe  my  story 
to  no  man." 

"  Keep  your  secrets,  then,"  said 
Robert,  savagely;  "nobody  wants 
them,  without  it  is  Richard  Hickman. 
I  hear  his  cursed  voice  in  the  air 
somewhere." 

"  Richard  Hickman  !  "  gasped  Ra- 
chael. "  0,  why  did  I  come  to  this 
place  to  be  tortured  again  1  " 

Richard  Hickman  had  come  here 
expressly  to  have  a  friendly  talk  with 
Mr.  Patrick.  Mr.  Patrick  owed  this 
honor  to  the  following  circumstance. 

As  the  wagon  returned  to  the  farm, 
Thomas  had  stopped  at  a  certain  way- 
side public-house,  in  which  Mr.  Hick' 
man  happened  to  be  boozing.  Patrick 
was  breathing  threats  against  Hick- 
man, and  insisting  on  Rachael's  tak- 
ing the  law  of  him,  and  sending  him 
out  of  the  country.  Rachael,  to  get 
rid  of  the  subject,  yielded  a  languid 
assent ;  and  Hickman,  who  was  in- 
tently listening,  trembled  in  his  shoes. 
To  prevent  this  calamity,  the  prudent 
Richard  determined  to  make  a  pseu- 
do-spontaneous offer  of  some  sort  to 
the  Corporal,  and  hush  up  the  whole 
affair. 

At  the  sight  of  Hickman,  the  Cor- 


CLOUDS   AND   SUNSHINE. 


227 


poral  was  for  laying  on,  as  our  elder 
dramatists  have  it ;  but  Mr.  Casenow- 
er,  who  was  there,  arrested  his  arm, 
and  proposed  to  him  to  hear  what  the 
man  had  to  say. 

"Well,"  cried  Patrick,  "let  him 
speak  out  then  before  them  all,  — 
they  have  all  seen  us  affronted  through 
his  villany.     Where  is  Kachael  ?  " 

So  then  the  Corporal  came  round 
to  where  Kachael  stood,  pale  as 
death  ;  and  Robert  sat  pale,  too,  but 
clenching  his  teeth  like  one  who 
would  die  sooner  than  utter  a  cry, 
though  many  vultures,  called  pas- 
sions, were  gnawing  the  poor  lad's 
heart  at  this  moment ;  and,  to  make 
matters  worse,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hathorn,  seeing  this  assemblage, 
were  drawn  by  a  natural  curiosity  to 
join  the  group. 

And  lure  Mr.  Hickman's  brass  en- 
abled him  to  cut  a  more  brilliant  fig- 
ure than  his  past  conduct  justified ; 
he  cast  a  sly,  satirical  look  at  them 
all,  especially  at  poor  Robert,  and, 
Betting  his  hack  to  the  railings,  he 
opened  the  ball  thus  :  — 

"  I  come  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Mayfield  ; 
she  says,  '  Speak  before  all  the  rest.' 
With  all  my  heart.  I  come  to  say 
three  words  to  Mr.  Patrick ;  '  Speak 
before  all  the  rest,'  says  he;  well, 
why  not  ?  it  is  a  matter  of  taste. 
Mr.  Patrick,  I  have  done  you  wrong, 
and  I  own  it ;  but  you  have  had  your 
revenge.  You  have  told  the  story 
your  way,  and  the  very  hoys  are  for 
throwing  stones  at  nic  here,  and  you 
have  set  Mrs.  Mayfield  against  mc, 
that  used  to  look  at  me  as  a  cat  docs 
at  cream." 

"  As  a  cat  docs  at  water,  you 
mean,  —  you  impudent,  ngly  dog. 

"Keep  your  temper,  my  darling; 
you  were  for  having  everything  said 
in  public,  yon  know.  Well,  now  let 
us  two  make  matters  smooth,  old 
man.  How  much  will  you  take  to 
keep  vonr  tongue  between  your  teeth 
alt  ■r'this  ?  " 

Patrick's  reply  came  in  form  of  a 
question  addressed  to  ihe  company  in 
general. 


"  Friends,  since  Corporal  Patrick 
of  the  47  th  Foot  was  ill  amongst  you, 
and  partly  out  of  his  senses,  has  he 
done  any  dirty  action,  that  this  fel- 
low comes  and  offers  him  money  in 
exchange  for  a  £ood  name  1 " 

"  No,  Mr.  Patrick,"  said  Robert, 
breaking  silence  for  the  first  time. 
"  You  are  an  honest  man,  and  a  bet- 
ter man  than  ever  stood  in  Dick 
Hickman's  shoes." 

Hickman  bit  his  lip,  and  cast  a 
wicked  glance  at  Robert. 

"  And  your  daughter  is  as  modest 
a  lass  as  ever  broke  bread,  for  all  her 
misfortune,"  cried  Mrs.  Hathorn. 

"  And  none  but  a  scoundrel  would 
hope  to  cure  the  mischief  he  has  done 
with  money,"  cried  the  Mayfield. 

"  Spare  me,  pood  people,"  said 
Hickman,  ironically. 

"  Ay,  spare  him,"  said  Patrick, 
simply.  "  I  have  spared  him  this  five 
years  for  Rachael's  sake  ;  but  my  pa- 
tience is  run  out,"  roared  the  old 
man  ;  and,  lifting  his  staff,  he  made  a 
sudden  rush  at  the  brazen  Hickman. 
Cascnower  and  Old  Hathorn  inter- 
posed. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  Hickman  ; 
"  you  may  be  sure  I  sha'  n't  lift  my 
hand  against  fourscore  years.  I  '11 
go  sooner,"  and  he  began  to  saunter 
off. 

"  What !  you  arc  a  coward  as  well, 
are  you  ?  "  roared  Patrick.  "  Then 
I  pity  you.  Begone,  ye  lump  of  dirt, 
with  your  idleness,  your  pride,  your 
meanness,  your  money,  and  the  shame 
of  havinjr  offered  it  to  a  soldier  like 
mc,  that  has  seen  danger  and  glorv." 

"  Well  done,  Mr.  Patrick  !  "  cried 
Hathorn  ;  "  that  is  an  honor  to  :\ 
poor  man  to  be  able  to  talk  like  that." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Patrick,  that  was  well 
said." 

"  Tt  is  well  said,  and  well  done." 

Every  eye  was  now  bent  with  ad- 
miration on  Patrick,  and  from  him 
they  turned  with  an  universal  move- 
ment of  disdain  to  Hickman.  The 
man  writhed  for  a  moment  under  this 
human  lightning,  difficult  to  resist, 
and  then   it  was  he  formed  a  sudden 


228 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


resolution  that  took  all  present  by 
surprise,  Conscience  pricked  him  a 
little,  Rachacl's  coldness  piqued  him, 
jealousy  of  Robert  stung  him,  gen- 
eral disdain  annoyed  him,  and  he 
longed  to  turn  the  tables  on  them  all. 
Under  this  strange  medley  of  feelings 
and  motives,  he  suddenly  wheeled 
round,  and  faced  them  all,  with  an 
air  of  defiance  that  made  him  look 
much  handsomer  than  they  had  seen 
him  yet,  and  he  marched  into  the 
middle  of  them. 

"  I  '11  show  you  all  that  I  am  not 
so  bad  as  you  make  me  out,  —  you 
listen,  old  man.  Rachael,  you  say 
that  you  love  me  still,  and  that  'tis 
for  my  sake  you  refuse  Bob  Hathorn, 
as  I  believe  it  is,  and  the  Devil  take 
me  if  I  won't  marry  you  now,  for  all 
that  is  come  and  gone."  He  then 
walked  slowly  and  triumphantly  past 
Robert  Hathorn,  on  whom  he  looked 
down  with  superior  scorn,  and  he 
came  close  up  to  Rachael,  who  was 
observed  to  tremble  as  he  came  near 
her.  "  Well,  Rachael,  my  lass,  I  am 
Richard  Hickman,  and  I  offer  you 
the  ring  before  these  witnesses,  —  say 
yes,  and  you  are  mistress  of  Bix 
Farm,  and  Mrs.  Hickman.  O,  I  know 
the  girl  I  make  the  offer  to,"  add- 
ed he,  maliciously ;  "  if  you  could 
not  find  out  what  she  is  worth,  I 
could.  Where  are  you  all  now  1  — 
name  the  day,  Rachael,  here  is  the 
man." 

Rachael  made  no  answer. 

It  was  a  strange  situation,  so 
strange  that  a  dead  silence  followed 
Hickman's  words.  Marriage  offered 
to  a  woman  before  a  man's  face  who 
had  tried  to  kill  himself  for  her  but 
yesterday,  and  offered  by  a  man  who 
had  neglected  her  entirely  for  five 
years,  and  had  declined  her  under 
more  favorable  circumstances.  Then 
the  motionless  silence  of  the  woman 
so  addressed,  —  they  all  hung  upon 
her  lips,  poor  Mr.  Casenower  not  ex- 
cepted, who  feared  that,  now  Rachael 
was  to  be  Mrs.  Hickman,  Robert 
might  turn  to  Mrs.  Mayfield  and  crush 
his  new-raised  hopes. 


As  for  Robert,  he  did  everything 
he  could  to  make  Rachael  say  "  yes  " 
to  Hickman.  He  called  up  a  dogged 
look  of  indifference,  and  held  it  on 
his  face  by  main  force.  It  is  to  be 
doubted,  though,  whether  this  im- 
posed on  Rachael.  She  stole  a  sin- 
gle glance  at  him  under  her  long 
lashes,  and  at  last  her  voice  broke 
softly,  but  firmly,  on  them  all,  and  it 
sounded  like  a  bell,  so  hushed  were 
they  all,  and  so  highly  strung  was 
their  attention  and  expectation. 

"  I  thank  you,  Richard  Hickman  ; 
but  I  decline  your  offer." 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  little  girl  ?  " 

"Rachael,"  said  Patrick,  "think, 
—  are  you  sure  you  know  your  own 
mind  ?  " 

"  Grandfather,  to  marry  a  man,  I 
must  swear  in  the  face  of  Heaven  to 
love  and  honor  him.  How  could  J 
respect  Richard  Hickman  ?  If  he  was 
the  only  man  left  upon  the  earth,  I 
could  not  many  him,  and  I  would 
not.     I  would  rather  die  !  " 

Robert  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  You  have  got  your  answer,"  said 
Patrick,  "  so  now,  if  I  was  you,  I  'd 
be  off." 

"  If  I  don't  I  'm  a  fool.  I  shall 
go  to  my  uncle,  he  lives  ninety  miles 
from  here,  and  you  '11  see  I  shall  get 
a  farm  there  and  a  wife  and  all,  if  so 
be  you  don't  come  there  a  reaping, 
Mr.  Patrick." 

"  Heaven  pardon  you,  then,"  said 
the  old  man,  gravely.  "  You  are  but 
young ;  remember  it  is  not  too  late 
to  repair  your  ill  conduct  to  us  by 
good  conduct  to  others,  —  so  now 
good  afternoon." 

"  Good  afternoon,  Daddy  Patrick," 
said  Hickman,  with  sudden  humility. 
"  Your  servant,  all  the  company," 
added  he,  taking  off  his  hat.  So  say- 
ing, he  went  off.  He  had  no  sooner 
turned  the  corner  than  he  repented 
him  of  the  manner  of  his  going ;  so, 
putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he 
whistled  the  first  verse  of  "  The 
Ploughboy,"  until  out  of  hearing. 
As  these  last  sounds  of  Hickman 
died    away,    they    all    looked  at   one 


CLOUDS   AND  SUNSHINE. 


229 


another  in  silence.    Old  Hathorn  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"  That  was  uncommon  spirity  to 
refuse  Hickman,"  said  he,  bluntly; 
"  hut  von  have  too  much  pride,  both 
of  you  ! " 

"  No,  not  I,  farmer,"  said  the  old 
man,  sorrowfully  ;  "  I  have  been 
proud,  and  high-spirited,  too ;  but  it 
is  time  that  passed  away  from  me. 
I  am  old  enough  to  see  from  this 
world  into  another,  and  from  this 
hour  to  my  last  (and  that  won't  be 
long,  I  hope),  I  am  patient ;  the  sky 
is  above  tlie  earth  ;  my  child  has  had 
wrong,  —  cruel,  bitter,  undeserved 
wrong  ;  but  we  will  wait  for  Heaven's 
justice,  since  man  has  none  for  us, 
and  we  will  tuke  it  when  it  comes, 
here  or  hereafter." 

The  fiery  old  man's  drooping  words 
brought  the  water  into  all  their  eyes, 
and  Kobert,  in  whose  mind  so  sore  a 
struggle  had  been  raging,  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"  You  spe;ik  well,"  he  cried  ;  "you 
are  a  rigliteous  man,  and  my  ill  pride 
falls  before  your  words  ;  it  is  my  turn 
to  ask  your daughter of you.  Rachael, 
you  take  me  for  husband  and  friend 
for  life.  I  loved  you  well  enough  to 
die  for  you,  and  now  I  love  you  well 
enough  to  live  for  you  ;  Rachael,  be 
my  wife,  —  if  you  please." 

"  She  won't"  say  '  No  ! '  this  time," 
cried  Rose  May  field,  archly. 

"  Thank  you,  Robert,'  said  Ra- 
chael, mournfully.  "  1  am  more  your 
friend  than  to  say  '  Yes  ! '  " 

"Rachael,"  cried  Mrs  Hathorn, 
"  if  it  is  on  our  account,  I  never  saw 
a  la--  I  would  like'  -o  well  for  a 
daughter-in-law  as  yourself," 

"No,  mother,"  said  Robert;  "it  is 
on  account  of  father.  Father,  if  you 
will  not  be  offended,  I  shall  put  a 
question  to  you  that  I  never  thought 
to  put  to  my  father.  Have  I  been  a 
(good  -on  or  a  bad  son  to  you  these 
eight-and-twenty  yean  '  " 

"  Kobert !  "  cried  the  old  man,  in  a 
quivering  tone,  that  showed  these 
simple  words  had  gone  through  and 
through  his  heart.     Then   he   turned 


to  Rachael :  "  My  girl,  I  admire  your 
pride  ;  but  have  pity  on  my  poor  boy 
and  me." 

"  And  on  yourself,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Mayfield. 

"  May  Heaven  bless  you,  Mr.  Ha' 
thorn  !  "  said  Rachael.  "  If  I  say 
'  No ! '  to  Robert,  I  have  a  reason 
that  need  offend  no  one.  Folk  would 
never  believe  I  was  not  in  fault ;  they 
would  east  his  wife's  story  in  his  teeth, 
and  sting  us  both  to  death,  for  he  is 
proud,  and  I  am  proud  too.  And 
what  I  have  gone  through,  —  O,  it 
has  made  me  as  bitter  as  gall!  —  as 
bitter  as  gall !" 

"  Kachael  Wright,"  cried  the  old 
Corporal,  sternly,  "  listen  to  me  !  " 

'♦Rachael  Wright,"  yelled  Case- 
n< >wer.  '  U  gracious  Heavens  !  —  Ra- 
chael Wright,  —  it  is  —  it  must  be. 
I  knew  it  was  an  odd  combination, — 
I  got  it  into  mv  head  it  was  '  Rebecca 
Reid.'    Is  this  Rachael  Wright,  sir  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  the  Corporal, 
peevishly. 

"  Then  I  have  got  something  for 
her  from  my  late  partners.  Ill  find 
it,  —  it  is  at  the  bottom  of  my  seeds," ; 
and  away  scampered  Casenower. 

He  presently  returned,  and  inter- 
rupted a  rebuke  Mr.  Patrick  was  ad- 
ministering to  Rachael,  by  giving  her 
a  long  envelope.  She  opened  it  with 
some  surprise,  and  ran  her  eye  over 
it,  for  she  was  what  they  call  in  the 
country  a  capital  scholar.  Now,  as 
she  read,  her  face  changed  and 
changed  like  an  April  sky,  and  each 
change  was  a  picture  and  a  story. 
They  looked  at  her  in  wonder  as  well 
as  curiosity.  At  last  a  lovely  red 
mantled  in  her  pale  cheek,  and  a 
smile  like  a  rainbow,  a  smile  those 
present  had  never  seen  on  her  face, 
eatue  back  to  her  from  the  past.  The 
paper  dropped  from  her  hands  as  she 
Itretched  them  out,  like  some  benign 
goddess  or  nymph,  all   love,  delicacy, 

and  grace. 

"  Kobert,"  she  cried,  and  she  need 
have  s-tj,|  do  more,  for  the  little  word 
"  Robert,"  as  she  said  it,  was  a  vol- 
ume  of  love,  —  "Robert,    I    love,    I 


230 


CLOUDS  AND   SUNSHINE. 


always  loved  you.  I  am  happy  — 
happy  —  happy!"  and  she  threw  her 
arm  round  Robert's  neck,  and  cried 
and  sobbed,  and,  crying  and  sobbing, 
told  him  again  and  again  how  happy 
she  was. 

"  Hallo  !  "  cried  Hathorn,  cheerful- 
ly, "  wind  has  shifted  in  your  favor, 
apparently,  Bob." 

Mrs.  Mayfield  picked  up  the  paper. 
"  This  has  done  it,"  cried  she,  and 
she  read  it  out  pro  bono.  The  paper 
contained  the  copy  of  a  will  made  by 
Rachael's  aunt,  a  year  before  she 
died.  The  sour  old  lady,  being  wroth 
with  Rachael  on  account  of  her  mis- 
conduct in  getting  victimized,  but  not 
quite  so  wroth  as  with  her  graceless 
nephew,  had  taken  a  medium  course. 
Sbc  had  not  destroyed  this  will,  as 
she  did  the  other,  by  which  graceless 
nephew  was  to  benefit,  but  she  hid  it 
in  the  wall,  safe  as  ever  magpie  hid 
thimble,  and,  dying  somewhat  sudden- 
ly, she  died  intestate  to  all  appear- 
ance. This  old  lady  was  immeasura- 
bly fond  of  the  old  ramshacklv  house 
she  lived  in.  So  after  a  while,  to 
show  his  contempt  of  her,  graceless 
nephew  had  the  house  pulled  down; 
the  workmen  picked  out  of  the  wall 
the  will  in  question.  An  old  servant 
of  the  lady,  whom  graceless  nephew 
had  turned  off,  lived  hard  by,  and  was 
sorrowfully  watching  the  demolition 
of  the  house,  when  the  will  was 
picked  out.  Old  servant  read  the 
will,  and  found  herself  down  for 
£  100.  <  )ld  servant  took  the  will  to  a 
firm  of  solicitors,  no  other  than  Case- 
nower's  late  partners.  They  sent 
down  to  Rachael's  village ;  she  and 
Patrick  were  gone;  a  neighbor  said 
they  were  reaping  somewhere  in  Ox- 
fordshire. The  firm  sent  a  copy  of 
the  will  to  Casenower  as  a  forlorn 
hope,  and  employed  a  person  to  look 
out  for  Rachael  s  return  to  her  own 
place,  as  the  best  chance  of  doing 
business  with  her.  By  the  will, 
£  2,000  and  Bix  Farm  were  be- 
queathed to  Rachael. 

"  Bix  Farm  !  Three  hundred 
acres  !  "  cried  Hathorn. 


"  Bix  Farm,  —  the  farm  Hickman 
is  on,"  cried  Rose  Mayfield.  "  Kick 
him  out,  he  has  no  lease.  If  you 
don't  turn  him  out  neck  and  crop  be- 
fore noon  to-morrow,  I  am  a  dead 
woman." 

"  The  farm  is  Robert's,"  said 
Rachael ;  "  and  so  is  all  I  have  to 
give  him,  if  he  will  accept  it."  And, 
though  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Mayfield, 
she  still  clung  to  Robert. 

Robert  kissed  her,  and  looked  so 
proudly  at  them  all !  "  Have  I  cho- 
sen ill  ?  "  said  Robert's  eyes. 


CHAPTER  X. 

When  everybody  sees  how  a  story 
will  end,  the  story  is  ended. 

Robert  and  Rachael  live  on  their 
own  farm,  Bix;  Corporal  Patrick  sits 
by  their  fireside. 

People  laugh  at  Mr.  Oascnower's 
eccentricities ;  but  it  is  found  unsafe 
to  laugh  at  them  in  presence  of  Mrs. 
Casenower,  late  Mayfield. 

I  think  I  cannot  conclude  better 
than  by  quoting  a  few  words  that 
passed  between  Mrs.  Hathorn  and 
Corporal  Patrick,  as  they  all  sat 
round  one  table  that  happy  evening. 

"  Rose,"  said  this  homely,  good 
creature,  "  I  do  notice  that  trouble 
comes  to  all  of  us  at  one  time  or 
other ;  and  I  think  they  are  the  hap- 
piest that  have  their  trouble  (like 
these  two  children)  in  the  morning  of 
their  days." 

"  Ay,  dame,"  said  the  Corporal, 
taking  up  the  word,  "  and  after  that 
a  bright  afternoon,  and  a  quiet  even- 
ing,—  as  mine  will  be  now,  please 
God !  " 

Friendly  reader  (for  I  have  friend- 
ly as  well  as  unfriendly  readers),  I 
do  not  wish  you  a  day  without  a 
cloud,  for  you  are  human,  and  I, 
though  a  writer,  am  not  all  humbug. 
But,  in  ending  this  tale,  permit  me 
to  wish  you  a  bright  afternoon,  and 
a  tranquil  evening,  and,  above  all,  a 
clear  sky  when  the  sun  goes  down. 


ART: 


A   DRAMATIC    TALE 


ART: 


A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


EARLY  in  the  last  century,  two 
young  women  were  talking  to- 
gether in  a  large  apartment,  richly 
furnished.  One  of  these  was  Susan, 
cousin  and  dependant  of  Mrs.  Anne 
<  Mdlield  ;  the  other  was  a  flower-girl, 
whom  that  lady  had  fascinated  by  her 
scenic  talent.  The  poor  girl  was  hut 
one  of  many  persons  over  whom  Mrs. 
Oldtield  had  cast  a  spell ;  and  yet  this 
actress  had  not  reached  the  zenith  of 
her  reputation. 

The  town,  which  does  not  always 
know  its  own  mind  ahout  actors,  ap- 
plauded one  or  two  of  her  rivals  more 
than  her,  and  fancied  it  admired  them 
more. 

Oldtield  was  the  woman  (there  is 
always  one)  who  used  the  tones  of 
nature  upon  the  stage,  in  that  day ; 
she  ranted  at  times  like  her  neigh- 
bors, but  she  never  ranted  out  of  tune 
like  them  ;  her  declamation  was  na- 
ture, alias  art,  —  thundering  ;  theirs 
was  artifice, —  raving.  Her  treat- 
ment of  words  was  as  follows  :  she 
mastered  them  in  the  tone  of  house- 
hold ipeeeb  ;  she  thru  gradually  built 
up  these  simple  tones  into  a  gorgeous 
edifice  of  music  and  meaning  ;  but 
though  dilated,  heightened,  and  embel- 
lished, they  never  lost  their  original 
truth.  Her  rivals  started  from  a  lie, 
so,  the  higher  they  soared,  the  further 

they  left  truth  behind  them  ;  —  they 
do  the  same  thing  now,  pretty  univer- 
sally. 

The  public  is  a  very  (rood  judge  ; 
and  no  judge  at  all  of  such  matters  :  I 
will  explain. 


Let  the  stage  voice  and  the  dramat- 
ic voice,  —  the  artificial  and  the  ar- 
tistic, —  the  bastard  and  the  legiti- 
mate,—  the  false  and  the  true, — be 
kept  apart  upon  separate  stages,  and 
there  is  no  security  that  the  public 
will  not,  as  far  as  hands  go,  applaud 
the  monotone,  or  lie,  more  than  the 
melodious  truth.  But  set  the  lie  and 
the  truth  side  by  side,  upon  fair  terms, 
and  the  public  becomes  what  the  crit- 
ics of  this  particular  art  have  never 
been,  —  a  critic  ;  and  stage  bubbles, 
that  have  bubbled  for  years,  are  lia- 
ble to  burst  in  a  single  night. 

Mrs.  Oldtield  was  wise  enough, 
even  in  her  generation,  to  know  that 
the  public's  powers  of  comparison  re- 
quire that  the  things  to  be  compared 
shall  be  placed  cheek  by  jowl  before  it ; 
and  this  is  why  she  had  for  some  time 
manoeuvred  to  play,  foot  to  foot, 
against  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  the  cham- 
pion of  the  stage. 

Bracegirdle,  strong  in  position,  tra- 
dition, face,  figure,  and  many  qual- 
ities of  an  actor,  was  by  no  means 
sorry  of  an  opportunity  to  quench  a 
rising  rival;  and  thus  the  two  ladies 
were  to  act  together  in  "  The  Rival 
Queens,"  within  a  few  days  of  our 
story. 

/'iinnia  .  .  Mits.  BftACKomnLE. 
Statira    .  .  Mils.  Oi.uiield. 

The  town,  whose  heart  at  that, 
epoch  was  in  the  theatre,  awaited  this 

singular  Btruggle  iii  m  state  of  burning 
exeiteineiit  we  can  iki  longer  realize. 
Susan  Oldtield,  first  cousin  of  tho 


234 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


tragedian,  was  a  dramatic  aspirant. 
Anne's  success  having  travelled  into 
the  provinces,  her  aunt,  Susan's 
mother,  said  to  Susan,  who  was  mak- 
ing a  cream-cheese,  "  You  go  an'  act 
too,  lass  ! " 

"  I  will,"  said  Susan,  a  making  of 
cream-cheese. 

Anne's  mother  remonstrated,  "  She 
can't  do  it." 

"  Why  not,  sister  1 "  said  Susan's 
mother,  sharply. 

Then  ensued  some  reasoning. 

"  Anne,"  said  the  tragedian's 
mother,  "  was  born  clever.  I  can't 
account  for  it.  She  was  always  mim- 
icking. She  took  off  the  exciseman, 
and  the  farmers,  and  her  grandmoth- 
er, and  the  very  parson,  —  how  she 
used  to  make  us  laugh !  Mimicking  ! 
why,  it  was  like  a  looking-glass,  and 
the  folks  standing  in  front  of  it,  and 
speaking  behind  it,  all  at  one  time. 
Once  I  made  her  take  me  off;  she 
was  very  loath,  poor  lass.  I  think 
she  knew  she  could  not  do  it  so  well 
as  the  rest ;  it  was  n't  like,  though  it 
made  them  all  laugh  more  than  the 
others  ;  but  the  others  were  as  like  as 
fagot  to  fagot.  Now,  Susan,  she  can't 
take  off  nothing,  without  'tis  the 
scald  cream  from  the  milk,  and  I  'vc 
seen  me  beat  her  at  that ;  I  'm  not 
bragging." 

To  this  piece  of  ratiocination,  Su- 
san's mother  opposed  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"  Talent  is  in  the  blood,"  said  she. 
(This  implies  that  great  are  all  the 
first  cousins  of  the  great.) 

Anne's  mother  might  have  weak- 
ened this  by  examples  at  her  own 
door,  to  wit,  the  exciseman,  who  was 
a  clever  fellow,  and  his  son  an  ass. 
But  she  preferred  keeping  within  her 
own  line  of  argument,  and  as  the  la- 
dies  floated,  by  a  law  of  their  nature, 
away  from  that  to  which  lawyers 
tend,  mi  issue,  they  drifted  divaguely 
over  the  great  pacific  ocean  of  fem- 
inine logic.  At  last  a  light  shot  into 
Anne's  mamma :  she  found  terra 
Jirma,  i.  e.  an  argument  too  strong 
for  refutation. 


"  Besides,  Jane,"  said  she,  "  I  want 
your  Susan  to  churn  !  So  there  's 
an  end !  " 

Alas  !  she  had  underrated  the  rival 
disputant.  Susan's  mother  took  ref- 
uge in  an  argument  equally  irrefra- 
gable :  she  packed  up  the  girl's  things 
that  night,  and  sent  her  off  by  coach 
to  Anne  next  morning. 

Susan  arrived,  told  her  story  and 
her  hopes  on  Anne's  neck.  Anne 
laughed,  and  made  room  for  her  on 
the  third  floor.  The  cousins  went  to 
the  theatre  that  evening,  the  aspirant 
in  front. 

Susan  passed  through  various  emo- 
tions, and  when  Belvidera  "  gazed, 
turned  giddy,  raved,  and  died,"  she 
ran  to  the  stage  door,  with  some  mis- 
givings whether  she  might  not  be 
wanted  to  lay  her  cousin  out.  In 
Anne's  dressing-room  she  found  a 
laughing  dame,  who,  whilst  wiping 
off  her  rouge,  told  her  she  was  a  fool, 
and  asked  her  rather  sharply,  "  how 
it  went." 

"  The  people  clapped  their  hands  ! 
I  could  have  kissed  them,"  said  Susan. 

"  As  if  I  could  not  hear  that,  child," 
said  Anne.  "  I  want  to  know  how 
many  cried  where  you  were  —  " 

"  Now,  how  can  I  tell  you,  cousin, 
when  I  could  not  see  for  crying  my- 
self?" 

"  You  cried,  —  did  you  ?  I  am 
very  glad  of  that !  " 

"  La,  cousin  !  " 

"  It  does  not  prove  much,  but  it 
proves  more  than  their  clapping  of 
hands.  You  shall  be  my  barber's 
block,  —  you  don't  understand  me, — 
all  the  better,  —  come  home  to  sup- 
per." 

At  supper,  the  tragedian  made  the 
dairymaid  tell  her  every  little  village 
event ;  and,  in  her  turn,  recalled  all 
the  rural  personages ;  and,  reviving 
the  trick  of  her  early  youth,  imitated 
their  looks,  manners,  and  sentiments, 
to  the  life. 

She  began  with  the  exciseman,  and 
ended  with  the  curate,  —  a  white- 
headed  old  gentleman,  all  learning, 
piety,  and  simplicity.     He  had  seen 


ART :    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


235 


in  tills  beautiful  and  gifted  woman 
only  a  lamb  that  he  was  to  lead  up 
to  heaven,  — please  God. 

The  naughtiest  things  we  do  are 
sure  to  be  the  cleverest,  and  this  im- 
itation made  Susan  laugh  more  than 
the  others. 

But  in  the  midst  of  it  the  mimic 
suddenly  paused,  and  her  eye  seemed 
to  turn  inwards  :  she  was  quite  sileut 
for  a  moment. 

Ah !  Oldneld,  in  that  one  moment 
I  am  sure  your  heart  has  drunk 
many  a  past  year.  It  is  away  to  the 
banks  of  Trent,  to  grass  and  flowers, 
and  days  of  innocence,  to  church-bells 
and  a  cottage  porch,  and  your  moth- 
er's bosom,  my  poor  woman,  —  prin- 
cess of  the  stage. 

She  faltered  out:  "But  he  was  a 
good  man.  O  yes  !  yes  !  yes  !  he 
was  a  good  man ;  he  admired  me 
more  then  than  he  would  now  !  None 
like  him  shine  on  my  path  now." 
And  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  crying. 

Susan  cried  with  her,  without  in 
the  least  knowing  what  was  the  mat- 
ter. And  these  most  dissimilar  be- 
ings soon  learned  to  love  one  another. 
The  next  day  Anne  took  the  gauge 
of  Susan's  entire  intellects  ;  and,  by 
way  of  comment  on  the  text  of  Su- 
san, connected  her  with  dramatic  po- 
etry, as  Mrs.  Oldfield's  dresser. 

Susan  then  had  been  installed  about 
three  months,  when  she  was  hold- 
ing that  conversation  with  the  flower- 
girl,  which  I  have  too  long  interrupt- 
ed. 

"  It  is  an  odd  thing  to  say,  hut  I 
think  vou  are  in  love  with  my  cousin 
Anne.'" 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  answer. 
"  I  am  drawn  to  her  by  something  I 
cannot  resist:  I  followed  her  borne 
for  three  months  before  I  spoke  to 
you.  Will  she  not  be  angry  at  my 
presumption  V 

"  La  !  Of  course  not  :  it  is  not  as 
if  you  were  one  of  these  impudent 
men  that  follow  her  about,  and  slip 
notes  into  every  mortal  thing,  —  her 
carriage,  her  prayer-book." 

Now  Susan  happened  to  be  laying 


out  the  new  dress  for  Statira,  which 
had  just  come  in  ;  and,  in  a  manner 
singularly  apropos,  no  less  than  two 
nice  little  notes  fell  out  of  it  as  she 
spoke. 

The  girls  looked  at  them,  as  they 
lay  on  the  floor,  like  deer  looking 
askant  at  a  lapdog. 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  votary  of  Flora ; 
"they  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"  So  they  ought,"  cried  Susan. 
"I'd  say  nothing,"  added  she,  "if 
some  of  them  were  for  me.  But  I 
shall  have  them  when  I  am  an  ac- 
tress." 

"  Are  you  to  be  that  ?  Ah  !  you 
will  never  be  like  her .'  " 

"  Why  not  ?  She  is  only  my 
mother's  sister's  daughter,  bless  you. 
Anne  was  only  a  country  lass  like 
me,  at  first  starting,  and  that  is  why 
my  mother  sent  me  here,  because, 
when  talent  is  in  a  family,  don't  let 
one  churn  all  the  butter,  says  she." 

"  But  can  you  act  ?  "  interposed  the 
other. 

"  Can't  1 1 "  was  the  answer. 

"  Ilis  fame  survives  the  world  in  deathless 
story, 
Nor  heaven  and  earth  combined  can  match 
his  glory." 

These  lines,  which  in  our  day 
would  be  thought  a  leetle  hyperboli- 
cal, Susan  recited  with  gestures 
equally  supernatural. 

"  Rless  you,"  added  she,  compla- 
cently :  "  I  could  act  fast  enough,  if 
I  could  but  get  the  words  off.  Can 
you  read  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  " 

"Handwriting?  Tell  the  truth, 
now ! " 

"  Yes  !     I  can  indeed." 

"Handwriting  is  hard,  is  it  not?" 
said  Susan;  "but  a  part  beats  all: 
did  ever  vou  sec  a  part  ?  " 

"  No  ! '" 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  ye,  girl  !  there 
COmes  a  great  scratch,  and  then  some 
words:  but  don't  you  go  for  to  say 
those  words,  because  they  belong  to 
another  gentleman,  and  be  might  n't 
like  it.     Then  you  come  in,  and  then 


23G 


ART  :    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


another  scratch.  And  I  declare  it 
■would  puzzle  Old  Scratch  to  cleur  the 
curds  from  the  whey  —  " 

Susan  suddenly  interrupted  herself, 
for  she  had  caught  sight  of  a  lady 
slowly  approaching  from  an  adjoining 
room,  the  door  of  which  was  open. 
"Hush!"  cried  Susan;  "here  she 
is  !  alack,  she  is  not  well !  O  dear ! 
she  is  far  from  well !  "  And,  in  point 
of  fact,  the  lady  slowly  entered  the 
apartment,  laboring  visibly  under  a 
weight  of  disease.  The  poor  flower- 
girl,  naturally  thinking  this  no  time 
for  her  in  traduction ,  d  ropped  a  bouquet 
on  the  table  and  retreated  precipitately 
from  the  den  of  the  sick  lioness. 

Then  the  lady  opened  her  lips, 
and  faltered  forth  the  following  sen- 
tence :  — 

"I go  no  further,  let  me  rest  here, 
CEnone !  " 

"  Do,  cousin  !  "  said  Susan,  con- 
solingly. 

"  I  droop,  I  sink,  my  strength 
abandons  me ! "  said  the  poor  invalid. 

"  Here  's   a  chair  for  y',   Anne," 
cried    Susan.      "  What  is   the  mat- 
ter 1" 

On  this,  the  other,  fixing  her  filmy 
eyes  upon  her,  explained,  slowly  and 
faintly,  that,  "  '  Her  eyes  were  daz- 
zled with  returning  day ;  her  trem- 
bling limbs  refused  their  wonted  stay.' 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  she,  and  tottered 
towards  the  chair. 

"She's  going  to  faint,  —  she's 
going  to  faint!"  cried  poor  Susan. 
"  O  dear  !  Here,  quick !  smell  to 
this,  Anne." 

"That  will  do,  then,"  said  the 
other,  in  a  hard,  unfeeling  tone.  "  I 
am  fortunate  to  have  satisfied  your 
judgment,  madam,"  added  she. 

Susan  stood  petrified,  in  the  act  of 
hurrying  with  the  smelling-bottle. 

"  That  is  the  way  I  come  on  in  that 
scene,"  explained  Mrs.  Oldfield,  yawn- 
ing in  Susan's  sympathetic  face. 

"  Acting,  by  jingo  !  "  screamed 
Susan.  "  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  ; 
I  thought  you  were  a  dead  woman. 
I  wish  you  would  n't,"  cried  she, 
flying  at  her  like  a  hen  ;  "  torment- 


ing us  at  home,  when  there  's  no- 
body to  see." 

"  It  is  my  system,  —  I  aim  at 
truth.  You  are  unsophisticated,  and 
I  experiment  on  you,"  was  the  cool 
excuse. 

"  Cousin,  when  am  /  to  be  an  ac- 
tress '? "  inquired  Susan. 

"  After  fifteen  years'  labor,  per- 
haps," was  the  encouraging  response. 

"  Labor !  I  thought  it  was  all  in — 
spi — ration  !  " 

"  Many  think  so,  and  find  their  er- 
ror. Labor  and  Art  are  the  founda- 
tion,—  Inspiration  is  the  result." 

"  O  Anne,"  cried  Susan,  "now  do 
tell  me  your  feelings  in  the  theatre." 

"  Well,  Susan,  first,  I  cast  my  eyes 
around,  and  try  to  count  the  house." 

"  No,  no,  Anne,  I  don't  mean  that." 

"  Well,  then,  child,  at  times  upon 
the  scene,  —  mind,  I  say  at  times,  — 
the  present  does  fade  from  my  soul, 
and  the  great  past  lives  and  burns 
again  ;  the  boards  seem  buoyant  air 
beneath  me,  child ;  that  sea  of  Eng- 
lish heads  floats  like  a  dream  before 
me,  and  I  breathe  old  Greece  and 
Home.  I  ride  on  the  whirlwind  of 
the  poet's  words,  and  wave  my  sceptre 
like  a  queen,  —  ay,  and  a  queen  I  am  ! 

—  for  kings  govern  millions  of  bodies, 
but  I  sway  a  thousand  hearts !  But, 
to  tell  the  truth,  Susan,  when  all  is 
over,  I  sink  back  to  woman,  —  and 
often  my  mind  goes  home,  dear,  to 
our  native  town,  where  Trent  glides 
so  calmly  through  the  meadows.  I 
pine  to  be  by  his  side,  far  from  the 
dust  of  the  scene,  and  the  din  of  life, 

—  to  take  the  riches  of  my  heart  from 
flatterers,  strangers,  and  the  world, 
and  give  them  all,  all,  to  one  faithful 
heart,  large,  full,  and  loving  as  my 
own  !  Where 's  my  dress  for  Statira, 
hussy  ?  "  She  snapped  this  last  with 
a  marvellous  quick  change  of  key,  and 
a  sudden  sharpness  of  tone  peculiar  to 
actresses  when  stage-dresses  are  in 
question. 

"  Here  it  is.     0,  is  n't  it  superb  ?  " 
"  Yes,  it  is  superb,"  said  Oldfield, 
dryly ;    "  velvet,   satin,   and  ostrich- 
feathers,  for  an  Eastern  queen.     The 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


237 


game  costume  for  Belvidera,  Statira, 
Clytcmnestra,  and  Mrs.  Dobbs.  O 
prejudice  !  prejudice  !  The  stage  has 
always  been  fortified  against  common 
sense"!  Velvet  Greeks,  periwigged  lio 
mans,  —  the  audience  mingling  with 
the  scene, —  past  and  present  blun- 
dered together  ! —  English  fops  in  the 
Itoman  forum,  taking  snuff  under  a 
Eoman  matron's  nose  (that's  me), 
and  cackling  out  that  she  does  it  noth- 
ing like  (no  more  she  does)  — noth- 
ing like  Peggy  Porteous,  —  whose 
merit  was  that  she  died  thirty  years 
ago,  whose  merit  would  have  been 
greater  had  she  died  fifty  years  ago, 
and  much  greater  still  had  she  never 
lived  at  all." 

Here  Susan  offered  her  half  a  dozen 
tetters,  including  the  smuggled  notes; 
but  the  sweet-tempered  soul  (being 
for  the  moment  in  her  tantrums) 
•would  not  look  at  them.  "  I  know 
•what  they  are,"  said  she ;  "  vanity, 
in  marvellous  thin  disguises ;  my 
ilatterers  are  so  eloquent,  that  they 
will  persuade  me  into  marrying  poor 
old  Mannering, — every  morning  he 
writes  me  four  pages,  and  tells  me  my 
duty  ;  every  evening  he  neglects  his 
own,  and  goes  to  the  theatre,  which 
is  unbecoming  his  age,  I  think." 

"  He  looks  a  very  wise  gentleman," 
observed  Susan. 

"  Hi'  docs,"  was  the  rejoinder,  "  but 
his  folly  reconciles  me  in  some  degree 
to  his  wisdom  ;  so,  mark  my  words, 
I  shall  marry  my  silly  sage.  There, 
burn  all  the  rest  but  his  —  no!  don't 
burn  the  letter  in  verse  !  " 

"  In  verse  ?  " 

"Ye* I  I  won't  have  him  burnt 
either,  —  for  he  loves  me,  poor  boy! 
Find  it,  Susan  ;  he  never  misses  a 
day.  I  think  I  should  dike  to  know 
that  one." 

"  I  thltik  this  is  it,"  said  Susan. 

"  Then  read  it  out  expressively, 
whilst  I  mend  this  collar.  So  then  I 
shall  estimate  your  progress  to  the 
temple  of  Fame,  nia'ain." 

It  is  not  easy  to  do  justice  on  paper 
to  Susan's  recitative;  but,  in  fact, 
she  read  it  much  us  school  boys  scan, 


and  what  she  read  to  her  cousin  for  a 
poet's  love  hopped  thus  :  — 

" '  Excuse  —  me    dear — est  frit-nd  —  if  I  — 
should  appear 
Too  press— lug  but  —  at  my  —  years  one 

—  has  not 
Much  time  —  to  lose  —  5,nd  your  —  good 
Sense —  I  feel —  '  " 

"  My  good  sense  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Old- 
field,  "  how  can  that  be  poetry  ?  " 

"It  is  poetry,  I  know,"  remon- 
strated Susan.  "  See,  cousin,  it 's  all 
of  a  length." 

"  All  of  a  length  with  your  wit,  — 
that  is  the  Mannering  prose." 

"  Drat  them,  if  they  write  in  lines, 
how  is  one  to  know  their  prose  from 
their  verse  ?  "  said  Susan,  spitefully. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Susan,"  said  the 
other,  soothingly  ;  "  their  prose  is 
something  as  like  Mannering  as  can 
be,  their  verse  is  something  in  this 
style :  — 

"  You  were  not  made  to  live  from  age  to  age  ; 
The  dairy  yawns  for  you,  —  and  not  the 
stage  !  " 

"  He !  he  !  " 

She  found  what  she  sought,  and, 
reading  out  herself  the  unknown 
writer's  verses,  she  said,  with  some 
feminine  complacency,  "  Yes  !  this  is 
a  heart  I  have  really  penetrated." 

"  I  've  penetrated  one,  too,"  said 
Susan. 

"  Indeed  !  "  was  the  reply  ;  "  how 
did  you  contrive  that,  —  not  with  the 
spit,  I  hope  ?  " 

Thus  encouraged,  Susan  delivered 
herself  most  volubly  of  a  secret  that 
had  long  burned  in  her.  She  pro- 
ceeded to  relate  how  she  had  observed 
a  young  gentleman  always  standing 
by  the  stage-door  as  they  got  into 
their  chariot,  and  when  they  reached 
home,  somehow,  he  was  always  stand- 
ing there  too.  "  It  was  not  for  you, 
this  one,"  said  Susan,  hastily,  "  be- 
cause you  are  so  wrapped  up  he  could 
not  see  you."  Then  she  told  her 
cousin  how,  once,  when  they  were  walk- 
ing separately,  this  same  young  gentle- 
man had  said  to  her,  most  tenderly, 
"  Madam,  you  are  in   the  service  of 


238 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


Mrs.  Oldfield?"  and,  on  another 
occasion,  he  had  got  as  far  as,  "  Mad- 
am," when  unfortunately  her  cousin 
looked  round,  and  lie  vanished.  Su- 
san, then  throwing  off  the  remains  of 
her  reserve,  and  clasping  her  hands 
together,  confessed  she  admired  him 
as  much  as  he  did  her.  Susan  gave 
this  reason  for  her  affection  :  "  He  is, 
for  all  the  world,  like  one  of  the 
young  tragedy  princes,  and  you  know 
what  ducks  they  are." 

"  I  do,  to  my  cost,"  was  the  caustic 
reply.  "  I  wish,  instead  of  talking 
about  this  silly  lover  of  yours,  who 
must  be  a  fool,  or  he  would  have  made 
a  fool  of  you  long  ago,  you  would 
find  out  who  is  the  brave  young  gen- 
tleman who  risked  his  life  for  me 
last  month.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  am 
quite  interested  in  him." 

"  Risked  his  life !  —  and  you  never 
told  me,  Anne  !  " 

"  Robert  told  you,  of  course." 
"  No,  indeed  ! "" 

"  Did  he  not  1  —  then  I  will  tell  you 
the  whole  story.  You  have  heard  me 
speak  of  the  Duchess  of  Tadcaster  ?  " 
"  No,  cousin,  never !  " 
"  I  wonder  at  that !  Well,  she  and 
Lady  Betsy  Bertie  and  I  used  to  stroll 
in  Richmond  Park  with  our  arms 
round  one  another's  waists,  like  the 
Graces,  more  or  less,  and  kiss  one 
another,  ugh  !  and  swear  a  deathless 
friendship,  like  liars  and  fools  as  we 
are.  But  her  Grace  of  Tadcaster  had 
never  anything  to  do,  and  I  had  my 
business,  so  I  could  not  always  be 
plagued  with  her ;  so  for  this  the  little 
idiot  now  aspires  to  my  enmity,  and, 
knowing  none  but  the  most  vulgar 
ways  of  showing  a  sentiment,  she  bids 
her  coachman  drive  her  empty  car- 
riage against  mine,  containing  me. 
Child,  I  thought  the  world  was  at  an 
end :  the  glasses  were  broken,  the 
wheels  locked,  and  all  my  little  sins 
began  to  appear  such  big  ones  to  me; 
and  the  brute  kept  whipping  the  horses, 
and  they  plunged  so  horribly,  when  a 
brave  young  gentleman  sprang  to  their 
heads,  tore  them  away,  and  gave  her 
nasty  coachman  such  a  caning."  Here 


Oldfield  clinched  a  charming  white 
fist ;  then,  lifting  up  her  eyes,  she  said 
tenderly,  "  Heaven  grant  no  harm  be- 
fell him  afterwards,  for  I  drove  off, 
and  left  him  to  his  fete  !  " 

Charming  sensibility  !  an  actress's  J 
In  return  for  this  anecdote,  Susan 
was  about  to  communicate  some  fur- 
ther particulars  on  the  subject  which 
occupied  all  her  secret  thoughts,  when 
she  was  interrupted  by  a  noise  and 
scufHe  in  the  anteroom,  high  above 
which  were  heard  the  loud,  harsh 
tones  of  a  stranger's  voice  exclaiming, 
"  But  I  tell  ye  I  will  see  her,  ye  saucy 
Jack." 

Before  this  personage  bursts  upon 
Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  the  rest  of  us,  I 
must  go  back  and  take  up  the  other 
end  of  my  knot  in  the  ancient  town  of 
Coventry. 

Nathan  Oldworthy  dwelt  there  ;  a 
flourishing  attorney  ;  he  had  been  a 
clerk;  he  came  to  be  the  master   of 
clerks ;  his  own  ambition  .was  satis- 
fied, but  his  son  Alexander,  a  youth  of 
I  parts,  became  the  centre  of  a  second 
ambition.     Alexander  was  to  embrace 
the  higher  branch  of  the  legal  profes- 
I  sion  :  was  to  be,  first  pleader,  then  bar- 
j  rister,  then  King's  counsel,  —  lastly,  a 
judge ;  and    contemporaneously  with 
this  final  distinction,  the  old  attorney 
was  to   sing  "  Nunc   Dimittis,"  and 
"  Capias  "  no  more. 

By-standers  are  obliging  enough 
to  laugh  at  such  schemes  ;  but  why  ? 
The  heart  is  given  to  them,  and  they 
are  no  laughing  matter  to  those  who 
form  them  :  such  schemes  destroyed, 
the  flavor  is  taken  out  of  human  lives. 
When  Nathan  sent  his  son  to  Lon- 
don, it  was  a  proud,  though  a  sad 
day  for  him  ;  hitherto  he  had  looked 
upon  their  parting  merely  as  the  first 
step  of  a  glorious  ladder ;  but  when 
the  coach  took  young  Alexander  out 
of  sight,  the  father  found  how  much 
he  loved  him,  and  paced  very,  very 
slowly  home,  while  Alexander  glided 
contentedly  on  towards  London. 

Now,  "  London  "  means  a  different 
thing  to  every  one  of  us  ;  to  one,  it  is 
the  Temple  of  Commerce ;  to  another, 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


239 


of  Themis  ;  to  a  third,  of  Thcspis  ; 
and  to  a  fourth,  of  the  Paphian  Ve- 
nus ;  and  so  on,  because  we  are  all 
much  narrower  than  men  ought  to 
bei  To  Nathan  Old  worthy  it  was 
the  sacred  spot  where  grin  the  courts 
of  law.  To  Alexander  it  was  the  sa- 
cred spot  where  ( being  from  the  coun- 
try) he  thought  to  find  the  nine 
Muses  in  bodily  presence,  —  his  fa- 
vorite Melpomene  at  their  head.  Na- 
than knew  next  to  nothing  about  his 
own  son,  a  not  uncommon  arrange- 
ment. Alexander,  upon  the  whole, 
rather  loathed  law,  and  adored  poetry. 
In  those  days  youths  had  not  learned 
"  to  frown  in  a  glass,  and  write  odes 
to  despair,"  and  be  dabbed  a  duck  by 
tender  beauty  confounding  sulks  with 
sorrow.  Alexander  had  to  woo  the 
Muse  clandestinely,  and  so  wooed  her 
sincerely.  He  went  with  a  manuscript 
tragedy  in  his  pocket  called  "  Bere- 
nice," which  he  had  rewritten  and 
reshaped  flirce  several  times  ;  with  a 
head  full  of  ideas,  and  a  heart  turned 
to  truth,  beauty,  and  goodness.  Ar- 
rived there,  he  was  installed  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  under  the  secret 
surveillance,  of  hi-;  father's  friend, 
Timothy  Batem&n,  Solicitor  of  Gray's 
Inn. 

It'  you  had  asked  Alexander  Old- 
worthy,  upon  the  coach,  who  is  the 
greatest  of  mankind,  his  answer  would 
hive  been  instantaneous,  a  true  poet! 
But  the  li i- s t  evening  he  spent  in  Lon- 
don raised  a  doubt  of  this  in  his  mind, 
for  lie  discovered  a  being  brighter,  no- 
bler, truer,  greater,  than  even  a  poet. 

At  tour  Alexander  reached  Lon- 
don. At  five  he  was  in  his  first  the- 
atre. 

That  sense  of  the  beautiful  which 
belongs  to  genius  made  him  see 
beauty  in  the  semicircular  sweep  of 

the  glowing  boxes;  in  gill  ornaments 
glorious  with  light;  and,  above  .ill, 
in  human  beings  gayly  dressed,  and 
radiant,  witli  expectation.  And  all 
these  things  arc  beautiful ;  only  gross, 

rustic  senses  c.iunot  Bee  it,  anil   blunt- 
ed town  senses  can  sec  it  no  longer. 
Before  the  play   begun,  music  at- 


tacked him  on  another  side ;  and  all 
combined  with  youth  and  novelty  to 
raise  him  to  a  high  key  of  intellectual 
enjoyment ;  and  when  the  ample  cur- 
tain rose,  slowly  and  majestically, 
upon  Mr.  Otway's  tragedy  of  "  Ven- 
ice Preserved,"  it  was  an  era  ic  this 
young  life. 

Poetry  rose  from  the  dead  before 
his  eyes  this  night.  She  lay  no  long- 
er entombed  in  print.  She  floated 
around  the  scene,  ethereal,  but  pal- 
pable. She  breathed  and  burned  in 
heroic  shapes,  and  godlike  tones,  and 
looks  of  tire. 

Presently  there  glided  among  the 
other  figures  one  that  by  enchant- 
ment seized  the  poet's  eyre,  and  made 
all  that  his  predecessors  had  ever  writ 
in  praise  of  grace  and  beauty  seem 
tame  by  comparison. 

She  spoke,  and  his  frame  vibrated 
to  this  voice.  All  his  senses  drank 
in  her  great  perfections,  and  lie 
thrilled  with  wonder  and  enthusiastic 
joy,  that  this  our  earth  contained  such 
a  being.  He  seemed  to  see  the  Eve 
of  Milton,  with  Madonna's  glory 
crowning  her  head,  and  immortal 
music  gushing  from  her  lips. 

The  lady  was,  in  point  of  fact,  Mrs. 
Oldfield,  — the  Belvidcra  of  the  play. 

Alexander  thought  he  knew  "  Ven- 
ice Preserved  "  before  this ;  but  he 
found,  as  the  greatest  wits  must  sub- 
mit to  discover,  that  in  the  closet  a 
good  play  is  but  the  corpse  of  a  play; 
the  stage  gives  it  life.  (The  printed 
words  of  a  play  are  about  one  third, 
of  aplay  ;  the  tones  and  varyingmelo- 
dies  of  beautiful  and  artful  speech  are 
another  third  ;  and  the  business,  ges- 
ture, and  that  great  visible  story,  the 
expression  of  the  speakine-,  and  the 
dumb  play  of  the  silent  actors,  arc 
another  third.) 

Belvidora's  voice,  full,  sweet,  rich, 
piercing,  and  melodious,  and  still  in 
its   vast  compass  true    to   the   varying 

sentiment  of  all  she  uttered,  seemed 
to  impregnate  every  line  with  double 
meaning  and  treble  beauty.  Her  au- 
thor dilated  into  giant  size  and  god- 
like beauty  at  the  touch  of  that  voice. 


240 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


And  when  she  was  silent  she  still 
spoke  to  Alexander's  eye,  for  her  face 
was  more  eloquent  than  vulgar 
tongues  are.  Her  dumb-play  from  the 
first  to  the  last  moment  of  the  scene 
was  in  as  high  a  key  as  her  elocution. 
Had  she  not  spoken  one  single  word, 
still  she  would  have  written  in  the  air 
by  the  side  of  Otway's  syllables  a 
great  pictorial  narrative,  that  tiiled  all 
the  chinks  of  his  sketch  with  most 
rare  and  excellent  colors  of  true  fiesh- 
tint,  and  made  that  sketch  a  picture. 

Here  was  a  new  art  for  our  poet ; 
and  as,  by  that  just  arrangement 
which  pervades  the  universe,  "  act- 
ing "  is  the  most  triumphant  of  all  the 
arts,  to  compensate  it  for  being  the 
most  evanescent,  what  wonder  that  he 
thrilled  beneath  its  magic,  and  wor- 
shipped its  priestess? 

He  went  home  tilled  with  a  new 
sense  of  being,  —  all  seemed  cold, 
dark,  and  tame,  until  he  could  return 
and  see  this  poetess-orator-witch  and 
her  enchantments  once  more. 

In  those  days  they  varied  the  enter- 
tainments in  London  almost  as  they 
do  in  the  provinces  now  ;  and  Alex- 
ander, who  went  to  the  theatre  six 
nights  a  week,  saw  Mrs.  Oldtield's 
beauty  and  talent  in  many  shapes. 
Her  power  of  distinct  personation  was 
very  great.  Her  Andromache,  her  Is- 
mena,  and  Bclvidera  were  all  differ- 
ent beings.  Also  each  of  her  tragic 
personations  left  upon  the  mind  a 
type.  One  night  young  Oldworthy 
saw  majesty,  another  tenderness,  an- 
other fiery  passion  pcrsonilied  and  cm- 
bodied  in  a  poetic  creation. 

But  a  fresh  surprise  was  in  store 
for  him  :  the  next  week  comedy  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  ascendant ;  and 
Airs.  Oidfield,  whose  etttre'e  in  charac- 
ter was  always  the  key-note  of  her 
personation,  sprang  upon  the  stage 
as  Lady  Townley,  and  in  a  moment 
the  air  seemed  to  fill  with  singing 
birds  that  chirped  the  pleasures  of 
youth,  beauty,  and  fashion,  in  notes 
that  sparkled  like  diamonds,  stars, 
and  prisms.  Her  genuine  gashing 
gayety     wanned    the     coldest      and 


cheered  the  forlorncst  heart.  Nor 
was  she  less  charming  in  the  last 
act,  where  Lady  Townley's  good 
sense  being  at  last  alarmed,  and  her 
good  heart  touched,  she  bowed  her 
saucy  head,  and  begged  her  Lord's 
pardon,  with  tender,  unaffected  peni- 
tence. The  tears  stood  thick  in  Alex- 
ander's eyes  during  that  charming 
scene,  where  in  a  prose  comedy  the 
author  has  had  the  courage  and  the 
beauty  to  spread  his  wings  and  rise  in 
a  moment  into  verse  with  the  rising 
sentiment. 

To  this  succeeded  Maria  in  "  The 
Conjuror,"  and  Indiana  in  what  the 
good  souls  of  that  day  were  pleased 
to  call  the  comedy  of  "  The  Conscious 
Lovers,"  in  the  course  of  which  com- 
edy Indiana  made  Alexander  weep 
more  constantly,  continuously,  and 
copiously  than  in  all  the  tragedies  of 
the  epoch  he  had  as  yet  witnessed. 

So  now  Alexander  Oldworthy  lived 
for  the  stage ;  and,  as  the  pearl  is  the 
disease  of  the  oyster,  so  this  Siren  be- 
came Alexander's  disease.  The  en- 
thusiast lost  his  hold  of  real  life. 
Real  life  became  to  him  an  interlude, 
and  soon  that  followed  which  was  to 
be  expected  :  the  poor  novice,  who 
had  begun  by  adoring  the  artist,  end- 
ed by  loving  the  woman,  and  he  loved 
her  like  a  novice  and  a  poet;  he 
looked  into  his  own  heart,  confounded 
it  with  hers,  and  clothed  her  with 
every  heroic  quality.  He  believed 
her  as  great  in  mind  and  as  good 
in  heart,  as  she  was  lovely  in 
person,  and  he  would  have  given 
poems  to  be  permitted  to  kiss  her 
dress,  or  to  lay  his  neck  for  a  moment 
under  her  foot.  Burning  to  attract 
her  attention,  yet  too  humble  and  tim- 
id to  make  an  open  attempt,  he  had 
at  last  recourse  to  his  own  art. 
Every  day  he  wrote  verses  upon  her, 
and  sent  them  to  her  house.  Every 
night  after  the  play  he  watched  at  the 
stage  door  for  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
came  out  of  the  theatre  to  her  carriage, 
and,  being  lighter  of  foot  than  the  car- 
riage-horses of  his  century,  he  gener- 
ally managed  to  catch  another  glimpse 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


241 


of  her  as  she  stepped  from  her  car- 
riage into  her  own  house. 

But  all  this  led  to  no  results,  and 
Alexander's  heart  was  often  very  cold 
and  sick.  Whilst  he  sat  at  the  play  he 
was  in  Elysium  ;  but  when,  after  seeing 
this  divinity  vanish,  he  returned  to  his 
lodgings  and  looked  at  his  attach- 
ment by  the  light  of  one  candle,  de- 
spondency fell  like  a  weight  of  ice  upon 
him,  and  he  was  miserable  till  he  had 
written  her  some  verses.  The  verses 
writ,  he  was  miserable  till  play-time. 

One  night  he  stood  as  usual  at  the 
stage  door  after  the  performance, 
watching  for  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who,  in  a 
general  Way,  was  accompanied  by  her 
cousin  Susan.  This  night,  however, 
she  was  alone  ;  and,  having  seen  her 
enter  her  chariot,  Alexander  was 
about  to  start  for  her  house  to  see  her 
get  down  from  it,  when  suddenly 
another  carriage  came  into  contact 
with  Mrs.  Oldfield's.  The  collision 
was  violent,  and  Mrs.  Oldtield 
screamed  with  unaffected  terror,  at 
which  scream  Alexander  sprang  to 
the  horses  of  the  other  carriage,  and, 
seizing  one  of  them  just  above  the 
curb,  drew  him  violently  back.  To 
his  surprise,  instead  of  co-operating 
with  him,  the  adverse  coachman 
whipped  both  his  horses,  and,  whether 
by  accident  or  design,  the  lash  fell 
twice  on  Alexander.  Jehu  never 
made  a  worse  investment  of  whip- 
cord. The  young  man  drew  himself 
back  upon  the  pavement,  and  sprang 
with  a  single  bound  upon  the  neat 
horse's  quarters  :  from  thence  to  the 
eo  i-h-box.  Contemporaneously  with 
his  arrival  there,  he  knocked  the 
coachman  out  of  his  seat  on  to  the 
roof  of  his  carriage,  and  then  seizing 
his  whip,  broke  it  in  one  moment  into 
a  stick,  and  belabored  the  prostrate 
eh  irioieer  till  the  blood  poured  from 
him  in  torrents.  Then,  springing  to 
the  ground  with  one  bound,  he  turned 
the  horses'  heads,  belabored  them 
with  the  mutilated  whip,  and  off  they 

trotted  gently  home. 

Alexander    ran    to   Mrs.  Oldfield's 
•arriage  window,  his  checks  burning, 
11 


his  eyes  blazing.  "  They  are  gone, 
madam,"  said  he,  with  rough  timidity. 
The  actress  looked  at  him,  and  smiled 
on  him,  and  said,  "  So  I  see,  sir,  and 
I  am  much  obleeged  to  you."  She 
was  then  about  to  draw  back  to  her 
corner,  but  suddenly  she  reflected, 
and,  half  beckoning  Alexander,  who 
had  drawn  back,  she  said,  "My  dear, 
learn  for  me  whose  carriage  that  was." 
Alexander  turned  to  gain  the  infor- 
mation, but  it  was  volunteered  by 
one  of  the  by-standers. 

"  It  is  the  Duchess  of  Tadcaster's, 
Mrs.  Oldtield." 

"Ah!"  cried  Mrs.  Oldfield,  "the 
little  beast ! "  (this  polite  phrase  she 
uttered  with  a  most  majestic  force  of 
sovereign  contempt)  ;  "  thank  you, 
sir;  bid  Robert  drive  me  home,  my 
child"  (this  to  Alexander) ;  on  which 
a  by-stander  sang  out,  "  You  arc  to 
drive  home,  Robert,  —  Buckingham 
Gate,  the  corner  house." 

At  this  sally  Mrs.  Oldfield  smiled 
with  perfect  composure,  but  did  not 
look  at  the  speaker.  As  the  carriage 
moved,  she  leaned  gently  forward, 
and  kissed  her  hand  like  a  queen  to 
Alexander,  then  nestled  into  her  cor- 
ner and  went  to  sleep. 

Alexander  did  nothing  of  the  sort 
that  night.  He  went  home  on  wings. 
He  could  not  go  in.  He  walked  up 
and  down  before  his  door  three  hours, 
before  he  could  go  to  so  vulgar  a  thing 
as  bed.  As  a  lover  will  read  over 
titty  times  six  lines  of  love  from  the 
beloved  hand,  so  Alexander  acted 
over  and  over  the  little  scene  of  this 
night,  and  dwelt  on  every  tone,  word, 
look,  and  gesture  of  the  great  creature 
who  had  at  last  spoken  to  him, 
smiled  on  him,  thanked  him.  ()  how 
happy  he  was  !  he  could  hardly  real- 
ize his  bliss.  "My  dear,"  —  but  had 
not  his  ears  deceived  him,  —  hail  she 

really  called  him  "my  dear,"  and 
what  was  he  to  understand  by  so  un- 
expected an  address  !  was  it  on  ac- 
count of  the  service  he  had  just   done 

lua-,  or  might  he  venture  to  hope  she 
had  noticed  his  face  in  the  theatre, 
sitting,  as  he  always  did,  at  one  place, 

l' 


242 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


at  the  side  of  the  second  row  of  the 
pit  ?  but  no  !  he  rejected  that  as  im- 
possible. Whatever  she  meant  by  it, 
his  blood  was  at  her  service  as  well 
as  his  heart.  He  blessed  her  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  for  using  such  heav- 
enly words  to  him  in  any  sense,  — 
"  my  dear,"  "  my  child."  He  framed 
these  words  in  his  heart. 

Alas  !  he  little  thought  that  "  my 
dear"  meant  literally  nothing;  he 
was  not  aware  that  calling  every  liv- 
ing creature  "  my  dear  "  is  one  of  the 
nasty  little  tricks  of  the  stage,  —  like 
their  swearing  without  anger,  and 
their  shovelling  snuff  into  the  nose 
without  intermission,  in  the  innocent 
hope  of  making  every  sentence  intel- 
lectual, by  a  dirty  thing  done  mechan- 
ically, and  not  intellectually.  As  for 
"my  child,"  that  was  better,  —  that 
was  at  least  a  trick  of  the  lady's 
own,  partly  caught  from  her  French 
acquaintances. 

For  some  days  Alexander  was  in 
heaven.  He  fell  upon  his  tragedy,  he 
altered  it  by  the  light  the  stage  had 
given  him ;  above  all,  he  heightened 
and  improved  the  heroine,  he  touched 
her,  and  retouched  her  with  the  colors 
of  Oldfield,  —  and  this  done,  with 
trembling  hands  he  wrapped  it  in 
brown  paper,  addressed  it,  and  left  it 
at  her  own  house,  and  no  sooner  had 
Susan's  hand  touched  it  than  he  fled 
like  a  guilty  thing. 

Yon  see  it  was  his  first  love,  —  and 
she  he  loved  seemed  more  than  mortal 
to  him. 

And  now  came  a  reaction.  Days 
and  days  rolled  by,  and  no  more  ad- 
ventures came,  no  means  of  making 
acquaintance  with  one  so  high  above 
his  reach. 

He  was  still  at  the  stage  door,  but 
she  did  not  seem  to  recognize  him, 
and  he  dared  not  recall  himself  to  her 
recollection.  His  organization  was 
delicate,  —  he  began  to  fret  and  lose 
his  sleep,  and  at  last  his  pallor  and 
listlessness  attracted  the  not  very  keen 
eye  of  Timothy  Bateman.  Mr.  Bate- 
man  asked  him  twenty  times  if  any- 
thing was  the  matter,  —  twenty  times 


he  answered,  No  !  At  last  good,  wor- 
thy, commonplace  Bateman,  after  din- 
ner and  deep  thought,  said  one  day, 
"  Alexander,  I  've  found  out  what  it 
is."     Alexander  started. 

"  Money  melts  in  London,  yours  is 
gone  quicker  than  you  thought  it 
would,  —  my  poor  lad,  don't  you  fret. 
I've  got  £20  to  spare,  here  'tis. 
Your  father  will  never  know.  I  've 
been  young  as  well  as  you."  Alexan- 
der grasped  the  good  old  fellow's  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  his  heart.  He  never 
looked  at  the  note,  but  he  looked  half 
tenderly,  half  wildly  into  the  old 
man's  eyes. 

Bateman  read  this  look  aright. 
"  Ay,  out  with  it,  young  man,"  he 
cried,  "  never  keep  a  grief  locked  up 
in  your  heart,  whilst  you  have  a  friend 
that  will  listen  to  it;  that  is  an  old 
man's  advice." 

On  this  poor  Alexander's  story 
gushed  forth.  He  told  Bateman  the 
facts  I  have  told  you,  only  his  soul, 
and  all  the  feelings  he  had  gone 
through,  gushed  from  his  heart  of 
hearts.  They  sat  till  one  in  the 
morning,  and  often  as  the  young  heart 
laid  bare  its  enthusiasm,  its  youth,  its 
anguish,  the  dry  old  lawyer  found  out 
there  was  a  soft  bit  left  in  his  own, 
that  sent  the  woman  to  the  door  of 
his  eyes  ;  for  Alexander  told  his  story 
differently,  and  I  think  on  the  whole 
better  than  I  do.  I  will  just  indicate 
one  difference  between  us  two  as  nar- 
rators,—  he  told  it  like  blood  and  fire, 
I  tell  it  like  criticism  and  ice,  and  be 
hanged  to  me. 

Perhaps,  had  Alexander  told  the 
tale  as  I  do,  Bateman,  man  of  the 
world,  would  have  sneered  at  him,  or 
sternly  advised  him  to  quit  this  folly 
and  whim ;  but  as  it  was,  Bateman 
was  touched,  and  mingled  pity  with 
good,  gentle,  but  firm  advice,  and 
poor  Alexander  was  grateful.  The 
poet  revered  the  commonplace  good 
man,  as  a  poet  ought,  and  humbly 
prayed  him  to  save  him  by  his  wis- 
dom. He  owned  that  he  was  mad ; 
that  he  was  indulging  a  hopeless  pas- 
sion ;  that  he  knew  the  great  trage- 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


243 


dian,  courted  by  the  noble  and  rich  of 
the  land,  would  never  condescend 
even  to  an  acquaintance  with  him. 
And  bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
"  0  good  Mr.  Bateman  !  "  cried  he, 
"  the  most  unfortunate  hour  of  my 
life  was  that  in  which  I  first  saw  her, 
for  she  will  be  my  death,  for  she  will 
never  permit  me  to  live  for  her,  and 
without  her  life  is  intolerable  to  me." 

This  last  feature  decided  Timothy 
Bateman;  the  next  morning  he 
wrote  to  Nathan  Oldworthy  a  full  ac- 
count of  all.  "  Come  up  and  take 
him  home  a^ain,  for  Heaven's  sake." 

It  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  on  the 
poor  father,  but  he  moved  promptly  ; 
in  two  hours  he  was  on  the  road  to 
London. 

Arrived  there,  he  straight  invaded 
Alexander.  The  poet,  luckily  for 
himself,  was  not  at  home.  He  then 
went  to  Bateman  :  he  was  in  a  tower- 
ing passion. 

The  old  Puritanical  leaven  was 
scotched,  but  not  killed,  in  Coventry. 

In  a  genera]  way,  Nathan  looked 
on  love  as  no  worse  than  one  of  the 
Evil  One's  many  snares,  to  divert 
youth  from  law, — but  love  of  an  ac- 
tress !  If  you  had  asked  Coventry 
whether  the  Play-House  or  the  Pub- 
lic-House ruins  the  manners,  moral- 
ity, and  intellect  of  England,  Coven- 
try was  capable  of  answering,  "  The 
Fray-House."  He  raged  against  the 
fool"  and  the  jade,  as  he  succinctly, 
and  not  inaptly,  described  a  dramatic 
poet  and  an  actress. 

His  friend  endeavored  to  stop  the 
current  of  his  wrath,  in  vain  ;  the  at- 
tempt only  diverted  its  larger  cur- 
r'lit  from  Alexander  to  th"  Siren  who 
ha  l  fascinated  him.  In  vain  Bateman 
assured  him  that  affairs  had  proceed- 
ed to  no  length  between  the  parties; 
tile  other  snubbed  him,  called  him  a 
fool,  said  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
world,  and  assured  him  that,  if  any- 
thing came    uf   it,    she    should    have 

nothing  from    the    Oldworthys    but 

thirty  pence    per  week,  the    parish  al- 
lowance (Nathan's  ideas  of   1<>VC  were 

as   primitive  as  Alexander's  were   po- 


etic), and  lastly,  bouncing  up,  he  an- 
nounced that  he  was  going  to  see  the 
hussy,  and  force  her  to  give  up  her 
Delilah  designs. 

At  this  poor  Bateman  was  in  dis- 
may ;  he  represented  to  this  mad  bull 
that  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  "  on  the 
windy  side  of  the  law,"  that  there 
were  no  proofs  she  had  done  any- 
thing more  than  every  woman  would 
do  if  she  was  clever  enough,  viz.  turn 
every  man's  head  ;  he  next  reminded 
him  of  her  importance,  and  implored 
him  at  least  to  be  prudent.  "  My 
dear  friend,"  said  he,  "  there  are  at 
least  a  score  of  gentlemen  in  this 
town,  who  would  pass  their  swords 
through  an  old  attorney,  as  they 
would  through  a  mad  dog,  only  to 
have  a  smile  or  a  compliment  from 
this  lady." 

This  last  argument  was  ill  chosen. 
The  old  Puritan  was  game  to  the 
backbone;  he  Hung  Mrs.  Oldfield's 
champions  a  grim  grin  of  defiance, 
and  marched  out  to  invade  that  lady, 
and  save  his  offspring. 

Now,  the  said  Mrs.  Oldfield,  wish- 
ing to  be  very  quiet,  because  she  was 
preparing  to  play  for  the  champion- 
ship of  the  stage,  and  was  studying 
Statira,  had  given  her  footman  or- 
ders to  admit  no  living  soul,  upon 
any  pretence. 

Oldworthy,  who  had  heard  in  Cov- 
entry that  people  in  London  arc  al- 
ways at  home  if  their  servants  say 
they  are  out,  pushed  past  the  man  ; 
the  man  followed  him  remonstrating. 
When  they  reached  the  antechamber, 
he  thought  it  was  time  to  do  more,  so 
he  laid  his  hand  on  the  intruder's 
collar;  —  then  ensued  a  short  but 
very  bri>k  scaillle  ;  the  ladies  heard,  to 
their  dismay,  a  sound  as  of  a  foot- 
man falling  from  the  top  to  the  bot- 
tom of  a  staircase  ;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment, in  jackboots,  splashed  with 
travel,  an   immense  hat  of  a  fashion 

long  gone  by,  his  dark  cheek  flushed 
with  anger,  and  his  eyes  shooting 
sombre  lightning  from    under  their 

thick  brows,  Nathan  Oldworthy 
strode  like  wildfire  into  the  room. 


214 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


Susan  screamed,  and  Anne  turned 
pale,  but,  recovering  herself,  she  said, 
with  a  wonderful  show  of  spirit, 
"  How  dare  you  intrude  on  me  ?  — 
Keep  close  to  me,  stupid  !  "  was  her 
trembling  aside  to  Susan. 

"  I  'm  used  to  enter  people's  houses, 
whether  they  will  or  not,"  was  the 
gruff"  reply. 

"  Your  business,  sir  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Oldfield,  with  affected  calmness. 

"  It  is  not  tit  for  that  child  to  hear," 
was  the  answer. 

Anne  Oldfield  was  wonderfully  in- 
telligent, and  even  in  this  remark  she 
saw  the  man,  if  a  barbarian,  was  not 
a  ruffian  at  bottom.  She  looked  to- 
wards Susan. 

Susan,  interpreting  her  look,  de- 
clined to  leave  her  alone  "  with, 
with  —  " 

"  A  brute,  I  suppose,"  said  Nathan, 
coarsely. 

The  artist  measured  the  man  with 
her  eye. 

"  He  who  feels  himself  a  brute  is  on 
the  way  to  be  a  man,"  said  she,  with 
genuine  dignity  ;  so  saying,  she  dis- 
missed Susan  with  a  gesture. 

"You  are  the  play-acting  woman, 
aren't  you  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  am  the  tragedian,  sir,"  replied 
she,  "  whose  time  is  precious." 

"  I  '11  lose  no  time,  —  I  'm  an  at- 
torney, —  the  first  in  Coventry.  I  'm 
Nathan  Oldworthy.  My  son's  educa- 
tion has  been  given  him  under  my 
own  eye, —  I  taught  him  the  customs 
of  the  country,  and  the  civil  law.  He 
is  to  be  a  sergeant  at-law,  and  a  scr- 
geant-at-law  he  shall  be  —  " 

"  I  consent,  for  one,"  said  Oldfield, 
demurely. 

"  And  then  we  can  play  into  one 
another's  hands,  as  should  be." 

"  I  have  no  opposition  to  offer  to 
this  pretty  little  scheme  of  the  Old 
Somethings,  —  father  and  son." 

"  Oldworthys !  no  opposition  ! 
when  he  has  n't  been  once  to  West- 
minster, and  every  night  to  the  play- 
house." 

"  <  >h  !  "  said  the  lady,  "  I  see '.  the 
old  story. " 


"  The  very  day  the  poor  boy  camo 
here,"  resumed  Nathan,  "  there  was  a 
tragedy  play;  so,  because  a  woman 
sighed  and  burned  for  sport,  the  fool 
goes  home  and  sighs  and  burns  in  ear- 
nest, can't  eat  his  victuals,  flings  away 
his  prospects,  and  thinks  of  nothing 
but  this  Nance  Oldfield." 

He  uttered  this  appellation  with 
rough  contempt;  and  had  the  actress 
been  a  little  one,  this  descent  to  Nance 
Oldfield  would  have  mortified  or  en- 
raged her.  But  its  effect  on  the  great 
Oldfield  was  different,  and  somewhat 
singular  ;  she  opened  her  lovely  eyes 
on  him.  "Nance  Oldfield  !'*  cried 
she  ;  "  O  sir  !  nobody  has  called  me 
that  name  since  I  left  my  little  native 
town." 

"Have  n't  they,  though?"  said 
the  rough  customer,  more  gently,  re- 
sponding to  her  heavenly  tones,  rath- 
er than  to  the  sentiment,  which  he  in 
no  degree  comprehended. 

"No!"  said  Oldfield,  with  an  ill- 
used  j'Eolian-harp  note. 

Here  the  attorney  began  to  suspect 
she  was  diverting  him  from  the  point, 
and  with  a  curl  of  the  lip,  and  a  fine 
masculine  contempt  for  all  subter- 
fuges not  on  sheepskin,  —  "  You  had. 
better  say  you  do  not  know  all  this," 
cried  he. 

"Not  I,"  was  the  reply.  "My 
good  sir,  your  son  has  left  you  to  con- 
fide to  me  the  secret  of  his  attach- 
ment :  you  have  discharged  the  com- 
mission, Sir  Pandarus  of  Troy,"  add- 
ed she,  with  a  world  of  malicious  fun 
in  her  jewel-like  eye. 

"  Nathan  Oldworthy  of  Coventry, 
I  tell  ye  !  "  put  in  the  angry  sire. 

"  And  it  is  now  my  duty  to  put 
some  questions  to  you,"  resumed 
the  actress.  "  Is  your  son  hand- 
some ?  "  said  she,  in  a  sly  half-whis- 
per. 

"  Is  not  he  ?  "  answered  gaunt 
simplicity,  "  and  well  built  too,  —  he 
is  like  me,  they  say." 

"  There  is  a  point  on  which  I  am 
very  particular.  Has  he  nice  teeth  ? 
—  upon  your  honor,  now." 

"  White  as  milk,    ma'am ;    and   a 


AET:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


215 


smile  that  warms  your  heart  up ;  fresh 
color;  there's  not  such  a  lad  in 
Coventry."  Here  the  old  boy  caught 
sight  of  a  certain  poetical  epistle, 
which,  if  you  remember,  was  in  Mrs. 
Oldfield's'  hands. 

"And  pray,  madam,"  said  he, with 
smooth  craft,  "  does  Alexander  Old- 
worthy  never  write  to  you  ?  " 

"  Never  !  "  was  her  answer. 

"  She  says  never  !  "  thundered  Na- 
than, "  and  there  is  his  letter  in  her 
very  hand,  —  a  superb  handwriting  ; 
what  a  waste  of  talent  to  write  to  you 
with  it,  instead  of  engrossing ;  what 
does  the  fool  say  ?  "  and  he  snatched 
the  letter  rudely  from  her,  and  read 
out  poor  Alexander,  with  the  lungs 
of  a  Stentor. 

Gracious  me  !  if  I  was  puzzled  to 
show  the  reader  how  Susan  read  the 
Mannering  prose,  how  on  earth  shall 
I  make  him  hear  and  see  Old  worthy 
Pere  read  Oldworthy  Fils,  his  rhymes; 
but  I  will  attempt  a  faint  adumbra- 
tion, wrherein,  Glorious  Apollo  !  from 
on  high  befriend  us  ! 

"  My  soul  hangs  trembling,"  — 
(full  stop.)  "On  that  matjic  voice, 
grieves  with  your  woe,"  —  (full  stop.) 
"  Exults  when  you  rejoice.  A  gold- 
en chain,"  —  (Here  he  cast  a  look  of 
perplexity.)  "  I  feel  but  cannot  see," 
—  (here  lie  began  to  suspect  Alexan- 
der of  insanity.)  "  Binds  earth  to 
Heaven," —  (of  impiety,  ditto.)  "  It 
ties  my  heart  to  thee  like  a  sunflow- 
er." And  now  the  reader  wore  the 
ill-used  look  of  one  who  had  been 
betrayed  into  a  labyrinth  of  unmean- 
ing syllables  ;  but  at  tins  juncture, 
thanks  to  his  sire,  Alexander  Old- 
worthy  began  to  excite  Mrs.  old- 
field's  interest. 

"And  that  poetry  is  his?"  said 
the  actress. 

"  Poetry  ?  no  !  How  could  my  son 
write  poetry  ?  I  '11  be  banged  if  't 
isn't  though,  for  all  the  lines  begin 
wilii  a  capital  letter." 

Oldfield  took  the  paper  from  him. 

"  Listen,"  said  she.  and,  with  a  heav- 
enly cadence  and  expression,  she 
spoke  the  lines  thus :  — 


"  My  soul  hangs  trembling  on  that  magic 
voice, 

Grieves  with  your  woe,  exults  when  you  re- 
joice ; 

A  golden  chain  I  feel,  but  cannot  see, 

Binds  earth  to  Heaven,  —  it  ties  my  heart 
to  thee, 

Like  a  sunflower,  etc.,  etc. 

"  What  do  you  call  that,  eh  ?  " 

"  Why,  honey  dropping  from  the 
comb,"  said  the  astounded  lawyer,  to 
whom  the  art  of  speech  was  entirely 
unknown,  until  that  moment,  as  it  is 
to  millions  of  the  human  race.  "  It 
is  honey  dropping  from  the  comb," 
repeated  Nathan.  "  I  see,  he  has 
been  and  bought  it  ready  made,  and 
it  has  cost  him  a  pretty  penny,  no 
doubt.  So  now  his  money's  going 
to  the  dogs,  too." 

"  And  these  sentiments,  these  ac- 
cents of  poetry  and  truth,  that  have 
reached  my  heart,  this  daily  homage; 
that  would  flatter  a  queen,  do  1  owe 
it  to  your  son  ?     O  sir !  " 

"  Good  gracious  heavens  !  "  roared 
the  terrified  fattier;  "don't  yob,  go 
and  fall  in  love  with  him;  and,  now 
I  think  on  't,  that  is  what  /  have  been 
Working  for  ever  since  I  came  here. 
Cut  it  short.  I  came  for  my  son,  and 
I  will  have  him  back,  if  you  please. 
Where  is  he?" 

"  How  can  I  know  ?  "  said  the  lady, 
pettishly. 

"  Why,  he  follows  you  every- 
where." 

"  Except  here,  where  he  never  will 
follow  me,  unless  his  father  teach  s 
him  housebreaking  under  the  head  of 
civil  law." 

At  this  sudden  thrust,  Oldworthy 
blushed.  "Well,  ma'am!"  stam- 
mered he,  "I  was  a  little  precipitate  ; 
but,  my  good  lady,  pray  tell  me, 
when  did  you  last  see  him  '.  " 

"  I  never  saw  him  at  all,  which  I 
regret,"  added  she,  satirically;  "be- 
cause you  sav  he  resembles'  his  fa- 
ther." Nathan  was  a  particularly 
ugly  ddg. 

"She  is  very  polite,"  thought  Na- 
than. "  But,  Objected  he,  civilly, 
"  you  must  have  learned  from  his  let- 
ters." 


246 


AItT:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


"  That  they  are  not  signed  !  "  said 
she,  handing  the  poetical  epistle  to 
him,  with  great  significance. 

Mr.  Nathan  Oldworthy  began  now 
to  doubt  whether  he  was  sur  le  bon 
terrain  in  ins  present  proceedings  ; 
and  the  error  in  which  lie  had  detect- 
ed himself  made  him  suddenly  sus- 
pect his  judgment  and  general  re- 
port on  another  head.  "  What  an 
extraordinary  thing  ! "  said  he,  blunt- 
ly. "Perhaps  you  arc  an  honest  wo- 
man after  all,  ma'am  !  " 

"  Sir !  "  said  Oldliehl,  with  a  most 
tragic  air. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  ma'am !  I 
ask  your  pardon  !  "  cried  the  other, 
terrified  by  the  royal  pronunciation 
of  this  monosyllable.  "  Country  man- 
ners, ma'am  !  that  is  all !  We  do 
speak  so  straightforward  down  in  Cov- 
entry." 

"  Yes  !  but  if  you  speak  so  straight- 
forward here,  you  will  he  sent  to  Cov- 
entry." 

"  I  '11  take  care  not,  madam !  I  '11 
take  great  care  not  !  "  said  the  other, 
hastily.  Then  he  paused, — a  light 
rose  gradually  to  his  eyes.  "  Sent  to 
Coventry !  ha  !  haw  !  ho  !  But,  mad- 
am, this  love  will  be  his  ruin  :  it  Mill 
rob  him  of  his  profession,  which  he 
detests,  and  of  a  rich  heiress  whom 
he  can't  abide  !  Since  I  came  here,  I 
think  better  of  play-actors;  but,  con- 
sider, madam,  we  don't  like  our  blood 
to  come  down  in  the  world  !  " 

"  It  would  be  cruel  to  lower  an  attor- 
ney," replied  the  play-actress,  looking 
him  demurely  in  the  face. 

"  You  are  considerate,  madam  !  " 
replied  he,  gratefully.  He  added, 
with  manly  compunction,  "  More  so, 
I  fear,  than  I  have  deserved." 

"  Mais  !  il  me  desarme  cet  homme  ! " 
cried  the  sprightly  Oldfield,  ready  to 
scream  with  laughter. 

"  Arc  you  speaking  to  me,  ma'am  ?  " 
said  Nathan,  severely. 

"  No,  that  was  an  '  aside.'  Go  on, 
my  good  soul !  " 

•'  Then  forgive  the  trouble,  the  agi- 
tation, of  a  father  :  his  career,  his 
happiness,  is  in  danger." 


"Now,  why  did  you  not  begin  with 
that  ?  it  would  have  saved  your  time 
and  mine.  Favor  me  with  your  at- 
tention, sir,  for  a  moment,"  said  th« 
fine  lady,  with  grave  courtesy. 

"  I  will,  madam,"  said  the  other, 
respectfully. 

"  Mr.  Oldworthy,  first  you  are  to 
observe,  that  I  have,  by  the  constitu- 
tions of  these  realms,  as  much  right 
to  fall  in  love  with  your  son,  or  even 
with  yourself,  as  he  or  you  have  to  do 
with  me." 

"  So  you  have,  I  never  thought  of 
that ;  but  don't  ye  do  it,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  if  't  is  n't  done  already." 

"But  I  should  have  been  inclined, 
even  before  your  arrival,  to  waive  that 
right,  out  of  regard  for  my  own  inter- 
est and  reputation,  especially  the  for- 
mer :  and  now  you  have  won  my 
heart,  and  I  enter  into  your  feelings, 
and  place  myself  at  your  service —  " 

"  Yon  are  very  good,  madam  ! 
Now,  why  do  they  go  and  run  play- 
actors down  so  1  " 

"  You  are  aware,  sir,  that  we  play- 
actors have  not  an  idea  of  our  own  in 
our  skulls  :  our  art  is  to  execute 
beautifully  the  ideas  of  those  who 
think :  now,  you  are  a  man  of  busi- 
ness ;  you  will  therefore  be  pleased  to 
give  me  your  instructions,  and  you 
shall  see  those  instructions  executed 
better  than  they  are  down  in  Coven- 
try. You  want  me  to  prevent  your 
son  from  lovin<j  me  !  I  consent. 
Tell  me  how  to  do  it." 

"  Madam  !  "  said  Nathan  ;  "  you 
have  put  your  finger  on  the  very 
point !  What  a  lawyer  you  would 
have  made!  Madam,  I  thank  you' 
Very  well,  then  you  must —  hut,  no, 
that  will  make  him  worse,  perhaps. 
And  ajj^ain,  you  can't  leave  off  play- 
ing, can  you  ?  because  that  is  your 
business  you  know,  —  dear  me !  Ah  ! 
I  '11  tell  you  how  to  bring  it  about. 
Let  me  see  —  no  ! — yes!  —  no!  drat 
it!" 

"  Your  instructions  are  not  suffi- 
ciently clear,  sir!"  suggested  Mrs. 
Oldfield. 

"  Well,  madam !  it  is  not  so  easy 


ART  :    A   DRAMATIC    TALE. 


2-17 


as  I  thought,  and  I  don't  sec  what 
instructions   I  am  to  give  you,  until 

—  until  —  " 

"  Until  I  tell  you   what  to  tell  me, 

—  that 's  fair.  Well,  give  me  a  day 
to  think.  I  am  so  busy  now.  I 
must  play  my  best  to-night !  " 

"  But  he  '11  be  there,"  said  Nathan, 
in  dismay  ;  "  you  '11  play  your  best : 
you  '11  burn  him  to  a  cinder.  I  '11  go 
to  him."  He  ran  to  the  window,  in- 
forming his  companion  that,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  going  to 
take  a  coach.  But  he  had  no  sooner 
arrived  at  the  window,  than  he  made 
a  sudden  point,  and  beckoned  the  lady 
to  him,  without  removing  his  eyes 
from  some  object  on  which  he  glared 
down,  with  a  most  singular  expression 
of  countenance.  She  came  to  his 
side.  He  directed  her  eyes  to  the  ob- 
ject. "  Look  there,  ma'am  !  look 
there!"  She  peeped,  ami,  standing 
by  a  hosier's  shop,  at  the  corner  of 
the  street,  she  descried  a  young  man, 
engaged  as  follows:  His  hat  was  in 
his  hand,  and  on  the  hat  was  a  little 
piece  of  paper.  He  was  alternately 
writing  on  this,  and  looking  upward 
for  inspiration. 

"  Is  that  he  >  "  whispered  Mrs.  Old- 
field 

"  Yes !  that 's  your  man,  —  bare- 
headed, looking  up  into  the  sky,  and 
does  n't  sec  how  it  rains." 

"  But  he  's  very  handsome,  Mr. 
Oldworihv,  and  you  said  he  was  like 
—  hem  !  yes,  he  is  very  handsome." 

"  L  n't  he,  madam  !" 

He  was  handsome,  —  his  rich  chest- 
nut curls  (lowed  down  his  neck  in 
masses  ;  his  face  was  oval  ;  his  eyes 
full  of  color  and  sentiment  ;  and  in 
him  the  purple  li:_rht  of  youth  was 
brightened  by  the  electric  light  of  ex- 
prcssion  ami  charming  sensibility. 

The  strangely  assorted  pair  in  our 
scene  held  on  by  one  another,  the 
better  to  inspeel  tile  yOUng  poet,  who 
little  thought  what  a  pair  of  critics 
were  in  store  lor  him. 

•'  What  a  bright,  intelligent  look 
the  silly  goose  has  !  "  said  the  ac- 
tress. 


"Hasn't  he?  the  dear  —  idiot!" 
said  the  parent. 

"  Is  he  waiting  for  you,  sir  1  "  said 
she,  with  affected  simplicity. 

"No,"  replied  he,  with  zeal;  "it's 
you  he  is  waiting  for." 

Alexander  began  to  walk  slowly 
past  the  house,  looking  up  to  heaven 
every  now  and  then  for  inspiration, 
and  then  looking  down  and  scribbling 
a  bit,  like  a  hen  drinking,  you  know  ; 
and,  thus  occupied,  he  stalked  to  and 
fro,  passing  and  repassing  beneath 
the  criticising  eyes,  —  at  sight  of 
which  pageant  a  father's  fingers  bc- 
gan  to  work,  and,  "  Madam,"  said  he, 
witli  a  calmness  too  marked  to  be 
genuine,  "  do  let  me  fling  one  little 
—  chair  at  his  silly  head." 

"No,  indeed." 

"  A  pillow,  then  ?  " 

"0  Lud,  no! — you  don't  know 
these  boys,  sir !  he  would  take  that  as 
an  overture  of  affection  from  the 
house.  Stay :  will  you  obey  me,  or 
will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will  !  —  how  can  I 
help  ?  "  and  he  grinned  with  horrible 
amiability. 

"  Then  I  will  cure  your  son." 

"  You  will,  you  promise  me  ?  " 

"  On  the  honor  of —  a  play-actor  !  " 
and  she  offered  him,  with  a  world  of 
grace,  the  loveliest  hand  going  at 
that  era. 

"  Of  an  angel,  I  think,"  said  the 
subjugated  barbarian. 

Mrs.  Oldfield  then  gave  him  a 
short  sketch  of  the  idea  that  had  oc- 
curred to  her.  "  Your  son,  sir,"  said 
she,  "  is  in  love  by  the  road  of  imagi- 
nation and  taste, —  he  has  seen  upon 
the  stair'"  a  being  more  like  a  poet's 
dream  than  any  young  woman  down 
in  Coventry, —  and  he  overrates  her; 
1  will  contrive  that  in  ten  minutes  he 
shall  underrate  her.  I  will  also  find 
means  to  wound  his  vanity,  which  is 
inordinate  in  all  his  sex,  and  gigantic 
in  the  versifying  part  of  it;  and 
then,  Bir,  I  promise  you  that  your 
soli'-  love,  so  fresh,  so  fiery,  so  lofty, 
so  humble,  will  cither  turn'  to  hatred 
ot  contempt,    or   else    quietly   evap- 


248 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


orate  like  a  mist,  and  vanish  like  a 
morning  dream.  Ah!" — (and  she 
could  not  help  sighing  a  little). 

Susan  was  then  called,  and  directed 
to  show  Mr.  Nathan  Oldworthy  out 
the  back  way,  that  he  might  avoid 
the  encounter  of  his  son.  The  said 
Nathan,  accordingly,  marched  slap 
away,  in  four  great  strides  ;  but  the 
next  moment  the  door  burst  open, 
and  he  returned  in  four  more,  —  he 
took  up  a  position  opposite  his  fair 
entertainer,  and,  with  much  gravity, 
executed  a  solemn,  but  marvellously 
grotesque  bow,  intended  to  express 
gratitude  and  civility;  this  done,  he 
recovered  body,  and  strode  away 
again,  slap-dash. 


Spirits  like  Alexander's  are  greatly 
depressed  and  greatly  elevated  with- 
out proportionate  change  in  the  ex- 
ternal causes  of  joy  and  grief.  It  is 
theirs  to  view  the  same  set  of  facts, 
rose-color  one  day,  lurid  another. 
Two  days  ago,  Alexander  had  been 
in  despondence;  to-day  hope  was  in 
the  ascendant,  and  his  destiny  ap- 
peared to  him  all  bathed  in  sunshine. 
He  was  rich  in  indistinct  but  gay 
hopes  ;  these  hopes  had  whispered  to 
him  that,  after  all,  an  alliance  be- 
tween a  dramatic  poet  and  a  tragedian 
was  a  natural  one,  —  that  perhaps,  on 
reflection,  she  he  loved  might  not 
think  it  so  very  imprudent.  He  felt 
convinced  she  had  read  "  Berenice," 
—  she  would  see  the  alterations  in 
the  heroine's  part,  and  that  love  had 
dictated  them.  She  would  find  there 
was  one  being  that  comprehended 
her.  That,  and  his  verses,  would 
surely  plead  his  cause.  Then  he 
loved  her  so,  —  who  could  love  her 
as  he  did  ?  Some  day  she  would  feel 
that  no  heart  could  love  her  so,  — 
and  then  he  would  say  to  her,  "  I  am 
truth  and  nature,  —  you  are  beauty 
ami  music;  united,  we  should  con- 
quer the  world,  and  be  the  world  to 
one  another  !  "     Poor  boy  ! 

He  was  walking  and  dreaming  thus 
beneath   her  window,  when   his   ear 


caught  the  sound  of  that  window 
opening  ;  he  instantly  cowered  against 
the  wall,  hoping  this  happy  day  to 
see  the  form  he  loved,  himself  unseen, 
when,  to  his  immeasurable  surprise, 
a  beautiful  girl  put  her  head  out  of 
the  window,  and  calUxl  softly  to  him. 
He  took  no  notice,  because  it  was  in- 
audible. She  had  to  repeat  the  call 
before  he  could  realize  his  good  for- 
tune ;  the  signal,  however,  was  un- 
mistakable, and  soon  after  the  door 
1  opened,  and  there  was  pretty  Susan, 
blushing.  Alexander  ran  to  her,  she 
opened  the  door  wider,  he  entered, 
believing  in  magic  for  the  first  time. 
Susan  took  him  up  stairs,  —  he  said 
nothing, —  he  could  not, —  she  did 
not  speak,  because  she  thought  he 
ought  to.  At  last  they  reached  a 
richly  furnished  room,  where  Statira's 
dress  lay  upon  a  chair,  and  a  theatrical 
diadem  upon  a  table.  Alexander's 
heart  leaped  at  sight  of  these ;  he 
knew,  then,  where  he  was  ;  he  turned 
hot  and  cold,  and  trembled  violently. 
The  first  word  Susan  said  did  not 
calm  his  agitation.  "  There  is  a  lady 
here,"  said  she,  "  who  has  something 
to  say  to  you." 

Now  it  must  be  remembered  that 
Susan  considered  Alexander  her  un- 
doubted property  ;  and  when  she  was 
told  to  introduce  him,  she  could  not 
help  thinking  how  kind  it  was  of  her 
cousin  to  take  her  part,  and  bring  to 
the  point  a  young  gentleman  who, 
charming  in  other  respects,  appeared 
to  her  sadly  deficient  in  audacity. 
"  Sit  down,"  said  Susan,  smiling. 

0  no !  he  could  not  sit  down  here ! 
Susan  pitied  his  timidity  and  his 
discomposure ;  and,  to  put  both  him 
and  herself  out  of  pain  the  sooner, 
she  left  him  and  went  to  announce 
his  presence  to  her  cousin  and  guar- 
dian, as  she  now  considered  her. 

Alexander  was  left  alone,  to  all 
appearance;  in  reality,  he  was  in  a 
crowd,  —  a  crowd  of  "  thick-coming 
fancies."  He  was  to  breathe  the 
same  air  as  she,  to  be  by  her  side, 
whom  the  world  adored  at  a  distance ; 
he  was  to  see  her  burst  on  him  like/ 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


249 


the  sun,  and  to  feel  more  strongly 
than  ever  how  far  bis  verse  fell  short 
of  the  goddess  who  inspired  it ;  he 
half  wished  to  retreat  from  his  too 
great  happiness.  Suddenly  a  rustle 
in  the  apartment  awakened  him  from 
his  rich  revery ;  he  looked  up,  and 
there  was  a  lady  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  him. 

The  lady  had  on  what  might,  with- 
out politeness,  but  with  truth,  be 
called  a  dressing-gown  ;  it  was  os- 
tentatiously large  everywhere,  espe- 
cially at  the  waist.  The  lady's  hair, 
or  what  seemed  her  hair,  was  rough, 
and  ill  done  up,  and  a  great  cap  of 
flaunty  design  surmounted  her  head. 
On  her  feet  were  old  slippers. 

"  Good  day,  sir !  "  said  she,  dryly. 

Alexander  bowed.  "  Madam,  I 
wait  Mrs.  Oldfield." 

"  Tete-a-tete  with  your  muse." 
Alexander's  poetical  works  were  in 
her  hand. 

"  She  is  my  muse,  madam !  "  re- 
plied he  ;  "  she  alone.  Are  you  not 
proud  of  her,  madam  ?  for  I  see  by 
your  likeness  that  you  are  some  rela- 
tion." 

The  lady  burst  out  laughing. 
'"'  That 's  a  compliment  to  my  theatri- 
cal talent ;  I  am  the  party." 

"  You  Mrs.  Oldfield !  the  great 
Mrs.  (  Mdfield  !  " 

"  Why  not?  What,  you  come 
from  the  country,  I  suppose,  and 
think  we  arc  to  be  always  on  the 
stilts,  when   we  are  not  paid  for  it. 

You  look  as  if  you  were  afraid    <>t 

«...  '» 
me 

"()  no,  madam  ;  and,  as  you  say, 
it  shows  how  great  your  talent  is.'' 

"  You  want  to  speak  to  me,  my 
lad." 

Alexander  blushed  to  the  temples. 
"  Tea,  madam  !  "  faltered  he,  "  you 
have  divined  my  ambition.  I  have 
been  presumptuous,  —  but  1  saw  you 
on  the  tragic  ^ci.-\>v  — the  admiration 
you  inspired, —  I  (ear  1  hare  impor- 
tuned yon, —  but  my  hope,  my  irre- 
sistible desire  —  " 

"There,  I  know  what  yoti  mean," 
•laid  she,  with  an  fl  bf 

Jl 


good  nature,  "  you  want  an  order  for 
the  pit  ? " 

"  I  want  an  order  for  the  pit  ?  " 
gasped  Alexander,  faintly. 

"  Well,  ain't  I  going  to  give  you 
one,"  answered  she,  as  sharp  as  a 
needle;  "but  mind,  you  must  — " 
here  she  imitated  vehement  ap- 
plause. 

"  0  madam  !  I  need  no  such  in- 
junction," cried  Alexander;  "  each  of 
your  achievements  on  the  stage  seems 
to  be  greater  than  the  last."  Then, 
trembling,  blushing,  and  eloquent  as 
fire,  he  poured  out  his  admiration  of 
her,  and  her  great  art :  "  The  others 
are  all  puppets,  played  by  rule  around 
you,  the  queen  of  speech  and  poetry  ; 
your  pathos  is  so  true,  your  sensibility 
so  profound ;  yours  arc  real  tears  ; 
you  lead  our  sorrow  in  person ;  you 
fuse  your  soul  into  those  great  char- 
acters, and  art  becomes  nature.  You 
arc  the  thing  you  seem,  and  it  is  plain 
each  lofty  emotion  passes  through  that 
princely  heart  ou  its  way  to  those 
golden  lips  !  " 

Oldfield,  with  all  her  self-command, 
could  not  quite  resist  the  eloquence  of 
the  heart  and  brain.  She,  too,  now 
blushed  a  little,  and  her  lovely  bosom 
heaved  slowly,  but  hi<rh,  as  the  poet 
poured  the  music  of  his  praise  into 
her  ears  ;  then  she  stole  a  look  at  him 
from  under  her  long  lashes,  and  sipped 
his  beauty  and  his  freshness.  She 
could  not  help  looking  at  this  forbid- 
den fruit.  As1  she  looked,  she  did  feel 
how  hard',  how  cruel  it  was,  that  she 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  play  with  this 
young,  fresh  heart;  to  see  it  throb 
with  hopes  and  fears,  and  love,  jeal- 
ousy, anguish,  joy,  and  finally  to  break 
it,  and  fling  the  pieces  to  the  Devil; 
but  she  was  a  singular  character, — 
she  was  the  concentrated  essence  of 
female  in  all  points,  except  one:  she 
was  a  woman  of  her  word,  Of,  as  some. 
brutes  would  say,  no  woman  at  all 
in  matters  of  good  faith.  She  stood 
pledged  to  the  attorney,  and  therefore, 
recovering  herself,  she  took  up  Alex- 
ander thus  :  — 

"  No,    thank    you,    emotions   pass 


250 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


through  my  —  what 's  the  name  — 
well,  you  are  green  —  you  don't  come 
from  the  country — you  are  from 
Wales.  I  must  enlighten  you ;  sit 
down,  sit  down,  I  tell  you.  The  tears 
my  boy,  are  as  real  as  the  rest,  —  as 
the  sky,  and  that 's  pasteboard,  —  as 
the  sun,  and  he  is  three  candles, 
smirking  upon  all  nature,  which  is 
canvas,  —  they  are  as  real  as  our- 
selves, the  tragedy  queens,  with  our 
cries,  our  sighs,  and  our  sobs,  all 
measured  out  to  us  by  the  five-foot 
rule.  lleality,  young  gentleman, 
that  begins  when  the  curtain  falls,  — 
and  we  wipe  off  our  profound  sensibil- 
ity along  with  our  rouge,  our  whiting, 
and  our  beauty  spots." 

"  Impossible  !  "  cried  the  poet ; 
"  those  tears,  those  dew-drops  on  the 
tree  of  poetry  !  " 

He  was  requested  not  to  make  her 
"  die  of  laughing  "  with  his  tears ; 
his  common  sense  was  appealed  to. 
"  Now,  my  good  soul,  if  I  was  to  vex 
myself  night  after  night  for  Clytem- 
nestra  and  Co.,  don't  you  see  that  I 
should  not  hold  together  long  ?  No, 
thank  you  !  I  've  got  '  Nance  Old- 
field  '  to  take  care  of,  and  what 's 
Hecuba  to  her  ?  For  my  part,"  con- 
tinued this  frank  lady,  "  I  don't  un- 
derstand half  the  authors  give  us  to 
say." 

"  O  yes,  you  do  !  you  write  upon 
our  eyes  and  cars  more  than  half  ot 
all  the  author  gains  credit  for,  —  the 
noblest  sentiments  gain  more  from 
your  tongue  than  the  pen,  great  as  it 
is,  could  ever  fling  upon  paper,  —  I 
am  unworthy  to  be  your  companion  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  do  you  really  think  I 
am  like  those  black  parrots  of  trage- 
dy ?  —  fine  company  I  should  be  !  — 
he,  he !  No  !  we  are  like  other  wo- 
men, you  can  court  us  without  get- 
ting a  dagger  stuck  into  you."  She 
then  informed  him  that  the  represen- 
tatives of  Desdemona,  Belvidcra,  Cor- 
delia, and  Virgin  Purity  in  general 
bad  all  as  many  beaux  as  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on,  —  that  she  had 
twenty  at  the  present  moment :  that 
he  could  join  that   small    but  select 


band,  if  he  chose,  secure  of  this,  that, 
whether  a  fortunate  or  unfortunate 
lover,  there  would  be  companions  of 
bis  fate.  Then,  suddenly  interrupting 
her  disclosures,  she  offered  him  a  snuff- 
box, and  said  dryly,  "  D'  ye  snuff? " 

Alexander's  eye  dilated  with  hor- 
ror. She  observed  him,  and  explained, 
"  There 's  no  doing  without  it,  in  our 
business,  we  get  so  tired  ! "  Here  she 
yawned  as  only  actresses  yawn,  — 
like  one  going  out  of  the  world  in 
four  pieces.  "  We  get  so  tired  of  the 
whole  concern  ;  this  is  the  real  source 
of  our  inspiration,"  said  she,  taking 
a  pinch,  "  or  how  should  we  ever  rise 
to  the  poet's  level,  and  launch  all 
those  awful  execrations  they  love  so  ? 
as,  for  instance,  —  Ackishoo  !  —  God 
bless  you ! " 

Alexander  groaned  aloud. 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  thought  his  tormen- 
tor, "  how  he  takes  it  to  heart !  " 

"  Why,  ma'am,  a  fall  from  heaven 
to  earth  is  a  considerable  descent." 

"  You  look  pale,  my  child,"  re- 
sumed the  tormentor.  "  No  break- 
fast, perhaps.  I  'd  offer  you  some  in 
a  minute,  but  the  fact  is,  you  must 
forgive  me ;  but  I  look  to  every  pen- 
ny ;  when  the  rainy  day  comes  I  shall 
be  ready " ;  and  she  brought  both 
hands  down  upon  her  knees,  in  a 
way  the  imitated  vulgarity  of  which 
would  have  made  any  one  scream 
with  laughter  that  had  seen  her 
game  ;  but  it  was  all  genuine  to  our 
poor  poet,  and  crushed  him. 

Having  opened  this  vein  of  self-de- 
preciation, she  proceeded  to  work  it. 
She  poked  him  with  one  finger,  and, 
looking  slyly  with  half-shut  eye  at 
him,  she  announced  herself  the  au- 
thoress of  some  very  curious  calcula- 
tions, the  object  of  which  was  to  dis- 
cover, by  comparing  the  week's  salary 
with  the  lines  in  the  night's  perform- 
ance, the  exact  value  of  poetical 
passages,  generally  supposed  to  be 
invaluable.     "  Listen,"  said  she :  — 

"  '  Come  !  come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal    thoughts,    unsex    m« 
here  ! ' 

They  arc  just  worth  tenpence  !  " 


ART :    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


251 


Alexander,  who  had  been  raised  by 
the  poetry,  was  depressed  greatly  by 
its  arithmetic. 

She  recommenced :  — 

"That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it 
makes, 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of 
the  dark, 

To  cry.  Hold  !  hold  !  —  Great  Glamis  !  wor- 
thy Cawdor  !  " 

Making  the  point  on  "  Great  Gla- 
mis," at  Macbeth's  entrance,  not  on 
"  Hold,"  which  is  done  nowadays, 
and  is  coo  cruel  silly. 

"  Ah !  you  are  yourself  again," 
cried  the  poet. 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  myself  again  !  "  was 
the  dry  answer  :  "  those  bring  me  in 
2s.  8<l.  every  time." 

And  this  was  the  being  he  had 
adored!  He  had  invested  this  creature 
with  his  own  prismatic  hues,  and 
taken  her  for  a  rainbow. 

Mrs.  Oldfield  told  afterwards  that 
she  felt  herself  cutting  his  heart  away 
from  her  at  every  sentence.  "  But  it 
was  to  be  done,  she  continued.  "  So 
now  you  know  my  trade,  tell  me 
what  is  yours  ?  " 

"  One  I  used  to  despise,  —  an  advo- 
cate." 

"Ah!  a  little  long  robe;  they  arc 
actors,  too,  only  bad  ones  ;  but  tell 
me,"  said  she,  with  a  silly  coquettish 
manner,  borrowed  from  the  comedy 
of  the  day,  "  what  do  you  want  of 
mc?  You  have  not  followed  me  so 
perseveringly  for  nothing  !  Speak, 
what  have  you  to  tell  me  !  " 

Alexander  blushed  ;  he  had  no 
longer  the  Btimulus  to  tell  her  all  he 
had  felt  and  Imped  ;    he  hesitated   and 

stammered  ;  at  last  he  bethought  him 
of  hi.->  tragedy;  so  he  said:  "I  sent 
you  a  tragedy,  madam!" 

"  What,  do  they  do  that  in  War- 
wickshire f " 
"  Yes,  madam  !    I  composed  it  by 

stealth  in  inv  father's  office." 

Oldfield  Bmiled. 

Alexander      continued  :      "  It      is 

called,  from  the  heroine  of  the  play, 
Berenice  !  " 


"  Berenice  !  "  cried  the  actress,  with 
a  start. 

Now  this  tragedy  had  pleased  Mrs. 
Oldfield  more  than  any  manuscript 
she  had  seen  these  three  years  ;  but, 
above  all,  the  part  of  "  Berenice  "  had 
charmed  her  ;  it  fitted  her  like  a  glove, 
as  she  poetically  expressed  herself;  it 
was  written  in  Alexander's  copper- 
plate hand,  so  she  had  not  identified 
it  with  the  author  of  her  diurnal 
verses. 

"  Berenice  !  is  it  possible  ?  " 

"  A  epieen,  madam,  who,  captured 
by  the  Romans  —  " 

"  What,  sir !  you  the  author  of 
that  work  ?  "  said  she,  with  sudden 
respect. 

"  Favor  me  with  your  opinion," 
said  the  sanguine  poet. 

Tremble,  Nathan,  you  had  only 
her  womanly  weakness  to  dread  hith- 
erto; but  now  the  jade's  interest  is 
against  you.  Strange  to  say,  her 
promise  carried  the  day  ;  she  was  true 
as  steel  to  Nathan,  and  remorseless 
as  steel  to  Alexander.  She  saw  at 
once  that  no  middle  course  was  now 
tenable  ;  so  she  turned  on  the  poor 
poet,  not  without  secret  regret,  and, 
with  a  voice  of  ice,  she  said :  "  The 
town  is  tired  of  Romans,  my  good 
sir,  you  had  better  go  into  Tartary  ; 
besides,"  added  she,  jumping  at  the 
commonplaces  of  dramatic  censure, 
"  your  fable  does  not  march,  your 
language  wants  lire  ;  let  me  give  you 
a  word  of  advice,  or  rather  a  line  of 
advice,  '  Plead,  Alexander,  plead,  and 
rhyme  no  morel"  She  then  added 
hastily,  in  a  very  different  tone  and 
manner,  "  Forgive  me,  my  poor  child, 
you  will  make  more  money,  and  be 
mure  respected." 

The  reason  of  this  rapid  change  of 
manner  was  this  :  when  we  have 
given  dreadful  pain,  more  pain  than 
we  calculated  on,  and  see  it,  wc  are 
apt  to  try  and  qualify  it  with  a  little 
weak,  empty  good-nature.  Now  at 
her  verdict,  and  her  witty  line,  Alex- 
ander had  turned  literally  as  pale  as 
ashes  !  The  drop  of  oil  she  poured 
on   the  deadly  wounds  she  had  given 


232 


ART  :    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


was  no  comfort  to  him  ;  he  rose,  he 
tried  to  speak  to  her,  but  his  lip 
trembled  so  violently  he  could  not 
articulate ;  at  last  he  gasped  out  : 
"  Thank  you  for  undeceiving  me  ; 
you  have  taught  me  your  own  v — 
value;  and  m — mine,  forgive  me,  the 
time  I  have  made  you  waste  upon  a 
d — dunce."  And  then,  in  spite  of  all 
he  could  do,  the  tears  forced  them- 
selves through  the  poor  boy's  eyes, 
and,  casting  one  look  of  shame  and 
half-reproach  upon  her,  he  put  his 
hand  to  his  brow,  and  went  discon- 
solately from  the  room,  and  out  of 
the  house. 

Poor  fellow  !  she  had  made  him 
ten  years  older  than  when,  ten  min- 
utes before,  he  entered  that  room,  all 
faith,  and  poetry,  and  hope,  and  love. 

Slowly  and  disconsolately,  he 
dragged  his  heavy  steps  and  heavy 
heart  home.  His  father  followed, 
and  entered  his  small  apartment  with- 
out ceremony.  Nathan  found  his 
son  sitting  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground ;  in  a  few  abrupt  words  he 
told  him  he  knew  all  about  his  amor- 
ous folly,  and  had  come  up  to  cure 
it. 

"  It  is  cured,"  said  Alexander  ; 
"she  has  cured  me  herself." 

"  Then  she  is  an  honest  woman," 
cried  Nathan.  "  So  now,  since  that 
nonsense  is  over,  take  my  arm  and  we 
will  go  down  to  Westminster." 

"  Yes,  father." 

They  went  to  Westminster ;  they 
entered  a  court  of  law,  and  were  so 
fortunate  as  to  hear  an  interesting 
trial.  Counsel  for  the  plaintiff  was 
just  opening  a  crim.  con.  case. 

The  advocate  dwelt  upon  the  sa- 
cred feelings  outraged  by  the  seducer, 
on  the  irremediable  gap  that  had  been 
made  in  a  house  and  in  a  human 
heart ;  the  pitiable  doubt  that  had 
been  cast  over  those  sacred  parental 
affections,  which  were  all  that  now 
remained  to  the  bereaved  husband. 
He  painted  the  empty  chamber,  the 
vacant  place  by  the  hearth,  and  the 
father  dagger-struck  by  little  voices 
lisping,     "  Papa,   where   is    mamma 


gone  1 "  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
His  speech  was  rich  in  topic  and 
point,  and  as  for  emphasis,  it  was  all 
emphasis.  He  concluded  in  this 
wise :  "  Such  injuries  as  these  can 
never  be  compensated  by  money ;  it 
is  ridiculous  to  talk  of  money  where  a 
man  has  been  laid  desolate,  and  there- 
fore I  hope,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you 
will  give  my  unfortunate  client  three 
thousand  pounds  damages  at  the  very 
least." 

At  each  point  the  orator  made,  Na- 
than nudged  Alexander,  as  if  to  say, 
"  That  is  how  you  must  do  it  some 
day." 

As  they  returned  homewards,  At- 
torney asked  Poet  how  he  had  been 
charmed  by  Mr.  Eithersidc's  elo- 
quence. 

"Eloquence,"  said  Alexander,  wak- 
ing from  his  revery.  "  I  heard  no  el- 
oquence." 

"No  eloquence!  why,  he  worked 
the  defendant  like  a  man  beating  a 
carpet." 

Nathan  recapitulated  Mr.  Either- 
sidc's points. 

"  Well,  father,"  was  the  languid 
reply,  "  this  shows  me  that  people 
who  would  speak  about  the  heart 
should  speak  from  the  heart.  I  heard 
something  like  a  terrier  dog  barking, 
that  is  all  I  remember." 

"  A  terrier  dog !  one  of  the  first 
counsel  in  the  land  !  But  there,  you 
come  to  your  dinner.  I  won't  be  in 
a  passion  with  you,  if  I  can  help,  be- 
cause —  you  '11  be  better  after  din- 
ner." 

Nathan's  satisfaction  at  his  son's 
sudden  cure  was  soon  damped.  Al- 
exander was  not  better  after  dinner : 
to  be  sure  this  might  have  been  ow- 
ing to  his  having  eaten  none ;  he 
could  not  eat,  and  never  volunteered 
a  word,  only,  when  spoken  to  three 
times,  he  shook  himself  and  answered 
with  a  visible  effort,  and  then  nestled 
into  silence  again.  The  next  and 
following  days  matters  were  worse. 
Spite  of  all  Nathan  could  do  to  move 
him,  he  sank  inro  a  cold,  listless 
melancholy.        About     five     o'clock 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


253 


(play-time)  he  used  to  be  very  rest- 
less and  nervous  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  relapse  into  stone.  And 
now  Nathan  began  to  ask  himself 
what  the  actress  had  done  to  his  son 
during  that  short  interview  between 
them.  He  began  greatly  to  doubt 
the  wonderful  cure,  or  rather  to  fear 
that  the  first  poison  had  been  at- 
tacked by  a  stronger,  in  the  way  of 
antidote,  which  had  left  his  son  in 
worse  case  than  before. 

Hitherto  he  had  thought  it  wisest 
to  avoid  the  subject,  and  silently  ex- 
pel the  hoy's  folly  by  taking  him  and 
Bhaking  him,  and  keeping  him  from 
thinking  of  it.  Hut  now  one  even- 
ing, as  he  looked  at  Alexander's  pal- 
lid, listless  countenance,  his  anxiety 
got  the  better  of  his  plan,  and  he 
could  not  help  facing  the  obnoxious 
topic. 

After  a  vain  attempt  or  two  to  in- 
terest the  poet  in  other  matters,  he 
suddenly  burst  out:  "What  is  the 
matter,  Alexander?  What  has  she 
done  to  you  now  ?  " 

Alexander  winced. 

"  Tell  me,  my  boy,"  said  Nathan, 
more  gently. 

Alexander  €data. 

"  She  has  deceived  me.  She  has 
robbed  my  heart  of  all  its  wealth. 
(),  I  would  rather  have  gone  on  be- 
lieving her  all  that  is  great  and  good, 
though  inaccessible  to  me  !  But  to 
find  my  divinity  a  mean,  heartless 
slattern.  To  find  that  I  have  poured 
nil  my  treasures  away  forever  upon 
an  unworthy  object.  ()  father!  I  do 
not  grieve  so  much  that  she  is  worth- 
less, hut  that  I  thought  her  worthy. 
To  me  she  was  the  jewel  of  the  earth. 
I  know  her  now  fur  a  vile  counterfeit, 
and  1  have  wasted  my  affections  on 
this  creature,  and  now  I  have  none 
left  tin-  any  worthy  Object  ;  scarcely 
for  my  father.  See  my  conduct  to 
you  all  this  week.  Heaven  forgive 
me,  —  and  you  forgive  me,  sir.  I 
feel  I  an i  no  sou  to  you.  I  am  lost ! 
1  am  lost !  " 

"  Alexander,  don't  be  a  fool," 
roared   Nathan  ;    "  get  up   off  your 


knees,  or  I  '11  kee — kee — kick  you  into 
the  fi — fire !  "  gulped  he  ;  "  that  is 
right,  —  that 's  a  dear  boy  :  now  tell 
me  what  has  the  poor  ladyr  done  1  I 
can't  think  she  is  such  a  very  bad 
one." 

"  She  has  robbed  herself  and  me 
of  the  tints  with  which  I  had  invest- 
ed her,  and  shown  herself  to  me  in 
her  true  colors." 

"  Why,  you  mustn't  tell  me  she 
paints  her  face  without 't  is  with  cold 
water." 

"  0  no  !  not  that,  but  off  the  stage 
she  is  a  mean,  vulgar,  bad  woman." 

"  I  can't  think  that  of  her,  Alexan- 
der." 

"  Father,  I  have  no  words  to  tell 
you  her  vulgarity,  her  avarice,  her 
stupidity,  —  as  for  her  beauty,  it  is 
all  paint  and  artifice,  father.  I  saw 
her  this  day  se'night  in  her  own 
house  ;  she  is  vulgar,  and  dirty,  and 
almost  ugly." 

"  0  you  deceitful  young  rascal, 
you  know  she  is  beautiful  as  an  an- 
gel !  " 

"  Is  n't  she,  sir  !  —  ah  !  you  have 
only  seen  her  on  the  stage  —  " 

"  I  see  her  on  the  stage !  What, 
do  you  tell  me  I  go  to  the  playhouse ! 
I  never  was  in  a  playhouse  in  my 
life." 

"  Then  how  do  yon  know  she  is 
beautiful  ?  Where  have  you  seen 
her,  if  not  on  the  stage  '  " 

Mr.  ( Mdworthy  senior  hesitated. 
Be  did  not  choose  his  son  to  know 
he  had  visited  the  play-actress,  and 
enlisted  her  in  his  cause. 

Alexander  saw  his  hesitation,  and 
misinterpreted  it  ludicrously. 

"  Ah,  father,"  cried  he,  •'  do  not  be 
ashamed  of  it." 

"  I  am  not,  —  ashamed  of  what  q  " 

"  Would  I  were  worthv  of  all  this 
affection  !  " 

"  What  affection  ?  " 

"  That  you  have  for  the  unfortu- 
nate." 

"  I  have  no  affection  for  the  un- 
fortunate; it  's  always  their  own 
fault." 

"  If  you  know  how  I  honor  you  Car 


251 


ART :    A   DRAMATIC  TALE. 


this,  you  would  not  deny  or  be 
ashamed  of  it." 

"  Of  what  ?  Are  we  talking  rid- 
dles ?  " 

"  Do  not  attempt  to  disguise  what 
gives  you  a  fresh  title  to  my  grat- 
itude,—  it  was  curiosity  to  see  my 
destroyer  drew  you  thither.  Ah,  it 
must  have  been  the  day  before  yester- 
day. I  remember  you  disappeared 
after  dinner.  Well,  father,"  contin- 
ued Alexander,  with  a  sad,  sweet, 
melancholy  accent,  "  you  saw  her 
play  '  Monimia '  that  night,  and  hav- 
ing seen  her  you  can  forgive  my  in- 
fatuation." 

"  No  !  1  can't  forgive  your  infatua- 
tion, obstinate  toad!  that  will  tell  me 
I  have  been  to  the  playhouse,  —  to 
the  Devil's  own  shop  parlor,  that  is." 

"  You  have  seen  her,  —  you  call 
her  beautiful,  therefore  it  is  clear  you 
have  seen  her  at  the  theatre,  for  at 
home  she  is  anything  but  beautiful  or 
an  angel." 

"  Alexander,  you  will  put  me  in  a 
passion  ;  but  I  won't  be  put  in  a 
passion."  So  saying,  the  old  gentle- 
man, who  was  in  a  passion,  marched 
slap  out  of  the  house  into  the  moon- 
light and  cooled  himself  therein. 

On  his  return  he  found  his  son  sit- 
ting in  a  sort  of  collapse  by  the  fire, 
and  all  his  endeavors  to  draw  him 
from  brooding  over  his  own  misery 
proved  unavailing.  The  next  day  he 
was  worse,  if  possible ;  and  when 
play-time  had  come  and  gone,  and 
Nathan  was  in  the  middle  of  a  long 
law-case  that  he  was  relating  for  his 
son's  amusement,  Alexander,  who 
had  not  spoken  for  hours,  quietly 
asked  Nathan  what  he  thought  about 
suicide,  and  Avhethcr  it  was  really  a 
crime  to  die  when  hope  was  dead, 
and  life  withered  forever.  Nathan 
gave  a  short,  severe  answer  to  this 
query  ;   hut  it  troubled  him. 

He  began  to  be  frightened  :  he  con- 
sulted Bateman.  Bateman  was  equal- 
ly puzzled  ;  but  at  last  the  latter  hit 
upon  an  idea.  "  Go  to  the  actress 
again,"  said  he;  "it  seems  she  can 
do    anything  with    him.     She   made 


him  love  her,  —  she  made  him  hate 
her ;  ask  her  to  make  him  to  do 
something  between  the  two." 

"  Why,  you  old  fool !  "  was  the 
civil  retort,  "  you  are  as  mad  as  he  is. 
No  !  she  almost  bewitched  me,  for  as 
old  as  1  am ;  and  I  won't  go  near  her 
again." 

But  Alexander  got  worse  and 
worse.  He  drooped  like  a  tender 
flower.  He  had  lost  appetite  and 
sleep ;  and  without  them  the  body 
soon  gives  way. 

His  grief  was  of  the  imagination. 
But  the  distinction  muddlchcads  draw 
between  real  and  imaginary  griefs  is 
imaginary.  Whatever  robs  a  human 
unit  of  rest,  nourishment,  and  life,  is 
as  real  to  him  as  anything  but  eter- 
nity itself  is  real. 

The  old  men  saw  a  subtle  disorder 
creeping  over  the  young  man.  It 
was  incomprehensible  to  them  ;  and 
after  ridiculing  it  awhile,  they  began 
to  be  more  frightened  at  it  than  if 
they  had  comprehended  it. 

At  last,  one  fine  morning,  a  new 
phase  presented  itself.  A  great  desire 
for  solitude  consumed  our  poor  poet. 
All  human  beings  were  distasteful  to 
him,  and,  his  mind  being  in  a  diseased 
state,  Nathan  and  Timothy  bored  him 
like  red-hot  gimlets,  —  the  truth  must 
be  told.  Well,  this  particular  morn- 
ing they  would  not  let  him  alone,  — 
and  so  he  wanted  just  to  be  left  in 
peace,  —  and  partly  from  nervousness, 
partly  from  irritation,  partly  from 
misery,  the  poet  lost  all  self-command, 
and,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  cursed  and 
swore,  and  vowed  he  would  kill  him- 
self, and  called  his  friends  his  tor- 
mentors, and  wept  and  raved  and 
cursed  the  hour  he  was  born.  And 
at  the  end  of  this  most  unbecoming 
tirade  he  was  for  dashing  out  of  the 
house  ;  but  his  father  caught  him  by 
the  collar,  and  whirled  him  back  into 
his  room,  and  locked  him  into  it. 
Alexander  fell  into  a  chair,  and  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands ;  presently  he 
heard  something  that  made  him  feel 
how  selfish  his  grief  had  been.  Ho 
heard  a   deep   sigh  just   outside  the 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


255 


door,  and  then  a  heavy  step  went 
down  the  stair. 

"  Father  !  "  cried  he,  "  forgive  me ! 
0,  forgive  me  !  " 

It  was  too  late.  All  who  give  a 
parent  pain  repent ;  but  how  often  it 
is  too  late ! 

The  poor  old  man  was  gone,  as  un- 
happy as  his  son,  and  with  more  solid 
reason.  He  went  into  the  street, 
without  knowing  what  he  should  do 
or  where  he  should  go. 

It  happened  at  this  moment  that 
Bateman's  advice  came  into  his  head. 
He  was  less  disposed  to  scout  it  now. 

"  It  can  do  no  harm,"  thought  he, 
"and  I  am  quite  at  a  loss.  She  has 
a  good  heart,  I  think,  and  at  all  events 
she  seems  to  know  how  to  work  on 
him,  and  I  don't.     I  '11  risk  it." 

So,  hanging  his  head,  with  no  very 
good  will,  he  slowly  wended  his  way 
toward-  Mrs.  Oldlield's  house. 

When  Alexander  left  .Mrs.  Oldfield, 
that  lady  took  off  her  vulgar  cap  and 
the  old  wig  with  which  she  had  dis- 
guised her  lovely  head,  and,  throwing 
herself  into  a  chair,  laughed  at  the 
piece  of  comedy  she  had  played  off  on 
our  poor  poet. 

Her  laugh,  however,  was  not  sin- 
cere; it  soon  died  away  into  some- 
thing more  like  a  sigh. 

The  next  morning  there  was  no 
letter  in  verse,  and  she  missed  it.  She 
had  become  used  to  them,  and  was 
vexed  to  think  she  had  put  an  end  to 
them.  '  in  returning  from  the  theatre 
she  looked  from  her  carriage  to  see  if 
he  was  standing  as  usual  by  the  Btage 
door.  No,  he  was  not  there;  no 
more  letters, — no  more  Alexander. 
She  felt  sorry  she  had  Lost  so  genuine 
an  admirer;  and  the  moment  the 
sense  of  his  loss  touched  herself,  she 
began  to  pity  him,  and  think  what  a 
shame  it  was  to  deceive  him  so. 

"  1  could  have  liked  him  better 
than  all  the  rest,"  said  she. 

Bui  this  lady's  profession  is  one  un- 
favorable to  the  growth  of  regrets,  or 
of  affection  for  any  object  not  in  sight. 
She  had  to  rehearse  from  ten  tiil  one, 
then  to  come  home,  then  to  lay  out 


her  clothes  for  the  theatre,  then  to 
dine,  then  to  study,  then  to  go  to  the 
theatre,  then  to  dress,  then  to  act  with 
all  the  intoxications  of  genius,  light, 
multitude,  and  applause,  then  to  un- 
dress, sup,  etc.  ;  and  all  this  time  she 
was  constantly  flattered  and  courted 
by  dozens  of  beaux  and  wits.  Had 
she  been  capable  of  a  deep  attach- 
ment, it  could  not  have  monopolized 
her  as  Alexander's  did  his.  However, 
she  did  thus  much  for  our  poor  poet ; 
when  she  found  she  had  succeeded  in 
banishing  him,  she  went  into  her  tan- 
trums, and  snapped  at  and  scratched 
everybody  else  that  was  kind  to  her. 
She  also  often  invited  Susan  to  speak 
of  him,  and  after  a  while  snubbed  her 
and  forbade  the  topic. 

To-day,  then,  as  Mrs.  Oldfield  sat 
studying  "  The  Rival  Queens,"  sud- 
denly she  heard  a  sob,  and  there  was 
Susan,  with  the  tears  quietly  and 
without  effort  streaming  from  her 
eyes,  like  the  water  running  through 
a  lockgate.  Susan  had  just  returned 
from  a  walk. 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  "  whined 
Susan.  "  I  have  just  met  him,  and 
he  said  to  me,  'Ah,  madam!'  he 
always  calls  me  madam,  and  he  has 
lost  his  beautiful  color,  —  he  is  mis- 
erable, —  and  I  am  miserable." 

"  Well !  "  snapped  Anne,  "  and  am 
I  not  miserable  too !  Why,  Susan," 
cried  she,  for  a  glimmering  of  light 
burst  on  her,  "  surely  you  are  not 
such  a  goose  as  to  fancy  yourself  in 
love  with  my  Alexander." 

My  Alexander,  —  good!  She  has 
declined  him  for  herself,  but  she  will 
not  let  you  have  him  any  the  more 
for  that, — other  women  ! 

"  Your  Alexander  1  No!  I  am  too 
fond  of  mv  own!  Here's  your  one's 
hook  "  ;  and  Susan  thrust  ft  duodecimo 
towards  her  cousin. 

"  Mv  one's  hook,"  said  Mrs.  Old- 
field,   with  a  mystified  air. 

•'Yes!  Robert  says  it  belong  to 
the  young  gentleman  who  saved  you 
from     the     Dnehess's    carriage;    he 

picked   it    Up   after   the   battle." 

Mrs.  Oldlield  opened  the  book  with 


256 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


interest ;  judge  her  surprise  when  the 
first  page  discovered  verses  in  Alex- 
ander's well-known  hand  :  in  the  next 
page  was  a  spirited  drawing  of  Mrs. 
Oldfield  as  "  Sophonisba  " ;  under 
it  was  written,  in  gold  letters,  "  Not 
one  base  word  of  Carthage  on  thy 
soul," — a  line  the  actress  used  to 
speak  with  such  majesty  and  fire  that 
the  audience  always  burst  into  a  round 
of  applause.  And  so  on,  upon  every 
page,  poetry  or  picture.  The  verses 
were  more  tender  than  those  he  had 
sent  her  by  letter.  The  book  was  his 
secret  heart ! 

It  was  Alexander,  then,  who  had 
saved  her,  —  his  love  surrounded  her. 
And  how  had  all  his  devotion  been 
repaid?  She  became  restless,  —  bit 
her  lips ;  the  book  she  held  became  a 
bo'k  of  mist,  and  she  said  to  Susan, 
in  bitter  accents  :  "  They  had  better 
not  let  the  poor  boy  come  near  me 
again,  or  they  will  find  1  am  a  woman, 
in  spite  of  my  nasty  blank  verse  and 
bombast.  Oh!  oh!  oh!"  and  the 
tragedian  whimpered  a  little,  much  as 
a  housemaid  whimpers  ;  it  was  not  at 
all  like  the  "  real  tears  "  that  had  so 
affected  Alexander. 

On  the  fly-leaf  of  this  little  book 
was  written  :  "  Alexander  Oldwor- 
thy  !  Should  I  die,  —  and  I  think  I 
shall  not  live,  for  my  love  consumes 
me,  —  I  pray  some  good  Christian 
to  take  this  book  to  the  great  Mrs. 
Oldheld  ;  it  will  tell  her  what  I  shall 
never  dare  to  tell  her  :  and  if  departed 
spirits  are  permitted  to  watch  those 
they  have  loved,  it  is  for  her  sake  I 
shall  revisit  this  earth,  which,  but  for 
her,  I  should  leave  without  regret." 

"  I  am  a  miserable  woman  !  "  cried 
the  dealer  in  fictitious  grief.  "  This 
is  /ore!  I  never  was  loved  before, 
and  mine  must  be  the  hand  to  stab 
him  ;  they  make  me  turn  his  goddess 
to  a  slut,  —  his  love  to  contempt; 
and  I  do  it,  madwoman  that  I  am  ! 
For  what  '  to  rob  myself  of  the  solace 
Heaven  hail  sent  to  my  vacant  heart, 
—  of  the  only  real  treasure  the  earth 
contains  "  ;  and  she  burst  into  a  pas- 
sion of  tears. 


At  this  Susan's  dried  themselves  t 
the  grief  of  the  greater  mind  swallowed 
up  her  puny  sorrow,  as  the  river  ab- 
sorbs the  brook  that  joins  it.  Anne 
frightened  her,  and  at  last  she  stole 
from  the  room  in  dismay.  Her  ab- 
sence, however,  was  short;  she  re- 
turned in  about  ten  minutes,  and 
announced  a  visitor. 

"  I  will  not  see  him  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Oldricld,  almost  fiercely,  looking  off 
the  part  she  had  begun  to  study. 

"  It  is  the  rough  gentleman,"  said 
Susan. 

"  What !  Alexander's  father  1  Ad- 
mit him.  He  is  come  to  thank  me, 
and  well  he  may.  Cruel  wretches 
that  we  both  are  !  " 

Nathan  entered,  but  with  a  face  so 
rueful,  that  Mrs.  Oldfield  saw  at  once 
gratitude  had  not  brought  him  there. 

"  What  have  you  done,  madam  ?" 
was  his  first  word. 

"Kept  my  word  to  you,  like  a  fool," 
was  the  answer ;  "  I  hope  you  are 
come  to  reproach  me,  —  it  would  not 
be  complete  without  that  !  "  And 
the  Oldfield  shed  a  few  tears,  which 
this  time  were  half  bitter  vexation, 
half  fiction. 

Nathan  had  come  with  that  inten- 
tion, but  he  was  now  terror-struck, 
and  afraid  to  do  anything  of  the  kind. 
He  proceeded,  however,  in  mournful 
tones,  to  tell  her  that  Alexander  had 
fallen  into  a  state  of  despondency  and 
desperation  which  had  made  him  — 
the  father  —  regret  that  more  inno- 
cent madness  he  had  hitherto  been  so 
anxious  to  cure. 

"  He  says  he  will  kill  himself,"  said 
Nathan.  "  And  if  he  does  he  will  kill 
me.  Poor  boy  !  all  his  illusions  are 
kicked  head  over  heels ;  so  he  says, 
however." 

"  A  good  job,  too !  "  said  Mrs.  Old- 
field. 

"  How  can  you  say  a  good  job,  when 
it  will  be  a  job  for  Bedlam  1  " 

"  Bedlam !  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  mail !  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  he  is 
mad  1  " 

"  He  says  you  are  not  beautiful ! 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


257 


'She  has  neither  heart,  grace,  nor  wit,' 
says  he :  in  a  word,  he  is  insane. 
I  "reasoned  calmly  with  him,"  contin- 
ued the  afflicted  father.  "  I  told  him 
he  was  an  idiot ;  but,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  he  answered  my  affectionate  re- 
monstrance with  nonsense  and  curses, 
ami  a  lot  of  words,  without  head  or 
tail  to  them  :  h<>  is  mad  !  " 

"  You  cruel  old  man  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Oldfield  :  "  have  you  done  nothing  to 
soothe  the  poor  child  ?  " 

"  O  yes  !  "  said  the  cruel  old  man, 
resenting  the  doubt  cast  upon  his  ten- 
derness ;  "  I  shoved  him  into  a  room, 
and  double-locked  him  in  :  and  came 
straight  to  you  for  advice  about  him, 
you  are  so  clever." 

"  So  it  seems  !  "  said  she  ;  "  I  have 
made  everybody  unhappy,  — you,  Al- 
exander, and  most  of  all  myself." 
And  tears  began  to  well  out  of  her 
lovely  eve-. 

"  6  dear !  —  0  dear  !  —  0  dear !  — 
don't  you  vex  yourself  so,  my  lamb." 

But  the  lamb,  aOaa crocodile,  insist- 
ed upon  patting  her  head  gracefully 
upon  Nathan's  shoulder,  and  crying 
meekly  awhile.  On  this  (a  man's 
heart  being  merely  a  lump  of  sugar 
that  melts  when  woman's  eye  lets 
fall  a  drop  of  warm  water  upon  it) 
Nathan  loved  her :  it  was  intended  he 
should. 

"  I  would  give  my  right  arm  if  you 
would  make  him  love  you  again  ;  at 
all  events  a  little,  —  a  very  little  in- 
deed. Poor  Alexander,  he  is  a  foul, 
a  scatter-brain,  and,  fur  aqght  I  know, 
a  versifier:  but  he  is  my  sun.  I  have 
but  him.     If  he  goes  mad  or  dies,  his 

father  will  lie  down  ami  die  too." 


Si 


gaid  the  actress,  with  sud- 


den cheerfulness,  and  drying  her  eyes 
with  suspicious  rapidity  :  "  bring  him 
to  me  ;  and  "  (patting  him  slyly  on  the 
arm)  "you  shall  see  me  make  him 
love  ma  more  than  ever,  —  ten  times 
mure,  if  you  approve,  dear  air  I 

"  Here!  he  won't 
at  you  ;  you 
is  mad  !  my 
son-,     this 
rhymes." 


come  ;  he   rails 
ire  his  aversion.      <  >,  he 
son    is   deprived   of    rea- 
comes     of    those    cursed 


A  pause  ensued  :  Oldfield  broke  it. 
"  I  have  it !  "  cried  she  :  "  he  is  an 
author  :  they  are  all  alike  !  "  (What 
did  she  mean  by  that  ?)  "  Speak  to 
him  of '  Berenice.' " 

"  Whom  am  I  to  talk  to  him 
about  ? " 

"  Berenice  ! " 

"  What,  is  he  after  another  woman 
now  ?  " 

"  No,  — his  tragedy !  " 

"  His  tragedy  ! " 

"  Ah  !  I  forgot,"  said  she,  coolly : 
"you  are  not  in  the  secret ;  he  com- 
posed it  by  stealth  in  your  office." 
She  then  seated  herself  at  a  side-table, 
and  wrote  a  note  with  theatrical  ra- 
pidity. 

"  Give  him  this,"  said  she. 

Receiving  no  answer,  she  looked 
up,  a  little  surprised,  and  there  was 
Nathan  apoplectic  with  indignation  ; 
his  two  cheeks,  red  as  beet-root,  were 
puffed  out ;  paternal  tenderness  was 
in  abeyance  :  finally  he  exploded  in  : 
"  So,  this  was  how  my  brief-paper 
went !  "  and  marched  off  impetuous- 
ly, throwing  down  a  chair. 

"  Where  are  you  going  1 "  remon- 
strated his  companion. 

"  He  is  an  author,"  was  the  reply  ; 
"  he  is  no  son  of  mine.  I  '11  unlock 
him  and  kick  him  into  the  wide 
world." 

"  What,  for  consecrating  your  brief- 
paper  to  the  Muse  f  " 

"Yes;  did   you  ever  know   a   de- 
cent, respectable  character  write  po- 
etry ?  " 
"  Yes." 

"  No  !  that  vou  never  did  !  AVho, 
now  ?  " 

"David!  he  wrote  Hebrew  poetry, 
—  the  Psalms ;  and  very  beautiful 
poetry,  too." 

Poor  Nathan!  he  was  like  a  bull, 
which,  in  the  middle  of  a  gallant 
charge,  receives  a  bullet  in  a  vital 
part,  and  so  pulls  up,  and  looks 
mighty  s'.upid  for  a  moment  ere  ho 
tails.   ' 

But     Nathan    did     not     fall  ;    ho 

red  reproach  on   Mrs.   Oldfield  for 

I  having  said  u  thing,  which,  though  it 


258 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


did  not  exactly  admit  of  immediate 
confutation,  was  absurd  as  well  as  pro- 
fane, thought  he,  and  resolved  to  serve 
Alexander  out'  for  it ;  he  told  her  as 
much.  So  then  ensued  a  little  piece 
of  private  theatricals  :  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
clasping  her  hands  together,  began  to 
po,  gracefully,  down  on  her  knees,  an 
inch  at  a  time  (nothing  but  great 
practice  enabled  her  to  do  it),  and  re- 
mind Nathan  that  he  was  a  father, 
—  that  his  son's  life  was  more  pre- 
cious than  anything,  —  that  to  be 
angry  with  the  unhappy  was  cruel,  — 
"  Save  him  !  save  him  !  " 

Poor  Nathan  took  all  this  stage 
business  for  an  unpremeditated  ef- 
fusion of  the  heart ;  and,  with  a  tear 
in  his  eye,  raised  the  queen  of  the 
crocodiles,  and  with  a  hideously  ami- 
able grin,  "  I'll  forgive  him  !•"  said 
he  :  "  to  please  you,  I  'd  forgive  Old 
Nick." 

With  this  virtuous  resolve  and 
equivocal  compliment,  he  vanished 
from  the  presence-chamber,  and  hur- 
ried towards  Alexander's  retreat. 

Oldfield  retired  hastily  to  her  bed- 
room, and,  having  found  "  Berenice," 
ran  hastily  through  it  once  more,  and 
began  to  study  a  certain  scene  which 
she  thought  could  be  turned  to  her 
purpose.  Having  what  is  called  a 
very  quick  study,  she  was  soon  mis- 
tress of  the  twenty  or  thirty  lines. 
She  then  put  on  a  splendid  dress,  ap- 
propriate (according  to  the  ideas  of 
the  day)  to  an  Eastern  queen.  That 
done,  she  gave  herself  to  Statira,  the 
part  she  was  to  play  upon  this  im- 
portant evening ;  but  Susan  observed 
a  strange  restlessness  and  emotion  in 
her  cousin. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Anne  1 "  said 
she. 

"  It  is  too  bad  of  these  men,"  was 
the  answer.  "  I  ought  to  be  all 
Statira  to-day;  and,  instead  of  a 
tragedy-queen,  they  make  me  feel  like 
a  human  being!  This  will  not  do: 
I  cannot  have  my  fictitious  feelings, 
in  which  thousands  are  interested,  en- 
dangered for  such  a  trifle  as  my  real 
ones " ;  and,    by   a  stern   effort,  she 


glued  her  eyes  to  her  part,  and  was 
Statira. 

Meanwhile  Nathan  had  returned  to 
Alexander;  and,  giving  him  Mrs. 
Oldfield's  note,  bade  him  instantly 
accompany  him  to  her  house. 

Alexander  had  no  sooner  read  the 
note,  than  the  color  rushed  into  his 
pale  face,  and  his  eye  brightened ; 
but  on  reflection  he  begged  to  be 
excused  from  going  there.  But 
his  father,  who  had  observed  the 
above  symptoms,  which  proved  to 
him  the  power  of  this  benevolent 
enchantress,  would  take  no  denial ; 
so  they  returned  together  to  her 
house.  It  was  all  very  well  the  first 
part  of  the  road ;  but  at  sight  of  the 
house  poor  Alexander  was  seized 
with  a  combination  of  feelings  that 
made  it  impossible  for  him  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"I  feel  faint,  father." 
"  Lean  on  me." 

"  Pray  excuse  me,  —  I  will  go  back 
to  Coventry  with  you, —  to  the  world's 
end,  —  but  don't  take  me  to  that 
house." 

"  Come  along,  ye  soft-hearted — " 
"  Well,  then,  you  must  assist  me, 
for  my  limbs  fail  me  at  the  idea." 

"  Mine  shall  help  you,"  —  and  he 
put  an  arm  under  his  son's  shoulder, 
and  hoisted  him  along  in  an  undeni- 
able manner.  And  so,  in  a  few  min- 
utes more,  the  attorney  was  to  be  seen 
half  drawing,  half  dragging  the  poet 
into  the  abode  of  the  Siren,  which  he 
had  first  entered  (breathing  fire  and 
fury  against  play-actors)  to  drag  his 
son  out  of.  It  was,  indeed,  a  curious 
reversal  of  sentiments  in  a  brace  of 
bosoms. 

"  No,  father  !  no  !  "  sighed  Alexan- 
der, as  his  father  pulled  him  into  her 
saloon. 

"  Hut  I  tell  you  it  is  for  your  trag- 
edy," remonstrated  the  parchment  to 
the  paper  hero.  "  It  's  business," 
said  he,  reproachfully.  "  Now  't  is 
writ,  let  us  sell  it  — to  greater  fools 
than  ourselves, — if  we  can  find 
them." 

The  tone  in  which  he  uttered  tho 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


259 


last  sentence  conveyed  no  very  san- 
guine hope,  on  his  part,  of  a  pur- 
chaser. 

"  Why  did  you  bring  me  here,  dear 
father  ?  "  sighed  the  disillusion^.  "  It 
was  here  my  idol  descended  from  her 
pedestal.  0  reality !  you  are  not 
worth  the  pain  of  living,  —  the  toil 
of  breathing." 

"  Poor  boy  !  "  thought  Nathan  ; 
"  he  is  in  a  bad  way,  —  the  toil  of 
breathing!  —  well,  I  never!  —  Your 
tragedy,  lad,  your  tragedy,"  insinuat- 
ed be,  biting  his  lips  not  to  be  in  a 
rage. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Alexander,  perking 
up,  "  it  is  the  last  tie  that  holds  me  to 
life.  She  says  in  this  note  that  she 
took  it  for  another,  and  that  mine  has 
merit." 

"  No  doubt !  no  doubt !  "  said  the 
other,  humoring  the  absurdity. 
"  How  came  the  Muse  (that  is  the 
wench's  name,  I  believe)  into  my  of- 
fice  1 " 

"  She  used  ever  to  come  in,"  began 
be,  in  rapt  tones,  "  when  you  went 
out,"  he  added,  mighty  dryly. 

Alexander's  next  casual  observa- 
tion was  to  this  effect,  —  that  once  he 
had  a  soul,  but  that  now  his  lyre  was 
broken. 

"  That 's  soon  mended,"  said  his 
rough  comforter ;  "  well,  since  your 
luir  is  cracked  — " 

"  I  said  broken,  father,  —  and  forme 
the  business  of  life  is  ended." 

"  Well,"  said  the  parent,  whose 
good-humor  at  this  <-ri>is  appears  to 
have  been  inexhaustible,  "since  your 
liar  is  broken,  —  smashed,  I  hope, — 
ami  your  business  done,  or  near  it, 
turn  to  amusement  a  bit,  my  poor 
lad." 

Alexander  looked  at  him,  surveyed 
him  from  top  to  toe. 

"  Amusement !  "  winnied  the  incon- 
solable one,  with  a  ghastly  chuckle, 
—  "  amusement !  Where  can  broken 
hearts  find  amusement  !  " 

"In  tiii:  l.\w!"  roared  Nathan, 
with  cheerful,  hopeful,  healthy  tone 
and  look.  "  I  do,"  added  lie  ;  then, 
seeing  bitter  incredulity  on  the  jtoet, 


he  explained,  sotto  voce,  "'T  is  n't  as 
if  we  were  clients,  ye  fool." 

"  Never  !  "  shrieked  Alexander. 

Poor  Nathan  had  commanded  his 
wrath  till  now,  but  this  energetic 
"  Never  ! "  set  him  in  a  blaze. 

"  Never  !  you  young  scamp,"  shout- 
ed he;  "but  —  but  —  don't  put  me 
in  a  passion,  —  when  I  tell  ye  the  ex- 
ciseman's daughter  won't  have  you 
on  any  other  terms." 

"  And  I  won't  have  her  on  any 
terms,  —  she  is  a  woman." 

"  Well,  she  is  on  the  road  to  it,  — 
she  is  a  girl,  and  a  very  tine  one, 
and  you  are  to  make  her  a  woman, 
—  and  she  will  make  a  man  of  you, 
I  hope." 

"  No  more  women  for  me,"  object- 
ed the  poet.  He  then  confided  to  an 
impatient  parent  his  future  plan  of  ex- 
istence. It  was  simple,  very  simple; 
he  purposed  to  live  in  a  garret  in 
London,  hating  and  hated;  so  this 
brought  matters  to  a  head. 

"  I  have  been  too  good  to  you  !  you 
are  mad !  and,  by  virtue  of  parental 
authority,  I  seize  your  body,  young 
man." 

But  the  body  had  legs,  and,  for 
once,  an  attorney  failed  to  effect  a 
seizure. 

He  slipped  under  his  father's  arm, 
and,  getting  a  table  between  them, 
gave  vent  to  his  despair. 

"  Since  you  are  without  pity," 
cried  he,  "lam  lost.  Farewell  for- 
ever ! "  and  he  rushed  to  the  door, 
which  opened  at  that  instant. 

The  father  uttered  a  deprecatory 
en,  which  died  off  into  a  semiquaver 
of  admiration,  —  for,  at  this  moment, 
a  lady  of  dazzling  beauty,  arrayed  in 
a  glorious  robe  that  swept  the  ground, 
crossed  the  poet's  path,  before  ho 
could  reach  the  door,  and,  with  a 
calm,  but  queen-like  gesture,  rooted 

him  to  the  spot. 

She  uttered  but  one  word,  but  that 
wind.  as  she  spoke  it,  seemed  capable 
of  stilling  the  waves  of  the  sea. 

"  Hold  !" 

No  louder  than  you  and  I  speak, 
reader,  but  irresistibly.     Such  majesty 


260 


AKT;    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


and  composure  came  from  her,  upon 
them,  with  this  simple  monosyllable. 
They  stood  spellbound.  Alexander 
thought  no  more  of  flight ;  nor  Nathan 
of  pursuit. 

At  last,  by  one  of  those  inspirations 
that  convey  truth  more  surely  than 
human  calculation  is  apt  to,  the  poet 
cried  out :  "  This  is  herself,  the  other 
was  a  personation  !  " 

"  Berenice  "  took  no  notice  of  this 
exclamation.  She  continued,  with 
calm  majesty  :  — 

"  Listen  to  a  queen,  whose  steadfast  will 
In  chains  is  royal,  in  Rome  uucouquered 

still  ; 
O'er  my  bowed  head  though  waves  of  sorrow 

roll, 
I  still  retain  the  empire  of  my  soul." 

Her  two  hearers  stood  spellbound. 
And  then  did  Alexander  taste  the 
greatest  pleasure  earth  affords,  —  to 
be  a  poet,  and  to  love  a  great  actress, 
and  to  hear  the  magic  lips  he  loved 
speak  his  own  verse.  Love,  taste, 
and  vanity  were  all  gratified  at  once. 
With  what  rich  flesh  and  blood  she 
clothed  his  shadowy  creation  ;  the 
darling  of  his  brain  was  little  more 
than  a  skeleton.  It  was  reserved  for 
the  darling  of  his  heart  to  complete 
the  creation.  And  then  his  words,  O 
what  a  majesty  and  glory  they  took 
from  her  heavenly  tongue  !  They 
were  words  no  more,  —  they  were 
thunderbolts  of  speech,  and  sparks  of 
audible  soul.  He  wondered  at  him- 
self and  them. 

Oldfield  spoke  this  line, 

"  O'er  my  bowed  head  though  waves  of  sor- 
row roll," 

with  a  grand,  though  plaintive  swell, 
like  the  sea  itself:  it  was  really  won- 
derful. 

Alexander  had  no  conception  he  or 
any  man  had  ever  written  so  grand  a 
line  as  "  O'er  my  bowed  head  though 
waves  of  sorrow  roll."  He  was  in 
heaven.  A  moment  like  this  is  be- 
yond the  lot  of  earth,  and  compen- 
sates the  smart  that  is  apt  to  be  in 
store,  all  in  pood  time,  for  the  poet 
that  loves  a  great  actress,  that  is  to 


say,  a  creature  with  the  tongue  of  an 
angel,  the  principles  of  a  weasel,  and 
the  passions  of  a  fish  ! 

"  And  have  those  lips  graced  words 
of  mine  ?  "  gasped  Alexander.  "  My 
verses,  father ! " 

"  His  verses  !  no  !  "  said  Nathan, 
addressing  the  actress  ;  "  can  he  write 
like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  ?  " 

"  Yes !  Alexander,  I  like  your  play, 
particularly  a  scene  where  this  poor 
queen  sacrifices  her  love  to  the  bar- 
barous prejudices  of  her  captors." 

"  My  favorite  scene  !  my  favorite 
scene  !  Father,  she  likes  my  favorite 
scene ! " 

"  Gentlemen,  be  so  good  as  to  lend 
yourselves  to  the  situation  a  moment. 
Here,  Susan  !  "  In  came  Susan,  her 
eyes  very  red  ;  she  had  been  employed 
realizing  that  Alexander  was  not  to 
be  hers. 

"  You,  sir  !  "  continued  Mrs.  Old- 
field,  addressing  Nathan,  "  are  the 
Consul,  —  the  inexorable  father." 

"0,  ami'?" 

"  Yes !  you  must  stand  there,  —  on 
that  flower,  —  like  a  marble  pillar,  — 
deaf  to  all  my  entreaties.  You  are 
about  to  curse  your  son." 

"  I  curse  my  boy  %     Never !  " 

"  Father,  for  Heaven's  sake,  do 
what  she  bids  you." 

"  Dress  the  scene,"  continued  she, 
—  "  farther  off,  Susan,  —  this  is  trag- 
edy, don't  huddle  together  as  they  do 
in  farce." 

"But  I  am  in  such  trouble,  Anne." 

"  Of  course  you  are,  —  you  are 
Tibulla,  —  you  are  jealous.  You  spy 
all  our  looks,  catch  all  our  words. 
Now,  mind  your  business.  The  stage 
is  mine.  I  speak  to  my  Tiberius." 
She  kicked  her  train  adroitly  out  of 
the  way,  and  flowed  like  a  wave  on  a 
calm  day  towards  Tiberius,  who  stood 
entranced,  almost  staggering  under 
the  weight  of  his  own  words,  as  they 
rolled  over  him :  — 

"  Obey  the  mandate  of  unfeeling  Rome  ; 
Make  camps  your  hearth,  the  battle-field 

your  home  ; 
Fly  vain  delights,  fight  fora  glorious  name, 
Forget  that  e'er  we  met,  and  live  for  Fame." 


ART  :    A   DRAMATIC    TALE. 


2G1 


(In  this  last  line  she  Logan  to  falter 
a  little.) 

"  Alas  !  I,  whom  lost  kingdoms  could  not 
move, 

Am  mistress  of  myself  uo  more.     I  love  ! 

I  love  you,  yet  we  part  ;  —  my  race  pro- 
scribe, 

My  royal  hand  disdain  this  barbarous  tribe. 

This  diadem,  that  all  the  nations  prize, 

Is  an  unholy  thing  in  Koman  eyes." 

She  did  not  merely  speak,  she 
acted  these  lines.  With  what  a  world 
of  dignity  and  pathos  she  said,  "  My 
royal  hand  disdain  !  "  and  in  speak- 
ing of  the  "  diadem "  she  slowly 
raised  both  hands,  one  somewhat  high- 
er than  the  other,  and  pointed  to  her 
coronet,  for  one  instant.  The  pose 
would  have  been  invaluable  to  Sculp- 
tor or  Painter. 

"  We  are  in  the  wrong,"  began 
Nathan,  soothingly,  for  the  Queen 
had  slightly  indicated  him  as  one  of 
"the  barbarous  tribe."  "A  lady 
like  you.  —  The  Romans  are  fools- 
asses-dolts-and-bcasts,"  cried  Nathan, 
running  the  four  substantives  into 
one. 

"  Hush  !  father  ! "  cried  the  author, 
reproachfully. 

"  And  you,  young  maid, kill  not  my  wounded 
hearlf, 
Ah  !  bid  me  not  from  my  Tiberius  part." 

(Tears  seemed  to  choke  her  utter- 
ance. ) 

"Ono!  cousin,"  drawled  out  Su- 
san, "sooner  than  you  should  die  of 
grief — it  is  a  blow,  but  I  give  him 
up  —  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Susan  !  you 
pur  me  out." 

"  Now  it  is  too  melting,"  whined 
Nathan;  "leave  off,  —  there,  do  ye 
leave  off,  —  it  is  too  melting." 

"  Is  n't  it  ?  "  said  Alexander,  rayon- 
iiinit.  "  Go  on  !  go  on  !  You  whose 
dry  eve,  —  you  whose  dry  eye,  Mrs. 
Ofdfield." 

Mrs.  Oldfield  turned  full  on  Nathan, 
and,  sin  king  hervoice  intoadeeper  key, 

she  drove  the  following  lines,  slowjy 
and  surely,  through  and  through  his 
poor,  unresisting,  buttery  heart :  — 


"  You  whose  dry  eye  looks  down  on  all  our 

tears, 
Pity    yourself,  —  ah  !     for    yourself  have 

fears. 
Alone  upon  the  earth,  some  bitter  day, 
You  '11  call  your  son  your  trembling  steps  to 

stay. 
Old  man  !  regret,   remorse,  will  come   too 

late  ; 
In  vain  you  '11  pity  then  our  sad,  sad  fate." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  you  don't  bear 
me  out  by  your  dumb  play,  —  you  are 
to  be  the  unrelenting  sire —  " 

"Now,  how  ca-ca-ca-ean  I,  when 
you  make  me  blubber  ?  "  gulped  out 
he  "  whose  dry  eyes,"  etc. 

"  And  me !  "  whined  Susan. 

"  Aha  !  "  cried  Alexander,  with  a 
hilarious  shout,  "  I  'vemade  them  cry 
with  my  verses  !" 

A  smile,  an  arch  smile,  wreathed 
the  Tragic  Queen's  countenance. 

Alexander  caught  it,  and,  not  be- 
ing yet  come  to  his  full  conceit, 
pulled  himself  up  short.  "  No,"  cried 
he,  "no!  it  was  you  who  conquered 
them  with  my  weak  weapon ;  you 
whose  face  is  spirit,  and  whose  voice  is 
music.     Enchantress  —  " 

Now  Alexander,  who  was  grace- 
fully inclining  towards  the  charmer, 
received  a  sudden  push  from  the  excit- 
ed Nathan,  and  fell  plump  on  his 
knees. 

"  Speak  again,"  cried  he,  "  for  you 
arc  my  queen.  I  love  you.  What  is 
to  be  my  fate  ?  " 

"  Alexander,"  said  Anne,  fluttering 
as  she  had  never  fluttered  before, 
"  you  have  so  many  titles  to  my  es- 
teem. 0  no!  that  won't  do.  See, 
sir,  he  does  it  almost  as  well  as  I 
do. 

"  Live,  for  I  love  you  ; 
My  life  is  his  who  saved  that  life  from  harm  ; 
This  pledge  attests  the  valor  of  your  arm." 

Here  look  !  "     And  she  returned  him 
hi>  pocket-book. 

"  His  pocket-book  I"  said  Nathan, 
his  eyes  glazed  with  wonder.  "  Why, 
how  did  his  tragedy  eome  in  his  pock- 
et-book 1  I  mean,  his  pocket-book  in 
his  tragedy  f  which  is  the  true  part, 
and  w'hich  is  the  lie?  ()  dear!  the 
dog  has  made  his  father  cry,  and,  now 


2G2 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


I  have  begun,  I  don't  like  to  leave  off 
somehow."  Then,  before  his  several 
queries  could  be  answered,  he  contin- 
ued, "  So  this  is  play-acting,  and  it 's 
a  sin  !  Well,  then,  I  like  it."  And  he 
dried  his  eyes,  and  cast  a  look  of  bril- 
liant satisfaction  on  all  the  company. 

He  was  then  silent,  but  Alexander 
saw  him  the  next  minute  making 
signals  to  him  to  put  more  fire  and 
determination  into  his  amorous  pro- 
posals. 

Before  he  could  execute  these  in- 
structions, a  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece  struck  three. 

The  actress  started,  and  literally 
bundled  father  and  son  out  of  the 
house,  for  in  those  day  plays  began  at 
five  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Oldfield,  however,  invited 
them  to  sup  with  her,  conditionally  ; 
if  she  was  not  defeated  in  "  The  Rival 
Queens."  "  If  I  am,"  said  she,  "it 
will  be  your  interest  to  keep  out  of  my 
way  ;  for  of  course  I  shall  attribute  it 
to  the  interruptions  and  distractions 
of  this  morning." 

She  said  this  with  an  arch,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  rather  wicked  look, 
and  Alexander's  face  burned  in  a 
moment. 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  he,  "  I  should  be 
miserable  for  life." 

"  Should  you  1  "  said  Anne. 

"  You  know  I  must." 

"  Well  then  "  (and  a  single  gleam 
of  lightning  shot  from  her  eyes),  "I 
must  not  be  defeated." 


At  five  o'clock,  the  theatre  was 
packed  to  the  ceiling,  and  the  curtain 
rose  upon  "  The  Rival  Queens,"  about 
which  play  much  nonsense  has  been 
talked.  It  is  true,  there  is  bombast  in 
it,  and  one  or  two  speeches  that 
smack  of  Bedlam ;  but  there  is  not 
more  bombast  than  in  other  plays  of 
the  epoch,  and  there  is  ten  times  as 
much  fire.  The  play  has  also  some 
excellent  turns  of  language  and  some 
great  strokes  of  nature  ;  in  particular 
the  representation  of  two  different  na- 
tures agitated  to  the   utmost  by  the 


same    passion,    jealousy,   is    full  of 
genius. 

"  The  Rival  Queens  "  is  a  play  for 
the  stage,  not  the  closet.  Its  author 
was  a  great  reader,  and  the  actors 
who  had  the  benefit  of  his  reading 
charmed  the  public  in  all  the  parts, 
but  in  process  of  time  actors  arose 
who  had  not  that  advantage,  and 
"  Alexander  the  Great "  became  too 
much  for  them.  They  could  not 
carry  off  his  smoke,  or  burn  with  his 
fire.  The  female  characters,  however, 
retained  their  popularity  for  many 
years  after  the  death  of  the  author, 
and  of  Betterton,  the  first  "  Alexan- 
der." They  are  the  two  most  equal 
female  characters  that  exist  in  tragedy. 
Slight  preference  is  commonly  given 
by  actors  to  the  part  of  "  Roxana  "  ; 
but  when  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  selected 
that  part,  Mrs.  Oldiield  took  "  Sta- 
tira "  with  perfect  complacency. 

The  theatre  was  full,  the  audience 
in  an  unusual  state  of  excitement. 

The  early  part  of  the  first  act  re- 
ceived but  little  attention.  At  length 
Statira  glided  on  the  scene.  She  was 
greeted  with  considerable  applause; 
in  answer  to  which,  she  did  not  duck 
and  grin,  according  to  rule,  but, 
sweeping  a  rapid,  yet  dignified  courte- 
sy, she  barely  indicated  her  acknowl- 
edgments, remaining  Statira. 

"  Give   me   a  knife,  a  draught   of   poison, 
flames  ! 
Swell,  heart !  break,  break,  thou  stubborn 
thing  !  " 

Her  predecessors  had  always  been 
violent  in  this  scene.  Mrs.  Oldfield 
made  distress  its  prominent  sentiment. 
The  critics  thought  her  too  quiet,  but 
she  stole  upon  the  hearts  of  the  audi- 
ence, and  enlisted  their  sympathy  on 
her  side  before  the  close  of  the  act. 

Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  who  stood  at  the 
wing  during  the  scene,  turned  round 
to  her  toady,  and  said,  shrugging  her 
shoulders  :  "  O,  if  that  is  all  the  lady 
can  do ! " 

In  the  third  act  Mrs.  Bracegirdle 
made  her  entree  with  great  spirit, 
speaking,  as  she  came  on,  the  line, 

'*  0,  you  have  ruined  me  !  I  shall  be  mad  !  " 


ART:    A   DRAMATIC   TALE. 


2C3 


She  was  received  with  great  ap- 
plause, on  which  she  instantly 
dropped  Roxana,  and  became  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,  all  wreathed  in  smiles  ; 
the  applause  being  ended,  she  returned 
to  Roxana  as  quickly  as  it  is  possible 
to  do  after  such  a  deviation.  She 
played  the  scene  with  immense  spirit 
and  tire,  and  the  applause  was  much 
greater  than  Statira  had  obtained  in 
the  first  act. 

Applause  is  the  actor's  test  of  suc- 
cess. 

The  two  queens  now  came  into 
collision,  and  their  dialogue  is  so 
dramatic,  that  I  hope  I  may  be  ex- 
cased  for  quoting  it,  with  all  its 
faults :  — 


Roxana.    Madam,  I  hope  you  will  a  queen 

forgive ; 
Roxana  weeps  to  see  Statira  grieve  ; 
How  noble  is  the  brave  resolve  you  make, 
Tu  quit  the  world  for  Alexander's  sake  ! 
Vast  is  your  mind,  you  dare  thus  greatly  die, 
And  yield  the  king  to  one  so  mean  as  I  ; 
'T  is  a  revenge  will  make  the  victor  smart, 
And  much  I  fear  your  death  will  break  his 

heart. 
Statira.    You    counterfeit,    I    fear,    and 

know  too  well 
How  much  your  eyes  all  beauties  else  excel  : 
Roxana,  who,  though  not  a  princess  born, 
In  chains   could    make    the    mighty   victor 

mourn. 
Forgetting  power  when  wine  had  made  him 

warm, 
And   senseless,  yet  even  then   you  knew  to 

charm  : 
l'reserve  him  by  those  arts  that  cannot  fail, 
While  I  the  loss  of  what  I  love  bewail. 

Roxana.     I  hope  your   majesty  will  give 

me  leave 
To  wait  you  to  the  grove,  where  you  would 

grieve  ; 
Where,  like  the  turtle,  you  the  loss  will  moan 
Of  that  dear  mate,  and  murmur  all  alone. 
Statira.     No,    proud    triumpher   o'er  my 

falling  state, 
Thou  shall  not  stay  to  fill  me  with  my  fate  •, 
(io  to  the  conquest  which  your  wiles  may  boast, 
And  tell  the  world  you  left  Slatira  lost. 

Oo  seize  my  faithless  Alexander's  hand, 
Both  hand  and  heart  were  once  at  my  com- 
mand ; 
Grasp  his   loved   neck,  die   on  his   fragrant 

breast, 
Love  him  like  me  whose   love  can't  be  ex- 
pressed. 
He  must  be  happy,  and  you  more  than  blest, 
While  I  in  darkness  hide  me  from  the  day, 

Thai  With  my  mind  T  may  bis  form  BUrvejT, 
And  think  so  long,  till  1  think  lift  away. 


Roxana.    No,  sickly  virtue,  no, 
Thou  shalt  not  think,  nor  thy  love's  loss  be- 
moan, 
Nor  shall  past  pleasures  through  thy  fancy 

run  ; 
That  were  to  make  thee  blest  as  I  can  be  ; 
But  thy  no-thought  1  must,  I  will  decree  ; 
As  thus,  1  '11  torture  thee  till  thou  art  mad. 
And  then  no  thought  to  purpose  can  be  had. 
Statira.    How    frail,    how    cowardly,    is 

woman's  mind  ! 
We  shriek   at  thunder,  dread  the  rustling 

wind, 
And  glittering  swords  the  brightest  eyes"  will 

blind  ; 
Yet  when  strong  jealousy  inflames  the  soul, 
The  weak  will  roar,  and  calms  to  tempests 

roll. 
Rival,   take  heed,   and   tempt   me    not    too 

far; 
My  blood   may  boil,  and   blushes  show    a 

war. 
Roxana.     When  you   retire  to  your  ro- 
mantic cell, 
I  '11  make  thy  solitary  mansion  hell ! 
Thou  shalt  not  rest   by   day,   nor  sleep  by 

night, 
But  still  Boxana  shall  thy  spirit  fright ; 
Wanton  in  dreams  if   thou  dar'st  dream  of 

bliss, 
Thy  roving  ghost  may  think  to  steal  a  kiss  ; 
But  when  to  his  sought  bed  thy  wandering 

air 
Shall  for  the  happiness  it  wished  repair, 
How  will  il  groan  to  find  thy  rival  there  f 
How  ghastly  wilt  thou  look  when  thou  shalt 

see, 
Through  the  drawn  curtains,  that  great  man 

and  me, 
Wearied  with  laughing  joys  shot  to  the  soul, 
While  thou  shalt  grinning  stand,  and  gnash 

thy  teeth,  and  howl  '. 
Statira.     0  barbarous  rage  !  my   tears   I 

cannot  keep, 
But  my  full  eyes  in  spite  of  me  will  weep. 
Roxana.    The  king  and  I  in  various  pic- 
tures drawn, 
Clasping  each  other,  shaded  o'er  with  lawn, 
Shall  be  the  dally  presents  1  will  send, 
To  help  thy  sorrow  to  her  journey's  end  : 
And  when    we  hear  at  last  thy  hour  draws 

nigh, 
My  Alexander,  my  dear  love,  and  I, 
Will  come  and  hasten  on  thy  lingering  fates, 
And  smile  and  kiss  thy  soul  out  through  the 

grates. 
Statira.     "T  is   well,  I   thank  thee  ;   thou 

hast  waked  a  rage, 
Whoso  boiling  now  no  temper  can  assuage  ; 
I  meet  thy  tides  of  jealousy  with  more, 
Dare  thee  to  duel,  and   dash   thee   o'er  and 

o'er. 
Rarima.     What  would  you  dare  ? 
Statira,      Whatever  you  dare  do, 
.My  warring  thoughts  the  bloodiest  tracts  pur* 

BUG  ; 
I    iin  hy  love  a  fury  made,  like  you  ; 
Kill  or  be  killed,  thus  acted  by  despair- 


2G4 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


Roxana.    Sure  the  disdained  Statira  does 

not  dare  '. 
Statira.     Yes,  towering  proud  Roxana,  but 

I  dare. 
Roxana.    I  tower  indeed  o"er  thee  •, 
Like  a  fair  wood,  the  shade  of  kings  I  stand, 
"While   thou,  sick  weed,  dost  but   infest  the 

land. 
Statira-     No,  like  an  ivy  I  will  curl  thee 

round, 
Thy  sapless  trunk  of  all  its  pride  confound, 
Then,  dry   and   withered,  bend   thee   to   the 

ground. 
"What  Sysigambis'  threats,  objected  fears, 
My  sister's  sighs,  and  Alexander's  tears, 
Could  not  effect,  thy  rival  rage  has  done  ; 
My  soul,  whose  start  at  breach  of  oaths  be- 
gun, 
Sli all  to  thy  ruin  violated  run. 
I  '11  see  the  king  in  spite  of  all  I  swore, 
Though  cursed,  that  thou  mayst  never  see 

him  more. 

In  this  female  duel  Statira  appeared 
to  great  advantage.  She  exhibited 
the  more  feminine  character  of  the 
two.  The  marked  variety  of  senti- 
ment she  threw  into  each  speech  con- 
trasted favorably  with  the  other's 
somewhat  vixenish  monotony ;  and 
every  now  and  then  she  gave  out  vol- 
canic flashes  of  great  power,  all  the 
more  effective  for  the  artful  reserve 
she  had  hitherto  made  of  her  physical 
resources.  The  effect  was  electrical 
when  she,  the  tender  woman,  sudden- 
ly wheeled  upon  her  opponent  with 
the  words,  "  Rival,  take  heed,"  etc. 
And  now  came  the  climax ;  now  it 
was  that  Mrs.  Braccgirdle  paid  for 
her  temporary  success.  She  had  gone 
to  the  end  of  her  tether  long  ago,  but 
her  antagonist  had  been  working  on 
the  great  principle  of  Art,  —  Climax. 
She  now  put  forth  the  strength  she 
had  economized  ;  at  each  speech  she 
rose  and  swelled  higher,  and  higher, 
and  higher.  Her  frame  dilated,  her 
voice  thundered,  her  eyes  lightened, 
and  she  swept  the  audience  with  her 
in  the  hurricane  of  her  passion. 
There  was  a  moment's  dead  silence, 
and  then  the  whole  theatre  burst  into 
acclamations,  which  were  renewed 
again  and  again  ere  the  play  was  suf- 
fered to  proceed.  At  the  close  of  the 
scene  Statira  had  overwhelmed  Rox- 
ana; and,  as  here  she  had  electrified 
the   audience,   so   in   the  concluding 


passage  of  the  play  she  melted  them 
to  tears,  —  the  piteous  anguish  of  her 
regret  at  being  separated  by  death 
from  her  lover ;  — 

"What,  must  I  lose  my  life,  my   lord,  for- 
ever? " 

And  then  her  pitying  tenderness 
for  his  sorrow  ;  and  then  her  prayer 
to  him  to  live;  and,  last,  that  exqui- 
site touch  of  woman's  love,  more  an- 
gelic than  man's,  — 

"  Spare  Roxana's  life  ; 
"  'T  was  love  of  you  that  caused  her  give  me 
death  "  ; 

and  her  death,  with  no  thought  but 
love,  love,  love,  upon  her  lips  ;  —  all 
this  was  rendered  so  tenderly  and  so 
divinely,  that  no  heart  was  untouched, 
and  few  eyes  were  dry  now  in  the 
crowded  theatre.  Statira  died ;  the 
other  figures  remained  upon  the 
stage,  but  to  the  spectators  the  play 
was  over ;  and  when  the  curtain  fell 
there  was  but  one  cry,  "  Oldfield  !  " 
"  Oldfield  !  " 

In  those  days  people  conceived 
opinions  of  their  own  in  matters  dra- 
matic, and  expressed  them  then  and 
there.  Roma  locuta  est,  and  Nance 
Oldfield  walked  into  her  dressing- 
room  the  queen  of  the  English  stage. 

Two  figures  in  the  pit  had  watched 
this  singular  battle  with  thrilling  in- 
terest. Alexander  sympathized  al- 
ternately with  the  actress  as  well  as 
the  queen.  Nathan,  to  tell  the  truth, 
after  hanging  his  head  most  .sheep- 
ishly for  the  first  five  minutes,  yield- 
ed wholly  to  the  illusion  of  the  stage, 
and  was  "  transported  out  of  this  ig- 
norant present  "  altogether  ;  to  him 
Roxana  and  Statira  were  bona  fide 
queens,  women,  and  rivals.  The 
Oldworthys  were  seated  in  Critics' 
Row ;  and  after  a  while,  Nathan's  en- 
thusiasm and  excitement  disturbed 
old  gentlemen  who  came  to  judge 
two  actresses,  not  to  drink  poetry  all 
alive  O. 

His  neighbors  proposed  to  eject 
Nathan ;  the  said  Nathan  on  this 
gave  them  a  catalogue  of  actions,  any 
one  of  which,  he  said,  would  re-estab- 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC   TALE. 


205 


lish  his  constitutional  rights,  and 
give  him  his  remedy  in  the  shape  of 
damages  ;  lie  wound  up  with  letting 
them  know  he  was  an  attorney  at  law. 
On  this  they  abandoned  the  idea  of 
meddling  with  him  as  hastily  as  boys 
drop  the  baked  half-pence  in  a  scram- 
ble provided  by  their  philanthropieal 
seniors.  So  now  Mrs.  Oldfield  was 
queen  of  the  stage,  and  Alexander 
had  access  to  her  as  her  admirer,  and 
Nathan  had  a  long  private  talk  with 
her,  and  then  with  some  misgivings 
went  down  to  Coventry. 

A  story  ought  to  end  with  a  mar- 
riage :  ought  it  not  ?  Well,  this  one 
does  not,  because  there  are  reasons 
that  compel  the  author  to  tell  the 
truth.  The  poet  did  not  marry  the 
actress,  and  beget  tragedies  and  com- 
edies. Love  does  not  always  end  in 
marriage,  even  behind  the  scenes  of  a 
theatre.  But  it  led  to  a  result,  the 
value  of  which  my  old  readers  know, 
and  my  young  ones  will  learn,  —  it 
led  to  a  very  tender  and  lifelong 
friendship.  And  O,  how  few  out  of 
the  great  aggregate  of  love  affairs 
bail  to  so  high,  or  so  good,  or  so  af- 
fectionate a  permanency  as  is  a  ten- 
der friendship ! 

One  afternoon  Mrs.  Oldfield  wrote 
rather  a  long  letter  thus  addressed  in 
the  fashion  of  the  day  :  — 

To  Mr.  Nathan  Oldworthy, 
Attorney  at  Law, 
In  the  Town  of  Coventry, 

At  his  house  therein  the  .Market  Street. 
This,  with  all  despatch. 

Nathan  read  it,  and  said,  "God 
forgive  me  for  thinking  ill  of  any 
people,  because  of  their  business!" 

anil  his  eye-,  filled. 

Tin-  letter  described  to  Nathan  an 

interview  the  actress  had  with  Al- 
exander. That  interview  (several 
months  after  our  tale)  was  a  lonjx, 
and,  at  some  moments,  a  distressing 
one,  especially  to  poor  Alexander; 
but  it  had  been  long  meditated,  and 
was  firmlj  carried  onl  ;  in  thai  inter- 
view this  generous  woman  conferred 
one  of  the  greatest  benefactions  on 
12 


Alexander  one  human  being  can 
hope  to  confer  on  another.  She  per- 
suaded a  Dramatic  Author  to  turn 
Attorney.  He  was  very  reluctant 
then  ;  and  very  grateful  afterwards. 
These  two  wefe  never  to  one  another 
as  though  all  had  never  been.  They 
were  friends  as  long  as  they  were  on 
earth  together.  This  was  not  so  very 
long.  Alexander  lived  to  eighty-six ; 
but  the  great  Oldfield  died  at  forty- 
seven.  Whilst  she  lived,  she  always 
consulted  her  Alexander  in  all  diffi- 
culties. One  day  she  sent  for  him ; 
and  he  came  sadly  to  her  bedside ;  it 
was  to  make  her  will.  He  was  sad- 
der than  she  was.  She  died.  She 
lav  in  state  like  a  royal  queen  ;  and 
noblemen  and  gentlemen  vied  to  hold 
her  pall  as  they  took  her  to  the  home 
she  had  earned  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey. Alexander,  faithful  to  the  last, 
carried  out  all  her  last  requests  ;  and 
he  tried,  poor  soul,  to  rescue  her 
Fame  from  the  cruel  fate  that  awaits 
the  great  artists  of  the  scene,  —  ob- 
livion. He  wrote  her  epitaph.  It  is 
first-rate  of  its  kind ;  and  priine  Latin 
for  once  in  a  way  :  — 

Hie  juxta  requiescit 

Tot  inter  Poetarum  laudata  nomina 

ANNA  OLDFIELD. 

Nee  ipsa  minore  laude  digna. 

Nunquain  internum  idem  ad  partes 

diverBissimas  nobllius  luit. 

Ita  tamen  ut  ad  singulas 

non  facta  Bed  Data  esse  videretur. 

In  Trageediis 

Formaj  splendor,  oris  Uignitas,  incessus 

maji'stas, 

Tanta  vocis  BUavitate  temperabantur 

Ut  nemo  esset  tam  agrestis  tarn  durus 

spectator. 
Quin  in  admiratiotum  totus  raperetur. 
In  Comcedia  autem 
Tanta  vis,  tam  venusta  liilaritas, 

Tam  curiOBB  felicitas, 
Ut  Deque  Bufficerent  spectando  ocull, 
Neque  plaudeudo  uaanus. 

There,  brother,  T  have  dune  what  I 
can  for  your  sweetheart,  and  I  have 
reprinted  your  Epitaph,  after  one 
hundred  years. 

But  neither  you  nor  I,  nor  all  our 
pens,  can  fight  against  the  laws  that 
rule  the  Arts.  Each  of  the  great 
Arts    fails    in    something,   is   unap- 


266 


ART:    A  DRAMATIC  TALE. 


proachably  great  in  others  (of  that 
anon).  The  great  Artists  of  the 
Scene  are  paid  in  cash  ;  tliey  cannot 
draw  bills  at  fifty  years'  date. 

They  are  meteors  that  blaze  in  the 
world's  eye,  —  and  vanish. 

We  are  farthing  candles  that  cast 
a  gleam  all  around  four  yards  square, 
for  hours  and  hours. 

Alexander  lived  a  life  of  business, 
honest,  honorable,  and  graceful  too; 
for  the  true  poetic  feeling  is  ineradi- 
cable ;  it  colors  a  man's  life,  —  is 
not  colored  by  it.  And  when  he  had 
reached  a  great  old  age,  it  befell  that 
Alexander's  sight  grew  dim,  and  his 
spirit  was  weary  of  the  great  city, 
and  his  memory  grew  weak,  and  he 
forgot  parchments,  and  dates,  and  re- 
ports, and  he  began  to  remember,  as 
though  it  was  yesterday,  the  pleasant 


fields,  where  he  had  played  among 
the  lambs  and  the  buttercups  in  the 
morning  of  his  days.  And  the  old 
man  said  calmly,  "  Vixi  !  There- 
fore now  1  will  go  down,  and  see 
once  more  those  pleasant  fields ;  and 
I  will  sit  in  the  sun  a  little  while ; 
and  then  I  will  lie  beside  my  father 
in  the  old  churchyard."  And  he  did 
so.  It  is  near  a  hundred  years  ago 
now. 

So  Anne  Oldfield  sleeps  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  near  the  poets  whose 
thoughts  took  treble  glory  from  her, 
while  she  adorned  the  world.  And 
Alexander  Oldworthy  lies  humbly 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  great  old 
lofty  spire  in  the  town  of  Coventry. 

Requiescant  in  pace  ! 

"  And  all  Christian  souls,  I  pray 
Heaven." 


PROPRIA    QUiE    MARIBUS. 


A    JEU    D'ESPKIX. 


NOTE, 

This  jeu  d'esprit  was  written  some  years  ago,  before  the  Author  was  so  for- 
tunate as  to  establish  friendly  relations  with  American  Publishers,  and,  may 
he  venture  to  say  ?  with  the  American  Public     He  has  a  reason  for  wishing 

this  to  be  known. 

C.  R. 

Losdos,  September,  1857. 


PROPRIA    QUiE   MARIBUS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

JOHN  COURTENAY  was  the  son 
of  Richard  Courtenay.  Richard 
was  the  younger  son  of  a  good  Devon- 
shire family  :  his  elder  brother  inher- 
ited four  thousand  a  year,  —  he  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  down,  from  the  same 
relative,  his  father,  —  vive  V Angleterre ! 

His  fifteen  hundred  pounds  would  n't 
do  in  a  genteel  country  like  England  : 
so  he  went  to  America  and  commerce. 
He  died  richer  than  the  owner  of 
Courtenay  Court. 

John,  Ins  son,  was  richer  still  by 
the  same  honorable  means. 

He  was  also  a  stanch  republican  : 
the  unparalleled  rise  and  grandeur  of 
the  United  States  might  well  recom- 
mend their  institutions  to  any  candid 
mind  ;  and  John  Courtenay  spent  his 
leisare  moments  in  taking  the  gloss 
off  John  Hull's  hide  :  he  was  not  so 
spiteful  against  him  as  some  of  those 
gentry  who  owe  their  cleverness  to 
themselves,  but  their  existence  to 
Hull,  and  forget  it :  his  line  was  rath- 
er cool  contempt  ;  the  old  country  was 
worn  out  and  decayed  :  progressing 
like  a  crab  instead  of  going  ahead, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

For  all  this,  one  fine  dnv  something 
seemed  to  crack  inside  John  Courte- 
nay's  bosom,  when  he  saw  an  an- 
nouncement from  the  modest  pen  of 
Rohins  that  Courtenay  Court  was  in 
the  market. 

He  did  not  think  such  an  adver- 
tise men  t   would    have  interested  him 

air.   more  than  Consols  '.)f>  and  a  half, 
—  lint  it  did. 


This  gentleman  was  at  the  moment 
working  a  loan  at  5  per  cent  with 
Kentucky,  and  he  had  promised  him- 
self to  be  in  it  to  the  tune  of  £  50,000 ; 
but  all  this  day  he  took  more  snuff 
than  was  good  for  him,  and  the  next 
day,  after  breakfast  and  a  revery,  he 
suddenly  burst  out,  "  Pshaw !  the  worst 
investment,  in  the  worst  country;  a 
sinking  interest  in  a  sinking  kingdom." 

"  Papa ! "  said  a  musical  voice, 
"  your  paying  me  no  attention  will,  I 
fear,  end  in  your  being  worried." 

This  worrying  meant  a  certain  vio- 
lent system  of  kissing,  with  which  the 
speaker  used  to  fall  upon  John  Courte- 
nay when  he  was  very  good,  or  very 
bad :  she  used  it  indifferently  as  a  re- 
ward or  punishment. 

This  time,  to  her  surprise,  the  old 
gentleman  answered  her  smiling  threat 
by  opening  his  arms  in  a  minute,  and 
saying,  "My  child  !  " 

In  another  moment  Caroline  Courte- 
nay was  in  his  arms  ;  he  pressed  his 
lips  to  her  brow  and  said,  "  I  will  do 
it !  I  will  do  it  !  " 

"  What  will  you  do,  papa?  " 

"  That  is  my  business,  I  reckon," 
said  he,  recovering  the  statesman  and 
man  of  business  with  rather  a  brusque 
reaction  :  and  off  he  bustled  to  Wall 
Street,  "  where  merchants  most  do 
congregate."     Shakespeare  hem ! 

Caroline  stood  irresolute  and  had  a 
mind  to  whimper.  She  thought  her 
affection  had  been  for  once  half  re- 
pulsed. 

Caroline!  doubt  anything  —  every- 
thing—  but  a  parent's  love  for  his 
only  child. 


272 


PKOPBIA   QILE   MAEIBUS. 


CHAPTER  IL 

In  three  weeks  after  this  the  ham- 
mer came  to  Courtenay  Court;  and 
that  hammer  was  wielded  (I  use 
the  term  he  would  have  selected) 
by  the  St.  George  of  the  auction- 
room. 

Need  I  say  the  wood  and  water  of 
the  estate  had  previously  been  painted 
in  language  as  flowing  as  the  one  and 
as  exuberant  as  the  foliage  of  the 
other  ? 

In  the  large  hall  were  two  fire- 
places, where  piles  of  beech  log  blazed 
and  crackled. 

Mr.  Robins  made  his  bow  and  up 
went  Courtenay  Court,  manor,  and 
lordship,  in  a  single  lot. 

There  were  present,  besides  farmers, 
some  forty  country  gentlemen,  many 
of  whom  looked  business  :  they  had 
not  examined  their  own  horizon,  as 
John  Courtenay,  merchant,  had. 
Land  was  in  vogue  with  them. 

I  don't  wonder  at  it.  Certainly  a 
landed  estate  is  "  an  animal  with  its 
mouth  always  open."  But  compare 
the  physical  perception  and  enjoyment 
of  landed  wealth  with  that  of  consols 
and  securities. 

Can  I  get  me  rosy  cheeks,  health, 
and  good-humor  riding  up  and  down 
my  Peruvian  bonds  ?  can  I  go  out 
shooting  upon  my  parchment,  or  in 
summer  sit  under  the  shadow  of  my 
mortgage  deed  and  bob  for  commas 
and  troll  for  semicolons  in  my  river  of 
ink  that  meanders  through  my  mead- 
ow of  sheepskin  ? 

Wherefore  I  really  think  land  will 
always  tempt  even  the  knowing  ones, 
until  some  vital  change  shall  take 
place  in  society  ;  for  instance,  till  the 
globe  makes  its  exit  in  smoke,  and 
the  blue  curtain  comes  down  on  the 
creation. 

Three  or  four  gentlemen  held  the 
bidding  up  till  about  thirty  thousand 
pounds  ;  it  then  became  flat. 

And  now  one  Adam  Eaves,  a  farm- 
er, pushed  sheepishly  forward,  made 
an  advance  on  the  bidding,  and  looked 
ashamed. 


Why  lookest  thou  ashamed,  O  yeo- 
man, Bulwark  of  our  Isle  1 

This  is  why  1  Adam  Eaves  farmed 
two  farms  ;  and  he  had  for  three  years 
been  praying  both  his  landlords  for 
decrease  of  rent,  upon  grounds  that 
nowise  tallied  with  his  little  offer  of 
thirty  thousand  one  hundred  pounds 
down  on  the  nail  for  Courtenay  Man- 
or; and  therefore  looked  he  ashamed, 
the  simple-minded  yeoman,  Bulwark 
of  our  Isle. 

Joshua  Tanner,  linen-draper  in  the 
market-town,  he  whose  cry  for  ten 
years  had  been  the  decay  of  retail 
trade,  was  so  surprised  at  this,  that, 
thrown  off  his  guard,  he  bid  an  hun- 
dred more ;  hut,  the  mask  once  thrown 
off,  he  blushed  not,  but  sprinkled  in- 
sulting arrogance  on  all  around. 

Both  these  worthies,  who,  unlike  us 
writers,  had  for  years  announced 
themselves  beneath  their  true  value, 
gave  way  to  heavier  metal,  and  the 
estate  began  to  reach  its  real  worth  ; 
it  was  at  £  38,000. 

There  was  a  pause.  St.  George 
looked  jocose,  and  felt  uneasy.  Were 
they  running  cunning  like  their  own. 
hounds,  these  south  country  gentle- 
men 1 

He  now  looked  carefully  all  round 
the  room :  a  long,  attenuated  figure 
with  a  broad-brimmed  hat  on,  stand- 
ing by  a  distant  window,  met  his  eye, 
and,  as  if  to  oblige  him,  now  for  the 
first  time  made  a  cool,  nonchalant 
bid  by  nodding  his  head  ;  round  went 
all  the  company  on  their  heels  with 
their  backs  to  the  auctioneer,  as  when, 
in  the  last  row  of  the  Pit,  two  person- 
ages of  this  our  day  go  to  fisticuffs,  I 
have  seen  the  audience  turn  its  hack 
on  the  quarrel  of  Brutus  and  Cassius, 
or  Melantius  and  Amyntor. 

Forty  two,  three,  four  thousand  were 
reached  ;  two  country  gentlemen  bid- 
ders turned  red  and  white,  —  the  pin 
bid  on,  rythmically,  at  measured  in- 
tervals, like  a  chaff-cutting  machine, 
unconscious  of  opposition,  indifferent 
to  result. 

The  estate  was  now  at  thirty  years 
purchase ;  a  hum  that  went  round  tho 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIBUS. 


273 


room  announced  this  fact  without  a 
word  spoken.  All  the  hounds  had 
tailed  off  but  one.  He  went  on  ;  the 
two  bidders  were  strangely  contrast- 
ed ;  it  seemed  odd  they  could  both 
want  the  same  thing.  In  shape  one 
was  like  a  pin ;  the  other  a  pin-cush- 
ion. 

Our  friend  at  the  window  was  all 
one  color,  like  wash-leather,  or  an  act- 
or by  daylight  ;  the  other,  with  his 
head  of  white  hair  as  thick  as  a  boy's, 
and  his  red  brown  cheeks,  and  his 
bright  eye,  reflected  comfort  as  bright- 
ly as  Hampton  Court  with  its  red 
brick  and  white  facings,  and  cheered 
the  eye  like  old  Sun  and  old  Frost  bat- 
tling for  a  December  day. 

At  last  the  thin  and  sallow  person- 
age uttered  these  words  :  "  Forty- sev- 
en thousand  pounds  !  "  in  a  nasal 
twang,  that  seemed  absurdly  unjust 
to  the  grand  ideas  such  words  excite 
in  elegant  minds  conscious  how  many 
refined  pleasures  can  be  had  for 
£47,000. 

His  antagonist's  head  sunk  for  a 
moment. 

lie  sighed,  and,  instead  of  bidding 
higher,  or  holding  his  tongue,  the  two 
business  alternatives  open  to  him,  he 
said,  "  Then  it  will  never  be  mine!  " 

He  said  this  so  simply,  yet  with  so 
much  pain,  that  some  of  those  good 
souls,  who,  unless  they  have  two  days 
to  think  it  over  with  their  wives  or 
sisters,  arc  sure  to  take  the  pathetic 
for  the  ludicrous,  horse-laughed  at 
him. 

He  turned  away.  Mr.  Robins  did 
not  waste  a  second  in  idle  flourishes  ; 
"  When  a  tiling  is  settled,  end  it," 
thought  he  ;  he  knocked  the  lot  down 
now  as  lie  would  a  china  teapot  in  a 
sale  of  200  lots, — and  the  old  oaks 
of  Courtenay  bowed  their  heads  to  a 
Yankee  merchant. 

The  buyer  stepped  up  to  the  auc- 
tioneer. 

Mr.  Ralph  Seymour,  the  last  bid- 
der, made  for  the  door  :  at  the  door 
he  buttoned    with  difficulty  Ms  coat 

over  his  breast,  for  his  heart  was 
swelling  and    Ins  eye  glistened,  —  it 

l  •_•  • 


was  a  bitter  disappointment,  —  we 
who  live  in  towns  can  hardly  think 
how  bitter.  Such  sales  do  not  come 
every  day  in  the  country  :  his  estate 
marched  for  a  mile  and  a  half  with 
the  Courtenays.  He  had  counted  on 
no  competition  but  that  of  his  neigh- 
bors :  he  had  bought  it  from  them : 
but  a  man  who  happened  to  want  an 
estate  had  come  from  Loudon,  or,  as 
it  was  now  whispered,  from  New  York. 
Any  other  estate  would  have  suited 
him  as  well,  but  he  would  have  this. 

Poor  old  gentleman  !  He  had  told 
Mrs.  Seymour  she  should  walk  this 
evening  under  the  great  birch-trees 
of  the  Courtenays,  —  and  they  be 
hers  ! 

They  had  been  married  40  years, 
and  he  had  never  broken  his  word  to 
her  before. 

The  auctioneer  read  the  buyer's 
card. 

"  Sold  to  Mr.  Jonathan  Sims," 
said  he,  responding  to  the  open  curi- 
osity of  the  company. 

"  Ugh  !  "  went  one  or  two  provin- 
cials, and  then  dead  silence. 

"Acting,"  continued  the  auction- 
eer, "  for  Mr.  John  Courtenay  of  New 
York." 

There  was  a  pause,  —  a  hurried 
buzz,  —  and  then,  to  Mr.  Sims's  sur- 
prise, a  thundering"  Hurrah  !  "  hurst 
out  that  made  the  rafters  ring  and  the 
windows  rattle. 

"  It  's  Master  Richard's  son," 
shouted  Adam  Eaves  ;  "  My  father  's 
ridden  many  's  the  time  with  Master 
Richard,  he  rode  the  mule,  and  father 
the  jenny-ass  after  Squire  Courte- 
nay 's  hounds,  hurra  in  !  " 

Omnes.    "  Hurraih  !  " 

The  thorough-bred  old  John  Bull 
at  the  door,  Mr.  Ralph  Seymour, 
seethed  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  rid 
of  some  bile  foreign  to  his  nature. 
In  three  strides  be  was  alongside 
Jonathan,  and  had  he  been  French 
it  was  plain  he  would  have  said  some- 
thing worth  repeating,  but  as  he  was 
only  English  he  grasped  Mr.  Simp's 
hand  like  a  vice,  and  — asked  him  to 

dinner  I 

K 


274 


PROPRIA   QILE  MARIBUS. 


That  is  the  English  idea,  —  you 
must  ask  a  gentleman  to  dinner,  and 
you  must  give  a  poor  man  a  day's 
work,  —  that  wins  him. 

John  Courtenay  came  home :  I 
coolly  omit  the  objections  he  took 
chemin  faisant  to  things  in  the  old 
country.  They  would  fill  a  volume 
with  just  remonstrance. 

He  came  to  his  own  lodge  gate,  — 
the  old  mau  who  opened  it  sung 
out :  — 

"  Oh  !  Master  John,  how  like  you 
be  to  Master  Richard,  sure///." 

Courtenay  was  astonished  ;  he 
found  this  old  boy  had  been  thinking 
of  him  all  that  way  off  for  sixty  years, 
ever  since  his  birth  transpired. 

The  old  housekeeper  welcomed  him 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

He  dined  in  a  room  enriched  with 
massive  old  carvings  ;  he  walked  after 
dinner  under  his  avenue  of  birches 
with  silver  stems  of  gigantic  thick- 
ness and  patriarchal  age.  The  house- 
keeper put  him  in  a  bed  his  father  had 
slept  in  when  a  boy. 

Soon  the  country  gentlemen  made 
acquaintance  with  him.  The  strong 
idea  of  distributive  justice  he  had 
brought  from  Commerce,  and  his 
business  habits,  caused  him  to  be  con- 
sulted and  valued. 

It  is  a  fact  that  after  some  months 
in  Devonshire  he  developed  a  trait  or 
two  of  Toryism  ;  but  they  could  not 
make  him  believe  that  nations  are 
the  property  of  Kings,  and  countries 
their  home  farms.  They  did  all  they 
could  think  of  to  corrupt  him.  They 
made  him  perforce  a  justice  of  the 
peace ;  he  remonstrated  and  pooh- 
poohed,  but  was  no  sooner  one  than 
he  infused  fresh  blood  into  the  with- 
ered veins  of  justice  in  his  district. 

He  became  a  referee  in  all  nice 
matters  of  rural  equity.  In  short  his 
neighbors  had  all  overcome  any  little 
prejudice,  and  had  learned  his  value 
when  —  they  lost  him.  His  time  was 
come  to  close  an  honorable  life  by  a 
peaceful  death. 

Short  as  had  been  his  career  among 
them,  the  whole  county  followed  him 


to  his  resting-place  among  the  Courto 
nays  in  Conyton  Church  vault. 

He  left  all  his  land  and  all  his 
money  by  will  to  his  daughter ;  to 
his  will  he  attached  a  paper  contain- 
ing some  requests. 

One  was  that  she  would  provide  for 
the  aged  housekeeper,  and  lodge-keep- 
er, who  knew  her  father  and  welcomed 
him  home,  —  he  called  it  home  !  But 
there  was  nothing  about  where  he 
wished  her  to  live :  he  did  not  de- 
cide the  great  little  question,  is  Amer- 
ica or  England  the  right  place  for  us 
globules  to  swell  and  burst  in  ? 

In  other  words,  when  he  wrote 
these  memoranda,  John  Courtenay 
was  dying,  and  thoughtless  about  the 
kingdom  whence  came  his  root,  or  the 
state  where  his  flowers  had  bloomed, 
than  of  a  country  he  had  learned  to 
look  towards  by  being  neither  Yankee 
nor  Briton  so  much  as  an  honest,  God- 
fearing man.  So  his  thoughts  were 
now  upon  a  land,  older  than  Little 
England,  broader  than  the  Great  Unit- 
ed States  ;  a  land  where  Americans 
and  English  are  brothers. 

And  I  warn  them,  and  all  men,  to 
be  brothers  here,  lest  they  never  see 
that  land. 

Caroline  Courtenay  remained  at 
New  York.  There  was  little  to  tempt 
her  to  leave  her  birthplace,  and  visit 
the  country  which  seemed  to  her  to 
have  robbed  her  of  her  father. 

It  happened,  however,  almost  three 
years  after  Mr.  Courtenay's  death, 
that  a  fresh  circumstance  changed  her 
feeling  in  that  respect. 

Young  Reginald  Seymour,  who  had 
come  to  see  the  States,  had  brought 
letters  of  introduction  to  her,  and  had 
prolonged  his  stay  from  a  fortnight 
to  eight  months  :  and  he  was  eloquent 
in  praise  of  Courtenay  Court,  arid  of 
his  father's  place  which  adjoined  it ; 
and  what  Reginald  praised  Caroline 
desired  to  see. 

Miss  Courtenay  combined  two  qual- 
ities which  are  generally  seen  in  op- 
position,—  beauty  and  wit.  On  her 
wit,  however,  she  had  latterly  cast 
some  doubt  by  a  trick  she  had  fallen 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIBCS. 


275 


into.  She  had  heen  detected  thinking 
for  herself,  —  ay,  more  than  once. 
This  came  of  being-  left  an  orphan, 
poor  thing  ;  she  had  no  one  to  warn 
her  day  by  day  against  this  habit, 
which  is  said  always  to  lead  her  sex 
into  trouble,  —  when  they  venture  up- 
on it :  luckdy  they  don't  do  it  very 
often. 

Wealth,  wit,  and  beauty,  meeting 
with  young  blood,  were  enough  to 
spoil  a  character  :  all  they  had  done 
in  this  case  was  to  give  her  a  more 
decided  one  than  most  young  ladies 
of  her  age  have,  or  could  carry  with- 
out spilling. 

It  so  happened  one  day  that  a  ques- 
tion much  agitated  in  parts  of  the 
United  States  occupied  a  semicircle 
of  ladies,  of  whom  Miss  Conrtenay 
was  one.  This  was  a  new  costume, 
introduced  by  a  highly  respectable 
lady,  the  editor  of  a  paper  called  the 
"  Lily,"  and  wife  of  a  lawyer  of  some 
eminence  at  Seneca  Falls. 

The  company  generally  were  very 
severe  on  this  costume,  and  proceeded 
upwards  from  the  pantalets  to  the 
morals  of  the  inventor,  which,  though 
approved  at  Seneca  by  simple  obser- 
vation, were  depreciated  at  New  York 
by  intelligent  inference. 

When  the  conversation  began,  Miss 
Conrtenay  looked  down  on  the  Bloom- 
er costume  with  supercilious  contempt. 

But  its  vitnperators  shook  her  opin- 
ion, by  a  very  simple  process,  —  they 
gave  their  reasons  !  !  !  ! 

"It  is  awkward  and  absurd,"  said 
one,  as  by  way  of  contrast  she  glided 
majestically  to  the  piano  to  sin^  :  as 
she  spoke  her  foot  went  through  her 
dress  to  the  surprise  of —  nobody. 

"It  is  highly  indelicate  to  expose 
any  portion  of  the — in  short  —  the, 
the,  the  —  ankle,"  continued  the  lady 
Beating  herself. 

"It  is!  Miss  Jemima,"  purred  a 
smooth,  deferential  gentleman,  look- 
ing over  her  ;  his  eve  dwelt  compla- 
cently on  two  snowy  hemispheres. 

A  little  extravagance  injures  a  good 
cause. 

At  last   Miss  Courtenay,  fired    by 


opposition  and  unreasonable  reasons, 
began  to  favor  the  general  theory  of 
Bloomer. 

Next  she  converted  several  friends  ; 
still  to  the  theory  only.  This  got 
wind,  and  a  general  attack  was  made 
on  her  by  her  well-wishers.  Their 
arguments  and  sneers  completed  the 
business  ;  and  she  was  bloomerized  at 
heart,  when  the  following  scene  took 
place  in  her  own  kitchen. 

Eliza  the  cook  was  making  pastry 
on  the  long  oak  table  ;  her  face  was 
redder  than  her  work  accounted  for. 

"  Well,  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Primmer, 
the  housekeeper,  "  your  tongue  won't 
stop  of  itself;  of  course  not;  so  I  '11 
stop  it." 

"Do, ma'am,"  suggested  Eliza,  with 
meek  incredulity. 

"  You  sha'  n't  wear  them  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Primmer. 

"  La',  ma'am,"  said  the  housemaid 
Angelina,  "  she  had  better  wear  them 
in  the  house  than  in  the  street  with 
two  hundred  boys  at  her  heels." 

"  That  is  not  my  meaning,"  an- 
swered Mrs.  Primmer.  "  I  hired  you 
for  a  female  cook,  and  the  moment 
you  put  on  —  things  that  don't  belong 
to  a  woman, — our  bargain's  broke, 
and  you  go." 

"  Well,  it  is  an  indelicate  dress,"  ob- 
served Angelina  :  then  turning  to  John 
Giles,  Eliza's  sweetheart,  who  was  eat- 
ing pork  at  the  dresser,  "don't  you 
think  so,  Mr.  Giles  ?  "  inquired  she, 
affectedly. 

"  I  does  ! "  said  Giles,  with  his 
mouth  full.  Giles  was  a  Briton  in  the 
suite  of  young  Seymour. 

"  Vulgar  !  "  suggested  Angelina. 

"And  no  mistake,"  said  Giles, — 
"  it  's  as  vulgar  as  be  blowed,"  added 
he,  clenching  the  nail  with  his  polished 
hammer. 

"  And  who  asked  your  opinion  1  " 
inquired  Eliza,  sharply. 

"  Angelina  1"  refilled  Giles,  —  Giles 
was  matter-of-fact. 

Eliza.  "  T  mean  to  wear  it  for  as  vul- 
gar as  't  i-." 

Giles.  "Then  you  had  better  look 
out  for  another  man."     (Applause.) 


276 


PROPRIA   QUJE  M AMBUS. 


Eliza.  "  O,  they  are  always  to  lie  had 
without  looking  out :  so  long  as  there  's 
pickled  pork  in  the  kitchen,  they  '11 
look  in." 

Angelina.  "  Well,  I  think  a  woman 
should  dress  to  gratify  the  men  "  (with 
an  osi/lade  at  Giles)  :  "not  to  imitate 
them." 

Eliza.  "  The  men  !  so  long  as  we 
sweep  the  streets  for  them  with  our 
skirts,  they  are  all  right.  You  talk  of 
delicacy  :  is  dirt  delicacy  ?  " 

On  this  she  whipped  off  a  chair  by 
thc  fire  a  gown  that  had  met  with  a 
misfortune  :  it  had  been  out  walking 
on  a  wet  day.  Eliza  put  it  viciously 
under  Angelina's  nose,  who  recoiled. 
An  accurate  description  of  it  would 
soil  these  pages. 

"  Is  that  pretty  1  "  continued  cook, 
"  to  carry  a  hundred-weight  of  muck 
wherever  you  go  1 " 

"  Dirt  can't  be  helped,"  retorted 
Primmer.     "  Indecency  can." 

"  Indecent  ?  "  cried  Eliza,  with  a 
face  like  scarlet.  "  Who  's  going  to  be 
indecent  in  this  kitchen  1  " 

"  The  gals,"  suggested  Angelina, 
"  who  wear  —  who  wear  —  " 

"  Small-clothes,"  put  in  Giles. 

A  grateful  glance  repaid  him  for  ex- 
tricating the  fair  from  a  conventional 
difficulty. 

"  What,  it 's  indecent  because  it 
shows  your  instep,  I  suppose.  You 
go  into  the  drawing-room  this  evening, 
and  the  young  ladies  shall  show  you 
more  than  ever  a  Bloomer  will.  '  Wo- 
men's delicacy  ' !  "  said  Eliza,  putting 
her  hand  under  the  paste  and  bringing 
it  down  on  the  reverse  with  a  whack. 
"  Gammon !  Fashion  is  what  we  care 
for,  not  delicacy.  If  it  was  the  fash- 
ion to  tie  our  right  foot  to  our  left  ear, 
wouldn't  you  do  it1?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Angelina,  with  her  lit- 
tle hesitation. 

"  Then  I  would  !  "  cried  Eliza,  sac- 
rificing herself  to  her  argument. 
"  What  did  they  wear  last  year,"  con- 
tinued this  orator.  "  Eh  1  answer  me 
that  whisking  to  and  fro  as  they 
walked  and  drawiilg  everybody's  atten- 
tion." 


In  speaking,  Eliza  was  worse  than 
I  am  in  writing,  she  never  punctuated 
at  all. 

"  So  you  mean  to  wear  them  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Primmer,  coming  back 
from  the  argument  to  the  point. 

Eliza.    "  Yes,  I  do  ! " 

Observe  !  at  the  beginning  of  the 
argument  she  had  no  such  intention. 

Mrs.  Primmer.    "  Then  I  give  you 
a  month's  warning,  here  (and  now),  • 
Eliza  Staunton  !  " 

Eliza.  "  And  I  won't  take  it  from 
you  Mrs.  Primmer." 

Mrs  Primmer.  "  Who  will  you  take 
it  from  then  1 " 

Eliza.    "  The  mistress  or  nobody." 

Angelina.  "  La  !  Lisa  !  You  know 
she  never  speaks  to  a  servant." 

Eliza.  "  She  speaks  to  Mrs.  Prim- 
mer, don't  she  1  " 

Mis.  Primmer.  "  Am  I  a  servant, 
hussy  1     Am  I  a  servant  ?  " 

Eliza.  "  Yes  !  you  are  ;  we  are  all 
servants  here  :  some  is  paid  for  doing 
the  work,  and  other  some  for  look" 
ing  on  and  interrupting  it  here  and 
there." 

Mrs.  Primmer  (gasping).  "Leave 
the  kitchen,  young  woman." 

Eliza.  "  The  kitchen  's  mine  and 
the  housekeeper's  room  is  yours  old 
woman." 

"  Go  to  the  mistress  and  tell  her  I 
want  to  come  and  speak  to  her !  " 
gasped  the  insulted  housekeeper,  de- 
prived of  motion  by  her  fury. 

Angelina  took  but  one  step  before 
Eliza  caught  her,  held  the  roller  high 
ahove  her  head,  and  saying,  "  If  you 
offer  to  go  there  I  '11  roll  ye  up  into 
my  paste,"  pushed  her  down  into  a 
chair,  where  she  roared  and  blub- 
bered. 

"  O  you  rude,  brutal-behaved  wo- 
man," cried  Primmer,  "  I  shall 
faint." 

Helps  have  an  insolence  all  their 
own  :  they  say  the  most  cutting  things 
with  a  tone  of  extra  sweetness  and 
courtesy,  that  has  the  effect  of  fire 
quenched  with  sweet  oil,  or  brandy 
softened  with  oil  of  vitriol. 

With    such    sweet    and   measured 


moPKIA  QUE  MAR1BUS. 


277 


tones  Eliza  said,  half  under  her  breath : 
"  Giles  !  you  go  —  into  the  house- 
keeper's room — and  look  behind  the 
door  —  and  you'll  find  the  biggest 
brandy  bottle  you  ever  did  see  :  Mrs. 
Primmer  wants  it ! ! !  !  !  " 

This  dry  little  speech  was  harts- 
horn :  some  spring  seemed  to  have 
been  pressed,  so  erect  bounced  Mrs. 
Primmer ! 

She  bustled  up  to  Eliza,  and,  with 
a  spite  that  threatened  annihilation, 
gave  her  an  infinitesimal  pat  on  the 
back  of  her  head,  and  retired  precipi- 
tately with  a  face  in  which  misgiving 
already  took  the  place  of  fury. 

Eliza  put  down  the  roller  quite  lei- 
surely, and  cleaned  her  lingers  slowly 
of  the  dough. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  you,"  said  she,  firm- 
ly, "  that  you  are  the  same  age  as  my 
mother,  or  down  vou  'd  go  on  those 
bricks.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  "  and 
down  went  she  on  a  chair  opposite 
Angelina,  and  her  apron  over  her 
head  :  for  these  women  who  are  go- 
ing to  tear  the  house  down  and  to 
stand  like  Mercury  on  the  debris  (in 
a  Bloomer),  with  a  finger  pointing  to 
truth  and  a  toe  to  futurity,  are  just 
two  shades  more  faint-hearted  at  bot- 
tom than  the  others. 

So  Eliza  and  Angelina  kept  up  the 
bawl  with  great  want  of  spirit,  burst- 
ing out  in  turns,  after  the  manner  of 
strophe  and  antistrophe, — 

"  Et  uluUirc  pares  et  rfespondcre  parata." 

Meantime  the  manofoneideaatatirae, 
Giles,  was  obeying  orders,  and  going 
after  the  bottle  specified  by  Elba,  and 
had  his  hand  on  the  door  of  the  house- 
keeper's room. 

"  Giles  !  "  screamed  the  proprietor  ! 
He  stood  petrified.  "  There  is  no 
such  thing  in  my  room,"  said  she, 
with  sudden  calmness. 

Giles  returned  to  the  dresser. 

The  present  scene  had  lately  re- 
ceived an  addition  that  made  it  per- 
fect,—  a  satirical   spectator. 

The  pantry  window  which  looked 
into  the  kitchen  was  opened  by  a  foot- 
man, whose  head  had  been  previously 


seen  bobbing  wildly  up  and  down  as 
he  cleaned  his  plate. 

This  footman  had  admired  Eliza, 
but,  outweighed  by  the  solid  virtues 
and  limbs  of  Giles,  was  furtively  look- 
ing out  for  a  chance  of  disturbing  the 
balance. 

Eliza  and  Angelina  were  now  sob- 
bing placidly. 

Mr.  Giles  stretched  his  legs  slowly 
out  before  him,  and  said  very  slowly, 
and  with  really  an  appearance  of  re- 
flection, "Now  all  this  here  —  bob- 
bery—  comes  from  a  woman — mak- 
ing up  her  mind  —  to  wear  —  the  — 
B—  ughahah  oh,  oh  !     Ugh  !  " 

Eliza  had  bounced  up  in  a  rage  and 
dabbed  the  paste  right  over  his  mouth, 
nose,  eyes,  face,  and  temples.  He 
should  have  spoken  quicker. 

It  was  nearly  his  death.  However, 
with  horrible  noises  and  distortions  he 
got  clear  of  it. 

The  footman  roared  with  laughter  : 
he  thought  he  never  had  seen  so  truly 
funny  a  thing  done  in  his  life,  —  none 
of  your  vulgar  jokes,  —  "  legitimate 
humor"  thought  John.  (Giles  bang 
my  rival.)  Turning  suddenly  grave 
he  said  :  — 

"  Well,  you  ai-e  drawing  it  mild,  you 
are, — here's  the  mistress  coming  to 
sec  who's  cat 's  dead."  So  saying 
he  slammed  the  window,  and  his  head 
went  bobbing  again  over  his  spoons. 

At  this  announcement  histrionics 
commenced.  "  Mrs.  Primmer,  mad- 
am," began  Eliza,  demurely,  with  a 
total  change  of  manner,  "I'm  sure 
ma'am  you  would  n't  take  away  a 
poor  girl's  place  that 's  three  thousand 
miles  away  from  home  —  all  for  a 
word  ma'am  !  " 

"  You  may  pack  up  your  box  Eliza 
for  you  won't  sleep  in  this  house," 
\va<  the  grim  answer. 

"O  Mrs.  Primmer,"  remonstrated 
Eliza,  tearfully,  "  if  you  have  no  heart 
for  poor  servants,  where  do  you  ex- 
pect to  gO  to  !  " 

"  I  shall  go  nowhere,"  replied  the 
dignitary,  "  1  shall  stay  here,  it  's  you 
that  shall  march."  Then,  hearing  a 
light   step    approach,    she  astonished 


278 


PROPRIA   QtLE   MAPJBUS. 


them  all  by  suddenly  rising  into  a  wild, 
sonorous  recitative. 

"  I  have  my  mistress's  confidence, 
and  will  deserve  it." 

Miss  Courtenay  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

Mrs.  Primmer's  game  was  not  to 
see  her.     She  intoned  a  little  louder. 

"  No  woman  shall  stay  a  day  in  this 
house." 

"  Well  I  never  !  "gasped  Angelina, 
looking  towards  the  door. 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  no  woman 
shall  stay  a  day  in  this  house,  who 
thinks  to  put  on  that  immoral,  ondel- 
icate,  ondecent  —  Ah  !  ah  !  ah  !  " 
Primmer  screamed,  put  her  nose  out 
straight  in  the  air,  put  on  her  specta- 
cles and  screamed  again. 

Miss  Courtenay  stood  at  the  door 
in  a  suit  of  "propria  qute  maribus." 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Propria  quae  maribus  tribuuntur,  mascula 
Uicas." 

Eton  Latin  Grammar. 

The  world  up  to  that  moment  had 
never  seen  so  smart  a  fella  *  as  caused 
Primmer's  recitative  to  die  in  a  qua- 
ver. g{j}e  stood  on  the  threshold  erect 
yet  lithe ;  the  serpentine  lines  of  youth- 
ful female  beauty  veiled  yet  not  dis- 
guised in  vest  and  pantaloons  of  mar- 
vellous cut,  neat  little  collar  ;  dapper 
shoes,  and  gaiters  :  delicious  purple 
broadcloth. 

"  Giles  !  "  groaned  Mrs.  Primmer, 
"you  may  go  for  what  Eliza  said. 
Anybody  may  do  anything  now !  I 
nursed  her  on  these  knees,"  whined 
the  poor  woman,  with  the  piteous  tone 
that  always  accompanies  this  favorite 
statement. 

"Primmer!"  said  the  Courtenay, 
coldly,  "theatrical  exhibitions  amuse, 
but  do  not  deceive  ;    be  yourself." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Primmer, 
coldly,  dropping  her  histrionics  direct- 
ly, and  taking  up  her  tact. 

"  Hearing  cries  of  distress  from  my 

*  Observe  the  female  termination. 


household,  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  i*j 
of  any  service  to  you  :  what  is  tho 
matter  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  put  in 
Eliza,  hastily,  "  it  is  all  along  of  Mrs. 
Primmer  being  so  hard  upon  the 
Bloomers,  ma'am." 

A  short  explanation  followed. 

Eliza  was  asked  why  she  had  de- 
fended this  costume. 

Eliza,  having  found  such  a  backer, 
was  fluent  in  defence  of  the  new  cos- 
tume. 

The  rest  looked  unutterable  things, 
but  could  say  nothing. 

In  the  middle  of  one  of  her  long 
sentences,  her  mistress  cut  her  short, 
congratulated  her  demurely  on  her 
sense,  informed  her  that  she  wished 
one  of  the  servants  to  assist  her  in  a 
little  scheme  for  recommending  the 
dress;  that  she  should  have  hesitated 
to  propose  it,  but,  having  found  one 
already  so  disposed,  would  use  her 
services. 

"  On  my  bed  you  will  find  —  a  cos- 
tume :  put  it  on  immediately,  and 
come  to  me  for  further  instructions." 
So  saving,  she  vanished  with  a  slight 
smile. 

Eliza  watched  her  departing  form 
with  a  rueful  face.  She  discovered 
when  too  late  that  she  had  never  for 
a  moment  intended  to  wear  the  thing, 
and  had  only  defended  it  out  of  con- 
trariness ;  she  moved  towards  the  door 
like  a  lamb  to  sacrifice. 

"  Ahem  !  "  said  Mrs.  Primmer, 
"  you  can  go  into  the  street  dressed 
like  a  hobbadehoy  if  you  like,  Miss 
Staunton  ;  but,  if  I  might  ask  a  favor, 
it  is  that  you  won't  tell  the  people 
what  house  you  came  out  of:  because, 
you  sec,  I  come  of  decent  people  in 
the  neighborhood  that  might  feel  hurt 
and  leave  the  town,  owing  to  such  a 
thing  being  seen  come  out  of  the 
house  where  I  am  ;  that 's  all,  ma'am  ; 
and  I  am  a  regular  attendant  on  pub- 
lic and  family  worship." 

This  was  said  very  politely. 

"Well,  ma'am,"  answered  Eliza, 
beginning  as  politely,  but  heating  so 
much  per  sentence.     "  I  don't  know 


PROPRIA   QU/E   MARIBUS. 


279 


as  Bloomers  are  so  like  what  you 
mention,  ma'am,  as  your  own  gown 
would  be,  ma'am,  if  it  was  a  bit  clean- 
er, ma'am :  but  whenever  I  meet 
a  new-married  couple  coming  from 
church,  I  '11  step  up  to  the  bride,  and 
I  '11  say,  '  Mrs.  Primmer  requests 
you  would  be  so  good  as  not  to  put 
on  your  nightgown  before  supper 
next  time  —  she  's  turned  so  devilish 
modest  all  of  a  sudden.'  " 

So  saying,  Eliza  flounced  out  in  a 
rage,  and,  her  blood  being  put  up, 
burned  now  to  go  through  with  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Reginald  Seymour  was  a  hand- 
some, gentlemanly  fellow,  heir  appar- 
ent of  the  unsuccessful  bidder  for 
Courtenay  Court. 

He  had  been  for  six  months  the 
declared  lover  of  the  heiress  ;  and  his 
sister  Harriet,  warmly  invited  by  Miss 
Courtenay,  had  at  length  taken  ad- 
vantage of  an  escort  offered  by  an 
English  family,  and  was  a  guest  of  the 
Jiaiicci . 

If  Reginald  had  a  fault,  it  was  too 
Strong  a  consciousness  of  the  antiqui- 
ty and  importance  of  the  Seymours  ; 
and,  as  that  was  combined  with  a  de- 
termination to  hand  down  their  name 
as  pure  as  they  had  received  it,  it  was 
a  very  excusable  weakness. 

lie  was  perhaps  rather  more  formal 
ami  stately  than  suited  Ids  youth. 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening, 
Harriet  Seymour,  full  dressed,  came 
into  a  Bort  of  antechamber  with  a 
bouquet  of  choice  (lowers  in  her  hand, 
and  there  encountered  Caroline,  for 
whom  in  fact  she  was  looking.  At 
Bight  of  her  friend,  Harriet  did  not 
at  first  comprehend  :  all  she  realized 
was  that  Caroline  was  not  the  thing. 

"What!  not  dressed  yet,  Caro- 
line ?  "  said  she,  "  it  is  very  late." 

"  I  am  dressed,  dear." 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  see  you  have 
some  clothes  on  for  fun, —  he,  he, — 
but  it  is  to  be  a  ball,  dear  !  " 


"  My  feet  will  be  as  unembarrassed 
as  yours,  dear ! "  replied  Caroline, 
quietly. 

Harriet  gave  her  the  bouquet,  and 
said  with  much  meaning  :  "  Reginald 
sends  you  these.  Of  course  you  did 
not  know  he  was  returned." 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  was  the  reply  ; 
"  he  is  to  be  here." 

Harriet.  "  0,  Reginald  loves  you, 
Caroline." 

Caroline.     "  So  he  pretends." 

Harriet.  "  He  loves  you  with  all 
the  force  of  an  honest  heart, —  and  I 
love  you  for  his  sake  and  your  own  : 
give  me  the  privilege  of  a  sister :  lefc 
me  advise  you." 

Caroline.     "  With  all  my  heart." 

Harriet.  "  Yes  !  but  advice  is  ap^ 
to  be  ill  received." 

Caroline.  "  That  is  because  it  is 
given  hastily  and  harshly;  but  true 
friends  like  you  !    and  me,  —  O  fie  !  " 

Harriet.  "  Promise  then  not  to  be 
angry  with  me." 

Caroline.  "  Certainly  ;  only  you 
must  promise  not  to  be  angry  it  I  am 
too  silly  or  self-willed  to  take  it." 

Harriet.  "  I  should  not  be  angry, 
love,  though  I  might  be  grieved  on 
your  own  account." 

Caroline.     "  Well,  then,  dear." 

Harriet.  "Well,  then,  dear, — do 
not  receive  society  in  this  costume. 
I  will  never  tell  Reginald ;  and  do 
not  you  let  him  know  you  ever  woro 
it." 

Caroline.  "  But  how  can  I  help  it, 
when  he  is  going  to  see  inc  in  it  1  " 

Harriet.  "It  is  for  your  delicacy, 
vour  feminine  qualities,  he  has  loved 
you." 

( 'aroline.  "  Has  he  i  "  [looking down.) 
"  Well,  those  qualities  reside  in  our 
souls,  not  our  —  habiliments." 

Harriet.  "  Not  in  such  habiliments 
as  those,      lie  will  be  shocked." 

Carolirn  .  "  Xo,  only  surprised  a  lit- 
tle, lie!   be  !  " 

Harriet.  "  He  will  be  grieved,  Car- 
oline." 

dunlin,.    "I  shall  console  him." 

Harriet  {with  color  heightening).  "He 
will  be  indignant." 


280 


PROPRIA   QILE   MAEIBUS. 


Caroline  (ivith  color  rising).  "  I  shall 
laugh  at  him." 

Harriet.    "  He  will  be  disgusted." 

Caroline.  "  Ah,  —  then  I  shall  dis- 
miss him." 

Harriet.  "  I  see  I  speak  to  no  pur- 
pose, Miss  Courtenay. 

Caroline.  "  To  very  little,  Miss 
Seymour." 

Harriet.  "  I  shall  say  no  more,  mad- 
am." 

Caroline.  "  You  have  said  enough, 
madam." 

Harriet.  "  Since  you  despise  my 
advice,  please  yourself." 

Caroline.  "  I  shall  take  your  ad- 
vice at  present." 

Harriet.  "  But  you  will  never  be 
my  brother's  wife." 

Caroline,  "  Then  I  shall  always  be 
mistress  in  my  own  house." 

Harriet,  who  was  at  the  door,  re- 
turned as  if  to  speak,  but  she  was  too 
angry ;  gave  it  up,  and  retired  half 
choking. 

A  sacred  joy  filled  Caroline's  bo- 
som, —  she  had  had  the  last  word  ! 

As  she  was  about  to  pass  out  of  the 
room,  who  should  enter  hastily  but 
Reginald  Seymour  ?  —  her  back  was 
towards  him. 

He  called  to  her  :  "  Can  you  tell 
me  where  I  shall  find  Miss  Courte- 
nay, sir  %  " 

Caroline  bit  her  lips,  but  she  turned 
sharply  round,  and  said  :  "  She  is  in 
this  room,  madam  !  " 

"Oh!"  said  Reginald.  He  add- 
ed, "  0  Caroline  !  "  and  looked 
pained. 

Caroline  blushed,  and  if  heavenly 
looks  and  little  female  artifice  could 
have  softened  censure,  they  were  not 
wanting. 

"  What  beautiful  flowers  you  have 
sent  me !  "  said  she.  "  See,  I  threw 
•away  my  formal  bouquet  for  your 
nosegay." 

"  You  do  mc  honor,"  said  the 
youn^  gentleman,  uneasily. 

"Honor! — no!  but  justice;  a  sin- 
gle violet  from  you  deserves  to  be 
preferred  to  roses  and  camellias." 

"Dear   Caroline!    I   withdraw, — 


you  are  not  dressed  yet,  and  people 
will  soon  arrive." 

Caroline  saw  there  was  no  real  way 
of  escape,  so  with  great  external  calm- 
ness she  said  sweetly  :  — 

"  I  am  dressed,  dear  Reginald." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  as 
not  understanding  her. 

"  I  forgive  you,"  said  the  sly  thing, 
taking  him  up,  "  there  are  so  many 
who  do  not  see  the  beauty  of — all 
this  :  I  have  promised  to  wear  it  to- 
night," continued  she  (not  allow- 
ing him  to  get  in  a  word),  "and  to 
compare  it  calmly  and  candidly  with 
other  costumes ;  you  will  be  so 
amused  ;  and  we  shall  arrive  at  a  real 
judgment  instead  of  violent  preju- 
dices, which  you  are  above  ;  at  least  I 
give  you  credit.  I  should  not  admire 
you  so  much  as  I  do  if  I  doubted 
that." 

"  Caroline  !  "  said  the  young  gen- 
tleman, gravely. 

"  Yes,  Reginald  !  " 

"  Dear  Caroline,  do  you  believe  I 
love  you  % " 

"  Better  than  I  deserve,  I  dare  say," 
said  Caroline. 

"  No  !  as  you  deserve.  I  will  not 
own  my  love  inferior  even  to  your 
merit.  Do  you  believe  that  when  we 
are  one  my  life  will  be  devoted  to  your 
happiness  ?  " 

"  I  am  sometimes  goose  enough  to 
hope  so,"  murmured  Caroline,  avert- 
ing her  head. 

"  Shall  you  think  ill  of  me  then,  if, 
before  marriage,  I  ask  a  favor,  per- 
haps a  sacrifice,  of  you  1  I  feel  I  shall 
not  be  ungrateful." 

"  There,"  thought  Caroline,  "  I  am 
not  to  wear  it,  — that  is  plain." 

Reginald  continued:  "If  you  wear 
this  dress,  you  will  give  me  pain  be- 
yond any  pleasure  you  can  derive." 

"  Reginald,"  said  the  poor  girl,  "  I 
wish  to  wear  it,  —  now  and  then  ;  in- 
deed, I  had  set  my  heart  on  making  a 
few,  a  very  few  —  converts  to  it ;  see 
how  pretty  it  is,"  (no  answer) ;  "but 
for  your  sake,  when  I  take  it  off  to- 
night, I  will  give  it  away  ;  and  it  shall 
never,  never  olfeud  any  more." 


PROPRIA  QILE  MARIBUS. 


281 


Reginald  kissed  her  hand. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Caroline,"  said  he,  stammering, 
'•  you  do  not  quite  understand  me ; 
it  is  to-day  I  beg  you  on  no  account  to 
wear  it." 

"  O,  to-day,"  said  she,  hastily,  "I 
have  promised  to  wear  it." 

"  I  entreat  you,"  said  he ;  "  con- 
sider ;  if  you  once  show  yourself  to 
people  from  every  part  of  New  York 
in  this  costume,  what  more  remains 
to  be  done  ?  " 

"  Reginald  !  be  reasonable,"  said 
Caroline,  more  coldly.  "  I  stand  en- 
gaged to  some  sixty  persons  to  wear 
this  dress  to-night.  I  have  made  you 
a  concession,  and  with  pleasure,  be- 
cause I  make  it  to  you.  It  is  your  turn 
now  :  you  must  think  of  me  as  well  as 
of  yourself,  dear  Reginald.  I  am  afraid 
you  must  shut  your  eyes  on  me  for  a 
few  hours  :  that  will  spoil  all  my  pleas- 
ure ;  or  you  must  fancy,  as  many  a 
lover  has  been  able  to  do,  that  I  con- 
secrate a  dress,  not  that  a  dress  has 
power  to  lower  me." 

"  O  Caroline,  do  you  value  my  re- 
spect ? " 

"  Yes  !  and  therefore  I  shall  keep 
my  word,  and  so  you  will  feel  sure  I 
shall  keep  my  word  to  you  too,  if  ever 
I  promise  something  about"  (blushes 
and  smiles)  "  Love  —  honor  —  and 
obey." 

A  battle  took  place  in  the  young 
man's  mind. 

He  took  several  strides  backwards 
and  forwards. 

At  last  he  hurst  out  :  "  There  arc 
feelings  too  strong  to  be  conquered  by 
on]-  wishes. 

"  I  cannot  bear  that  my  wife  should 
do  what  three  fourths  of  her  sex  think 
indelicate.  We  never  differed  in  opin- 
ion before,  we  never  shall  again. 4  If 
we  do,  be  assured  I  will  bow  to  you. 
1  would  yield  here  if  I  could  :  but  I 
cannot.  1  think  you  can  ;  if  yon  can, 
have  pity  on  m<\  and  add  one  more 
claim  to  iiiv  life — k>njf  gratitude/' 

The  balance  trembled  :  the  tears 
wore  in  Caroline's  eyes  ;  her  bosom 
Quite  red  ;  wlu  n  th«  Demon  of  Discord 


inspired  her  proud  nature  with  this 
idea. 

"  He  loves  his  prejudices  better  than 
you,"  said  Discord  ;  "  and  this  is  tyr- 
anny, —  coaxing  tyranny  if  you  will, 
but  still  tyranny." 

On  this  hint  spake  Caroline. 

"  I  find  I  have  rivals." 

"  Rivals  ? " 

"  In  your  prejudices  !  Reginald,  nei- 
ther person  nor  thing  shall  ever  be  my 
rival.  Show  me  at  once  which  you 
love  with  the  deeper  affection,  Mr.  Sey- 
mour's prejudices,  or  Caroline  Courtc- 
nay.  I  shall  wear  this  dress  to-night, 
—  only  for  a  few  hours, — consider! 
you  will  be  here  and  keep  me  in  coun- 
tenance, —  or  you  don't  love  me." 

"  No  !  Caroline  !  "  said  Reginald, 
sadly  and  firmly.  "  I  have  spoken  ; 
our  future  life  now  rests  in  your  hands. 
I  shall  not  come,  —  I  shall  arrange  so 
that  if  you  degrade  yourself  (I  still 
cling  to  the  hope  you  will  not)  I  shall 
hear  of  it,  and  leave  the  country  that 
minute.  Were  I  to  see  it,  by  Heaven  I 
should  leave  the  world."  He  said  this 
in  great  heat,  but,  recovering  himself, 
said  :  "  Forgive  me  !  "  kissed  her  hand, 
and  went  despondently  away. 

Caroline,  on  his  departure,  wished 
he  had  gone  away  in  a  pet  instead  of 
sorrowful ;  wished  he  had  been  her 
husband  to  cut  the  matter  short  by 
carrying  her  in  his  arms  and  securing 
her  in  his  dressing-room  till  the  ball 
was  over  ;  wished  she  had  never  seen 
the  Bloomer  costume ;  wished  she 
could  hide  and  cry  in  an  attic  till  all 
was  over. 

On  her  meditations  entered  a  plum]) 
figure  with  all  manner  of  expressions 
chasing  one  another  over  her  counte- 
nance :  this  was  Eliza,  who  courtesied 
to  attract  attention,  and,  failing,  pre- 
sumed that  her  deportment  had  not 
corresponded  with  her  costume:  so 
bowed  instead,  and  ducked,  and  as  a 
hist  resource  gave  a  poll  at  the  top  of 
her  head, 

Caroline.    "Weill  " 

Elitta.  "  If  you  please  ma'am, — 
but  if  yon  please  ma'am  am  I  to  say 
ma'am  or  sir  now  ma'am  ? " 


282 


PROPRIA   QtLE   MARIBUS. 


Caroline.  "Madam  will  do  for  the 
present." 

Eliza.  "  If  you  please,  ma'am,  Kitty 
the  housemaid,  that  was  to  wear  the 
short-waistcd  gown  before  the  compa- 
ny, says  she  won't  put  it  on  for  a 
double  dollar." 

Caroline.  "  Promise  her  four  dollars 
then." 

Eliza.   "Yes-m." 

Caroline.  "  The  girl's  mother  would 
have  been  as  loath  to  wear  a  long 
waist." 

Eliza.  "Yes-m." 

Caroline.  "  And  to-morrow  morning 
tell  Primmer  to  discharge  her." 

Eliza.  "  Yes-m  !  Oho,"  thought 
Eliza,  "  then  now  is  the  time  to  trim 
that  old  fagot  Primmer." 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  I  have  the 
greatest  respect  for  Mrs.  Primmer,  be- 
cause she  has  been  here  longer  than  I 
have,  and  is  a  good  servant,  ma'am, 
there  's  no  denying  it ;  but,  if  you 
please,  'm,  there's  no  putting  Mrs. 
Primmer  out  of  her  turnpike  road,  as 
the  saying  is.  She  says,  if  I  don't 
make  the  jellies  and  blamonge,  she  '11 
make  you  turn  me  off,  ma'am,  now 
how  can  I  when  I  've  got  to  learn  off 
all  those  words  you  gave  me  if  you 
please,  ma'am,  am  I  to  take  your  or- 
ders or  Mrs.  Primmer's-m  1  " 

Caroline.  "  Now  I  must  ask  you  a 
question,  —  who  are  you  ?  " 

Eliza.  "  La,  ma'am  !  I  am  Eliza, 
mum  !  Cook,  mum  !  I  make  the 
Guava  jelly  that  you  like  so,  ma'am." 

Caroline.  "  Very  well !  then,  Eliza 
Cook,  for  six  hours  you  are  my  lieu- 
tenant here,  and  queen  in  the  kitchen  ; 
give  your  orders,  and  discharge  Prim- 
mer, and  every  man  and  woman  in 
the  house  that  disobeys  you,  and  I  '11 
confirm  all  you  do." 

Eliza.  "  Yes-m "  (with  flashing 
eyes). 

Caroline.  "  And,  if  you  abuse  your 
authority,  you  shall  be  the  first  vic- 
tim !  " 

Eliza.    "Yes-m"  (crestfallen). 

"  There,"  said  Eliza  to  herself,  as 
she  absconded  with  a  modest  rever- 
ence, "  I  'vc  been  and  given  you  a  dig 


in  your  old  ribs  with  my  rolling-pin, 
Mrs.  Primmer." 

"  Until  to-day,"  thought  her  mis- 
tress, "  a  look  from  me  was  law,  and 
now  every  creature  high  and  low 
thwarts  and  opposes  me,  —  ever  since 
I  put  these  vile  things  on." 

Now  some  would  have  carried  the 
reasoning  out  thus  —  ergo  —  take 
these  vile  things  off! 

But  this  sweet  creature  never 
dreamed  of  that  path  of  inference. 

"  Of  this  there  can  be  but  one 
consequence,"  said  she,  "  I  shall  do 
it  ten  times  the  more." 

She  then  burst  out  crying ;  which 
was  an  unfair  advantage  the  Bloomer 
took  over  poor  Reginald  ;  for  after  a 
shower  of  tears  pretty  flowers  are  in- 
vigorated. 

Rat  a  tat !  tat  a  tat,  tat !  tat !  tat ! 
tat! 

The  guests  arrived.  We  shall  only 
particularize  one  :  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  an 
Irish  gentleman,  who  had  retained  the 
delightful  qualities  of  his  nation,  and 
rubbed  off  its  ignorance  and  down  its 
prejudices. 

Handsome,  gay,  and,  though  not 
varnished,  polished,  he  was  as  charm- 
ing a  companion  as  either  a  man  or 
woman  could  desire. 

Fitzpatrick's  flattery  was  agreeable 
to  the  ladies  ;  it  was  so  very  sincere, 
—  he  really  saw  en  beau  both  them 
and  all  their  ways. 

At  sight  of  Miss  Courtenay  in  a 
Bloomer,  he  was  ravished. 

"  O  Miss  Caroline,  but  that 's  a  beau- 
tiful costoome  ye  'vc  invented  ;  the 
few  of  us  that 's  left  standing  will  fall 
to-night :  ye've  no  conscience  at  all." 

"  I  did  not  invent  the  hideous 
thing  ;  it  is  Bloomer." 

'I  Bloomer  ']  ye  're  joking.  What ! 
is  it  this  that  they  've  been  running 
down  1  O  the  haythen  barbarians  !  !  !  ! 
Ye  were  a  rainbow  at  the  last  ball, 
but  now  ye  're  a  sunbeam,  —  ye  '11 
not  be  for  dancing  the  first  dance  with 
an  uncouth  Celt "? " 

"  You  will  not  be  for  waiting  till 
the  seventh,  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  ! " 


PROPRIA  QU2E   MARIBUS. 


283 


"Is  it  only  six  ye 're  engaged? 
O  but  I  'm  in  luck  to-night." 

Mr.  Fitzpatrick  had  been  for  some 
time  puzzled  which  he  loved  most,  — 
Harriet  Seymour  or  Caroline  Courte- 
nay ;  but  last  week  he  had  decided  iu 
favor  of  the  latter,  without  prejudice 
to  the  former. 

The  dancing  was  kept  up  with  some 
spirit  for  two  hours  ;  and  then  Caro- 
line's associates  were  observed  to  steal 
out  and  to  make  for  various  apart- 
ments in  her  very  large  house  on  the 
doors  of  which  their  respective  names 
were  written  in  chalk. 

Results,  not  processes,  are  for  the 
public  eye. 

Suffice  it  to  say  at  present,  in  excuse 
of  Caroline's  obstinacy,  that  she  had 
been  at  no  small  trouble  and  expense 
to  carry  out  her  little  idea.  She  had 
also  read,  drawn,  composed,  and  writ- 
ten. Others  that  saw  the  work  had 
given  her  credit  for  some  talent,  great 
talent  of  course  they  said  ;  anil  she  was 
mortified  to  think  her  lover  would  not 
give  her  this  opportunity  of  showing 
him  her  wit,  on  which  she  secretly  val- 
ued herself  more  than  on  her  beauty. 

A  polka  concluded.  A  tide  of  ser- 
vants poured  in.  A  semicircle  of 
seats  sprung  up.  A  pulpit  rose  like 
an  exhalation,  and,  almost  before  her 
guests  could  seat  themselves,  Caro- 
line was  a  lecturer  wearing  over  her 
Bloomer  a  13.  C.  L.  gown  from  Ox- 
ford, and  the  four-cornered  cap  of  that 
University  on  her  head. 

L'EffronUet  Of  whom  think  you 
she  had  borrowed  this  two  days  be- 
fore ?     Of  Reginald! 

The  optimist  Fitzpatrick  was  en- 
chanted. 

Sin:  was  more  beautiful  in  this  than 
even  in  a  Bloomer.  Ami  indeed  it 
become  her ;  the  gravity  of  the  dress 
made  a  keen  contrast  with  her  arch- 
ness. She  was  like  a  vivid  flower 
springing  unexpectedly  from  some 
time-stained  wall,  —  dancing,  vanity, 
wit,  pique  at  Reginald,  and  the  Mat- 
tery of  others,  maile  her  check  flush, 
her  eves  Hash. 

"  Ahem  !  "  said  she,  in   the  dry-as- 


dust  tone  of  a  lecturer.  "Ladies  and 
gentlemen  :  as  you  will  have  to  bear 
with  many  costumes  this  evening, 
permit  me  to  begin  with  this  :  — 

"  I  wear  it,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  be- 
cause it  is  supposed  to  confer  a  right 
to  be  tedious,  ahem  ! 

"  I  am  here  to  attack  two  principal 
errors. 

"  One  is  that  such  fashions  as  em- 
barrass the  limbs  are  of  a  nature  to 
last  upon  earth. 

"  The  other  is  that  pantaloons  are 
essentially  masculine,  and  sweeping 
robes  feminine. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  women 
can  only  predict  the  Future  by  exam- 
ining the  Past,  —  moles  and  rabbits 
may  have  some  other  way,  though  I 
think  not.     Eliza, 

'  Call  back  past  facts  with  lessons  fraught ' 
To  teach  us,  —  if  we  cau  be  taught.'  " 

Eliza  opened  the  door. 

Miss  Spilman  the  musical  associate, 
splashed  a  magnificent  chord  on  the 
piano,  and  in  sailed  Queen  Elizabeth ! 
I  mean  a  lady  in  the  exact  costume  in 
which  that  queen  went  into  the  city 
to  return  thanks  for  the  destruction 
of  the  Spanish  Armada. 

Set  a  stomacher  three  feet  long  be- 
tween two  monstrous  jelly  bags,  upon 
a  bloated  bell,  and  there  you  have 
this  queen  and  her  successor  in  New 
York. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the 
lecturer. 

"  Common  sense  fell  flatter  than 
Spain,  the  day  Royalty  appeared 
thus ! 

"  Could  a  duck  make  a  doll,  this 
would  be  the  result. 

"  Yet  this  costume,  as  much  admired 
once  as  ours  is  now,  is  only  the  prin- 
ciple of  our  own  carried  a  step  fur- 
ther :  at  the  head  of  our  principle  is 
the  sack,  in  which  rustics  jump  at  a 
fair, — next  comes  Queen  Bess,  and 
then  come  we. 

"  With  us  motion  is  embarrassed. 

"  With  Queen  Bess  motion  is  im- 
/i,  ih  <l. 

"  With  the  sack  motion  is  obstructed. 


284 


PROPRIA  QILE  MARIBUS. 


"  In  rational  and  therefore  perma- 
nent costumes  motion  is  free,  —  Vide 
Time  and  the  World." 

A    CHORD. 

With  a  multiplicity  of  affectation 
in  came  a  courtier  the  point  of  whose 
shoes  touched  his  knees,  and  he 
seemed  proud  of  them. 

No  remark  was  made  :  this  thing 
spoke  for  itself. 

Next  a  noise  was  heard,  and  with 
infinite  difficulty  a  lady  was  squeezed 
in  who  wore  the  genuine  hoop. 

Two  short-waisted  ladies  came  in. 

Everybody  laughed  at  the  sight  of 
them. 

Her  success  taking  this  form,  one  of 
them  burst  out  a  crying :  this  was 
Kitty,  who  was  instantly  attempted 
to  be  consoled  (as  the  papers  phrase 
it)  by  Mr.  Fitzpatrick;  he  told  her 
nothing  could  disguise  her  comeli- 
ness ;  and  really  thought  so  at  the 
moment. 

This  dress  set  people  talking;  those 
who  had  worn  it  confessed  to  the 
younger  ones  that  they  had  thought 
it  beautiful,  and  had  anticipated  the 
destruction  of  Nature  as  soon  as  the 
demise  of  this  phase  of  the  unnatural. 

Then  followed  jigot  sleeves. 

Two  chords  were  struck  on  the 
piano,  and  Miss  Courtenay  resumed 
her  lecture  thus  :  — 

RECITATIVE. 

"  All  these  pood  people  when  they  were  here 
thought  they  must  bo  here  forever. 

Or  as  long  as  men  and  women  and  Prim- 
rose Hill  and  the  Mississippi  River. 

But  they  proved  more  like  the  flower  than 
the  hill  that  bears  its  name. 

And,  instead  of  the  great  Mississippi,  they 
were  bubbles  floating  down  that  same." 

SONG. 

"  Such  fashions  are  like  poppies  spread  : 
You  seize  the  flower,  the  bloom  is  fled  : 
Or  like  a  snow-flake  on  a  river, 
A  moment  seen  then  gone  forever." 

"  We  have  shown  you  the  costumes 
that  could  not  stand  the  shock  of 
time  ;  you  shall  now  see  what  sort  of 
costumes  have  stood  the  brunt  of  cen- 


turies :  compare  the  Bloomers  with 
each  in  turn,  and  you  will  be  on  the 
path  of  truth." 

Armenian,  Polish,  and  Sicilian 
peasants  were  tben  introduced,  whose 
limbs  were  free  enough,  goodness 
knows  :  they  ranged  themselves  in  a 
line  opposite  their  stiff  competitors, 
and  a  Bloomer  took  up  the  recitative. 

"  All  these,  unlike  the  Bloomer,  confine  the 
limbs  and  make  the  ribs  to  crack. 

All  those,  like  Bloomers,  free  the  mind,  the 
body,  and  the  back. 

So  hail  to  great  Amelia,  who  takes  a  sex  out 
of  a  sack." 

SONG. 

"  For  grace  is  motion  unconfined, 
Like  rippling  sea  or  sweeping  wind, 
Free  as  the  waves  of  yellow  corn 
That  bows  to  greet  the  breezy  morn." 

The  applause  had  but  just  subsided, 
when  a  clear,  rich,  quaint  voice  arose, 
and  to  the  surprise  of  the  company 
trilled  forth  the  following  stanza  to 
some  fossil  tune,  —  Chevy  chase,  we 
really  believe. 

"  The  ass  with  four  legs  has  the  wit 
None  of  those  four  to  tether, 
But  there 's  a  greater  ass  with  two 
That  ties  those  two  together." 

While  the  others  sat  aghast  at  this 
stanza,  Fitzpatrick  was  gratified. 
"  Now  that  was  like  honey  dropping 
from  the  comb,"  observed  he. 

"  Now  you  know,  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  it 
was  like  vinegar  distilling  from  a 
cruet,"  replied  Miss  Courtenay. 

"  There  was  an  agreeable  acidula- 
tion,  compared  with  yours.  Miss 
Courtenay,  but,  in  itself,  delicious  !  " 
retorted  the  optimist. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the 
modern  Portia,  "  the  first  head  of  my 
lecture  is  before  you.  I  am  now  to 
prove  that  pantaloons  are  not  neces- 
sarily masculine,  nor  long  skirts  femi- 
nine." 

On  this  entered  two  Persian  women 
in  gorgeous  costume  and  very  spa- 
cious trousers. 

They  salaamed  to  Caroline  and  the 
Bloomers,  but  seemed  staggered   by 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIBUS. 


285 


the  other  figures.  "Whilst  they  whis- 
pered and  eyed  the  company,  Caro- 
line lectured. 

"Ladies,  this  costume  is  worn  hy 
half  the  well-dressed  women  in  the 
world  ;  and  we  must  not  flatter  our- 
selves we  are  more  feminine  than 
Mussulwomen.  On  the  contrary,  these 
pantalooned  females  practise  a  reserve, 
compared  with  which  the  modesty  of 
Europe  is  masculine  impudence." 

A  Lady.  "  Make  them  speak.  I 
don't  think  they  arc  women  at  all." 

Caroline.  "  They  are  women,  I  as- 
sure you,  Miss  White  ;  forone  of  them 
has  just  borrowed  a  pin  of  me." 

Miss  \V.  "  Then  why  don't  they 
talk  i  " 

Caroline.  "  He  !  he  !  the  inference 
is  just.  They  arc  going  to  speak  un- 
less they  have  forgotten  all  I  —  " 

Zuleima.  "  They  have  feet  and  even 
legs.  0  Holy  Prophet,  here  are  wo- 
men who  inutile  their  feet,  and  reveal 
their  necks  to  the  gaze  of  man." 

Fatima.    "  What  dirt  has  this  peo- 

5 tie  eaten  ?  Can  this  be  the  great 
Trank  nation  whose  ships  subdue  ev- 
ery sen,  and  whose  wisdom  and  prob- 
ity are  such  that  the  evil  spirit  him- 
self cannot  get  the  better  of  them  in 
making  bargains  ?  are  these  sea-kings 
sprung  from  lunatics,  who  hide  their 
feet  which  were  made  for  show  and 
motion,  and  reveal  their  faces  and 
necks,  which  is  unlawful  '.  " 

Znh  inid.  "  Daughter  of  the  Com- 
mander of  the  Faithful,  vour  slave 
has  an  idea  !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 

Fatima  (started).  "Biamillah!  In 
the  name  of  the  Prophet,  let  me  hear 
it." 

Ztili  ima.  "  Three  revolutions  of  the 
moon  are  compleicd  since  we  sailed 
in  ships  from Istanboul  :  in  the  mean 
time  Sheitan  has  doubtless  obtained 
permission  to  derange  this  people's 
intellects,  that  so  they  may  be  con- 
verted to  the  true  faith,  the  faith  of 
[slam.  Thus,  their  brains  being  con- 
founded, they  muffle  their  feel  mid  re- 
veal their  necks  without  shame  to  the 
gaze  of  man.  Your  slave  has  spo- 
ken ! ! " 


Fatima.  "  It  is  well  spoken  :  it  is 
also  a  nation  which  sups  on  opium, 
and  drinks  hot  wine  as  a  camel  sucks 
water  in  the  desert.  We  will  there- 
fore sit  on  ottomans  and  laugh." 

Zuleima.  "  Bechishm  !  on  my  eyes 
be  it." 

Fatima.    "  Seven  days." 
Zuleima.   "  And  seven  nights." 
Fatima.   "At  these  children." 
Zuleima.    "  Of  burnt  fathers." 
Fatima   and    Zuleima.    "  We    will 
laugh  — 

Seven  days 
And  seven  nights 
At  these  children 
Of  burnt  fathers  !  " 
They  then  sat  like  little  tailors  on 
two  ottomans  opposite  each  other,  and, 
nodding  like  mandarins,  laughed  me- 
chanically,   as    became    people    who 
were  going  to  make  seven  nights  of 
it. 

Caroline.  "  Adsis,  O  Cato  !  Call 
him,  Eliza." 

Eliza.    "If  you  please,  'urn,  would 
you  say  them  words  again." 
Caroline.    "Adsis,  0  Cato." 
Eliza.   "  Assist  us,  old  King  Cole !  " 
Cato   swept  in  with  a  magnificent 
toga. 

"  Adsum,"  said  he,  "  quis  me  vo- 
cat  ? " 

Caroline.  "Be  pleased,  sir,  to  tell 
us  which  are  the  most  masculine  and 
which  the  most  feminine  of  these 
souls." 

Cato  folded  his  arms  and  took  three 
antique  strides.  "  These  cackling 
creatures,"  said  he,  "  are  Persian  wo- 
men, this  "  (Eliza)  "  is  a  native  I  be- 
lieve of  some  barbarous  country  not 
yet  under  the  dominion  of  Koine." 

Eliza.    "  Nor  don't  mean  to." 

<'n!o.  "These  with  black  plaster 
stuck  to  them  arc  of  the  genus  siinii, 
or  apes.  The  rest  with  toga'  but  no 
beards  are,  I  suppose,  of  the  Epicene 
gender,  —  dismiss  me." 

A  CIIOKI). 

Cato.  "Abeo"  [chord)  "  excedo  " 
(chord)  " evado  "  (chord)  "erumpo." 


286 


PROPRIA   QILE  MARIBUS. 


Four  strides,  one  for  each  verb,  took 
him  out  with  a  sharp  and  pleasing  ef- 
fect. 

This  ended  the  lecture ;  and  a  dance 
of  all  ages  and  climes  was  proposed. 

"I  can't  hop,  as  you  do  nowa- 
days," remonstrated  the  hoop.  "  I 
was  taught  to  dance." 

"  Grace  was  in  all  my  steps,"  said 
the  courtier. 

Said  Caroline:  "Dance  in  your  own 
way,  dress  in  your  own  way,  and  let 
your  neighbors  have  their  way  ;  that 
is  the  best  way  !  " 

A  dance  was  then  played  with  no 
very  marked  accent;  and  mighty 
pleasant  it  was  to  see  couples  polk- 
ing, couples  gavotting  with  all  the 
superstition  of  antiquated  grace, — and 
waltzes  and  jigs  and  tarantula :  the 
sanctified  solemnity  with  which  polite 
people  frisk  was  for  this  once  ex- 
changed for  sty  gravity  and  little 
bursts  of  merriment.     Boom  ! 

A  gun  at  sea. 

The  great  steamer  was  starting  for 
England. 

It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight.  There 
was  a  general  move  to  the  supper- 
room,  which  had  four  windows  look- 
ing seaward. 

One  old  lady  lingered  a  moment  to 
convey  to  her  host  her  opinion  of  the 
lecture. 

"  You  are  a  very  clever  young  lady  ! 
your  lecture  was  very  ingenious." 

"  I  am  fortunate  in  your  friendly 
consideration  of  it,  madam,"  said  Car- 
oline. 

"  The  women  in  trousers  were  fun- 
ny!" 

"  If  it  gave  my  friends  a  smile,  Miss 
Ruth." 

"  It  will  make  Bloomers,  I  believe. 
It  was  as  good  as  a  play,  Miss  Courte- 
nay ;  and  I  shall  never  enter  your 
house  again,  madam  !  "  With  this 
conclusion,  Miss  Ruth  became  a  ver- 
tical rod  and  marched  off. 

The  next  moment  a  servant  brought 
Caroline  a  letter  ;  she  opened  it.  A 
smile  with  which  she  was  listening  to 
Fitzpatrick's  admiration  became  a 
stone  smile,  as  her  eyes  fixed   them- 


selves on  the  paper.  She  gave  a  cry 
like  one  wounded,  and,  stretching  out 
her  hands  with  a  tender  helplessness 
that  at  once  gave  the  lie  to  her  dress, 
she  sank  insensible  into  Mr.  Fitzpat- 
rick's arms. 

The  steamboat  was  taking  Reginald 
past  her  window  to  England. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Several  months  after  this  event, 
a  young  gentleman  was  seated  in  a 
study,  book  in  hand,  but  by  no  effort 
could  he  give  his  mind  to  the  book : 
he  sighed;  turned  the  leaves,  and 
gave  it  up  in  despair,  —  this  was  Regi- 
nald Seymour,  whose  offended  digni- 
ty and  delicacy  had  borne  him  stiffly 
up  for  five  months,  but  could  support 
him  no  longer. 

He  had  now  had  leisure  to  remem- 
ber the  many  high  qualities  of  her 
whose  one  fault  he  had  thought  un- 
pardonable. He  had  flung  away  a 
jewel  for  a  single  flaw  :  jewels  are 
rare :  he  began  to  think  he  had  been 
a  fool,  and  to  know  he  was  wretched. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  he  had 
been  silent  so  long,  that  now  he  was 
ashamed  to  write,  and  when  he  had 
with  a  great  struggle  determined  to 
make  the  first  overtures,  a  letter  from 
his  sister  had  given  him  a  mysterious 
hint  that  it  would  now  be  too  late  to 
attempt  an  accommodation. 

Reginald  was  not  one  of  those  who 
babble  their  griefs,  and  cure  them- 
selves in  ten  days  by  tormenting  all 
their  friends. 

He  was  silent,  distracted,  reserved. 

His  own  family,  who  guessed  the 
cause  of  his  low  spirits,  respected  him 
too  much  to  approach  the  subject,  or 
to  let  strangers  into  the  secret. 

They  permitted  him  to  be  misera- 
ble in  peace. 

lie  thanked  them  in  his  heart,  and 
availed  himself  to  the  full  of  their 
kind  permission. 

He  took  possession  of  a  room  whose 
windows  looked  on  Courtenay  Court, 


PROPRIA   QUiE  MARIBUS. 


287 


and  in  that  room,  in  the  company  of 
the  immortal  dead,  —  il  s'eunuijail. 

One  of  these  painful  reveries  was 
interrupted  by  a  visitor,  an  old  gen- 
tleman in  black  gaiters  and  a  white 
head  ;  it  was  the  Reverend  James 
Tremaine,  Perpetual  Curate  of  Cony- 
ton.  An  old  and  true  friend  of  both 
houses,  and  Reginald's  tutor  for  many 
years,  Mr.  Tremaine  had  not  seen  his 
depression  without  interest.  He  was 
acquainted  with  the  cause.  The  Sey- 
mours had  few  secrets  from  hitn. 
Certain  features  in  every  story  vary 
according  to  the  side  we  hear  it  from  ; 
and  Mr.  Tremaine  secretly  congratu- 
lated Reginald  on  his  escape  from  a 
strong-minded  woman  ;  he  called,  not 
to  keep  his  pupil's  mind  fixed  on  the 
subject,  but  to  divert  him  from  it. 

After  noticing  with  regret  the 
■young  man's  depression,  he  asked 
permission  to  be  his  physician. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  what  it  is,  you 
want  some  fixed  intellectual  pursuit ; 
will  vou  allow  me  to  recommend  you 
one?'" 

"As  many  as  you  like,  dear  sir," 
said  Reginald,  "  for  I  am  wearied  of 
my  life.  1  have  nothing  to  do,"  add- 
ed he,  thinking  he  was  throwing  dust 
in  his  mentor's  eyes. 

Mr.  Tremaine  took  his  cue,  and 
then  and  there  proposed  to  his  late 
pupil's  attention  an  interesting  pur- 
suit, —  suited  to  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try,—  Geology.  "It  is  a  science," 
said  he,  "  which  lifts  you  out  of  this 
ignorant  present,  and  transports  you 
into  various  stages  of  this  earth's  ex- 
istence ;  vou  barn  on  its  threshold 
what  a  mushroom  in  this  world's  great 
story  is  the  author  of  the  Pyramids. 

"  Vou  find  that  the  earth  was  red- 
hot  for  millions  of  years,  and  spouted 
liqtml  stone  like  a  whale,  —  in  that 
stone  look  for  no  si^us  of  vegetation, 
and  still  fewer  of  life.  Then  for  mil- 
lions of  years  the  upper  crust  has  been 
Cooling,  and  water  depositing  rubbish 

which  lias  coagulated  into  stone;  and 
in  this  Btratifled  stone  you  shall  find 
things  that  lived  or  grew  very  hue  in 
the  world's   history,   in   fact  within  a 


few  million  years  of  mammoths,  who 
preceded  man  by  a  few  thousand  years 
only ;  at  least  I  think  so,  since  the  flesh 
of  mammoths  has  been  found  in  ice  in 
our  own  day." 

The  old  gentleman  then  hinted, 
with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye,  that  this 
science  has  also  its  prose ;  that,  by 
breaking  stones  with  iron  in  them, 
men  have  repaired  their  shattered  for- 
tunes ;  that  coal,  silver,  iron,  and 
even  gold  are  as  common  as  dirt, 
only  not  quite  so  superficial ;  and  that 
geology,  really  mastered,  would  teach 
its  proficient  the  signs  of  their  pres- 
ence, that  it  would  be  better  to  circu- 
late over  the  face  of  Devonshire  with 
hammer  and  book,  than  to  be  a  prey 
to  weariness  without  the  excuse  of 
work. 

Mr.  Tremaine  had  not  observed 
what  we  have,  that  snobs  in  fustian 
jackets,  without  a  single  hard  word  to 
their  backs,  find  all  the  gold  and  all 
the  coal  that  is  found,  and  science 
finds  the  crustaciorii  dun  culm. 

As  for  botany,  Mr.  Tremaine  rec- 
ommended it  only  as  a  relaxation  of 
the  more  useful  study ;  at  the  same 
time  he  hinted  it  was  amusing  to  be 
able  to  classify  plants,  not  by  their 
properties,  bat  their  petuls,  and  to  call 
everything  by  its  long  name  that  lie- 
iongs  to  twenty  other  things  as  well, 
instead  of  knowing  each  by  a  peculiar 
title,  as  the  vulgar  unscientific  do. 

"0,  le  plaisant  projet!"  exclaims 
my  reader,  "  he  knows  the  boy  is  in 
love,  and  prescribes  geology  and  bot- 
any." 

Well,  is  not  one  folly  best  cured  by 
another?  But  is  this  sort  of  thing 
folly,  especially  in  a  youth  born  to 
fortune  ? 

Experience  is  our  onl}'  safe  guide 
in  all  things,  —  and  experience  proves 
that  geology  and  botany  are  roads  to 
happiness. 

( >thcr  things  are  constantly  tried  in 
vain,  —  these  seldom  fail. 

Ambition  is  raging  agitation  fol- 
lowed  by  bitter  disappointment. 

Wit,  an  unruly  engine,  recoils  on 
li i in  that  plays  it. 


288 


PROPRIA  QtLE  MARIBUS. 


Politics,  love,  theology,  —  art,  are 
full  of  thorns  ;  but  when  you  see  a 
man  perched  like  a  crow  on  a  rock, 
chipping  it,  you  see  a  happy  dog. 
You  who  are  on  the  lookout  for 
beauty  find  irregular  features  or  lack- 
lustre dolls,  —  you  who  love  wit  are 
brained  with  puns  or  ill-nature,  the 
two  forms  of  wit  that  exist  out  of 
books  :  but  the  hammerist  can  jump 
out  of  his  gig  at  any  turn  of  the 
road  and  find  that  which  his  soul 
desires  ;  the  meanest  stone  a  boy 
throws  at  a  robin  is  millions  of  years 
older  than  the  Farncse  Hercules, 
and  has  a  history  and  a  sermon  to 
it. 

Stones  arc  curious  things.  If  a 
man  is  paid  for  breaking  them  he  is 
wretched :  but  if  he  can  bring  his 
mind  to  do  it  gratis  he  is  at  the  sum- 
mit of  content. 

With  these  men  life  is  a  felicitous 
dream,  —  they  are  not  subject  to  low 
spirits  ;  they  smile  away  their  human 
day  ;  and  when  they  are  to  die  they 
are  content.  Is  it  because  they  can 
take  anything  easy  by  giving  it  a  hard 
name  ?  is  the  grave  to  them  a  creta- 
ceous or  argillaceous  or  ferrugineous 
bed? 

No !  It  is  because  their  hobbies 
have  been  innocent ;  and  other  men's 
hobbies  are  often  full  of  vice. 

They  have  broken  stones,  while 
egotists  have  been  breaking  human 
hearts. 

Mr.  Tremaine  was  enlarging  on 
such  topics  with  more  eloquence  and 
method  than  I,  when  his  patient  be- 
came animated  with  a  sudden  expres- 
sion of  surprise,  hope,  joy. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window. 

The  old  gentleman  looked  too. 
"  Ah  "  cried  he,  "  I  see  !  Yes  ! 
Reginald  !  that  is  better  than  science 
and  beyond  the  power  of  art." 

"  Yes,"  said  Reginald. 

"  That  glorious  breadth  of  golden 
sunlight  that  streams  across  that 
foliage"  continued  the  savant. 

"  Sunshine  and  leaves  ! "  cried  Regi- 
nald "  it  is  something  of  more  impor- 
tance I  am  looking  at." 


"  More  importance  than  sunshine," 
said  the  old  gentleman,  faintly. 

"  Yes  !  see  !  the  smoke  from  those 
chimneys  !  !  " 

Mr.  Tremaine  looked,  and  Courte- 
nay  Court  was  smoking  from  a  dozen 
chimneys  at  once.  He  was  taken  off 
his  guard. 

"She  must  be  come  home,"  said 
he,  "  or  coming." 

Reginald  seized  him  by  the  hand. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mr.  Tremaine  was  right,  Caro- 
line was  expected  at  Courtenay  Court. 
The  next  day  she  arrived,  bringing 
Miss  Seymour,  who  went  to  her  fa- 
ther's house. 

They  had  been  escorted  across  the 
water  by  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  but  he  re- 
mained in  town.  Before  they  left 
New  York  this  gentleman  had  de- 
clared himself  Caroline's  professed 
admirer.  Caroline  asked  him  with 
some  archness  which  he  loved  best, 
her  or  Miss  Seymour.  The  question 
staggered  him  for  a  moment,  —  but 
he  said,  "  Can  you  ask  ?  "  Cross- 
examined  however,  he  was  brought  to 
this,  that  he  liked  Caroline  a  shade 
better  than  Harriet. 

During  the  voyage  home  Mr. 
Fitzpatrick  lost  a  portion  of  his  gay- 
ety,  and  was  seen  at  times  to  be 
grave  and  perplexed,  —  novel  phe- 
nomenon. 

Harriet  Seymour  and  Caroline  had 
got  over  their  tiff,  and  indeed  Harriet 
for  months  past  had  sided  rather 
with  her  friend  than  her  brother. 
"  Caroline  was  wrong,"  said  she  ; 
"  but  Reginald  was  more  wrong.  He 
ought  to  hive  forgiven  a  woman  a 
caprice."  Harriet  therefore  spent  the 
evening  of  her  arrival  at  home,  but 
early  next  morning  she  rode  over  to 
Courtenay  Court  to  bear  her  friend 
company.  She  was  the  more  eager 
to  lend  her  her  countenance  because 
others  were  so  hard  upon  her.  For 
the   evening  of  her  arrival  Caroline 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIBUS. 


289 


was  discussed  at  Seymour  Hall.  The 
old  people,  including  Mr.  Tremaine, 
spoke  of  her  with  honor.  Tomboy, 
vixen,  and  even  strong-minded  wo- 
man, from  which  Heaven  defend 
males!  They  congratulated  them- 
selves and  Reginald  on  his  escape  from 
her.  Reginald  maintained  a  dogged 
silence.  But  when  Harriet  stoutly 
defended  his  late  sweetheart,  and 
declared  that  her  faults  were  only  on 
the  surface,  he  cast  a  look  of  gratitude 
at  her,  that  she  caught  and  compre- 
hended. Nor  was  her  defence  quite 
lost  on  others.  Mr.  Tremaine  asked 
her  quietly  :  "  Has  Miss  Courtenay 
really  anything  good  about  her  ?  " 
"  Judge  for  yourself"  replied  Harriet, 
with  a  toss  of  the  head  ;  "  call  ou 
her,  — she  is  your  parishioner." 

"Humph!  1  don't  like  strong-mind- 
ed women;  they  say  she  can  swim 
into  the  bargain  ;  but  I  certainly  will 
call  on  her." 

To  return,  Caroline  and  Harriet  were 
walking  in  the  grounds  of  Courtenav 
Court,  at  some  distance  from  the 
house  :  Harriet  was  lionizing  the  mis- 
tivss,  showing  her  her  beauties,  the 
famous  old  yew-tree,  the  narrow  but 
deep  water  that  meandered  through 
her  grounds,  and  each  admired  view 
and  nook.  It  was  charming ;  and 
both  ladies  did  loud  admiration,  and 
did  not  care  a  button  for  it  all. 

Harriet.  "  Is  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  com- 
ing to-day  ?  " 

Caroling.  "  I  don't  know.  What  a 
curious  bridge  1  It  looks  like  a  long 
gate,  —  shall  we  cross  it  ?  " 

Harriet  "  Not  for  the  world,  — the 
water  is  ever  BO  deep." 

Caroline.  "  1  do  not  mean  cross  the 
water,  only  the  bridge." 

Harriet.  "  Rut  see  bow  crazy  it  is  : 
the  wood  is  go  old.  Nobody  has  lived 
here  ever  so  long  :  and  then  it  is  so 
bard  to  keep  on  it  too." 

Caroline  looked  wistfully  at  the  prim- 
ilive  bridge.  "  If  I  bad  mv  liloomer 
on  I  would  soon  be  over  it,''  said 
she;  "but  this  appendage  would  catch 
my  feet  and  draggle  in  the  water  at 
every  step." 

13 


Harriet  implored  her  friend  never  to 
mention  that  word  again.  "Bloomer! 
It  is  the  cause  why  we  are  all  unhap- 

py" 

"  What,  are  you  unhappy  ?  What 
about?  O,  he  will  be  here  to-day, 
dear,  —  ten  to  one." 

"  Who  ? " 

"  Mr.  Fitzpatrick !  " 

"  Mr.  Fitzpatrick  is  your  lover,  not 
mine,"  said  Harriet,  coloring  all  over. 

"  So  he  is  :  I  forgot !  O,  look  at 
the  tail  of  your  gown,  —  three  straws, 
two  sticks,  and  such  a  long  brier." 

Harriet.  "  Put  your  foot  on  it,  dear ! 
These  lawyers  are  the  plague  of  this 
county." 

Caroline.    "  Lawyers  ?  " 

Harriet.  "  I  forgot,  you  don't  know 
our  country  terms  :  we  call  these  long 
briers  lawyers,  because  when  onco 
they  get  hold  of  you  —  " 

Caroline.  "  I  understand.  All  to 
be  avoided  by  a  little  Bloomer." 

Harriet.  "  Now,  Caroline,  don't !  I 
wish  the  woman  hail  never  been  born  ! 
Let  us  go  into  the  shade." 

An  observer  of  the  sex  might  have 
noticed  the  same  languor  and  the 
same  restlessness  in  both  these  ladies, 
though  one  was  Yankee  and  one  Eng- 
lish. 

At  last  they  fell  into  silence.  It  was 
Caroline  who  broke  this  silence. 

"  Nobody  comes  to  welcome  me,  or 
even  sends.  How  hospitable  these 
British  are  !  If  I  had  quarrelled  with 
any  one  in  their  own  country,  ami  tin  n 
they  came  to  mine,  I  should  be  gen- 
erous :  I  should  make  that  an  excuse, 
for  holding  out  the  baud,  and  being 
friends  any  way,  if  I  could  be  nothing 
more.  But  the  people  here  are  not 
of  my  mind.  All  the  worse  for  them. 
Much  I  care.  I  shall  go  ami  sec  w  here, 
they  have  buried  my  father  (I  don't 
believe  he  would  have  died  if  he  bail 
not  come  here),  and  then  I  shall  go 
back  home  across  the  water  to  my 
country,  where  men  know  how  to 
quarrel,  ay,  and  fight  too.  and  then 
drop  it  when  it  is  done  with." 

Thus  spake  the  Yankee  girl.  Tlio 
English  girl  colored  up  :  but  she  did 


290 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIBUS. 


not  answer  back,  except  by  turning 
brimming  eyes  and  a  look  of  gentle 
reproach  on  her. 

On  this,  partly  because  she  was  un- 
happy, partly  because  this  mild  look 
pricked  her'  great  though  wayward 
heart,  the  Yankee  girl  began  to  cry 
bitterly. 

On  this,  the  English  girl  flung  her 
arms  round  the  Yankee  girl's  neck, 
and  cried  with  her. 

"  Dearest,  he  loves  you  still." 

"  Still,  —  he  never  loved  me,  Har- 
riet !  O  no,  he  never  loved  me  !  Oh ! 
oh  ! " 

"  You  forget,  —  I  have  been  home 
—  I  have  seen  him.  He  is  pale  —  he 
is  sad  " 

"  That  is  a  c-c-comfort,  —  I  w-w- 
wish  he  was  at  d-d-death's  door  !  " 

"  He  is  far  more  unhappy  than  you 
are." 

"  I  am  so  glad,    I  don't  believe  it." 

"  You  may  believe  it.  I  have  seen 
it." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  was  seen 
approaching  :  he  came  up,  touched  his 
hand  tu  Caroline  with  a  world  of  ob- 
sequiousness, and  informed  her  the 
parson  had  called  to  see  her  and  was 
in  the  drawing-room. 

"  The  parson  i  " 

"  The  Reverend  Mr.  Trcmainc, 
miss." 

"  A  great  friend  of  our  family,"  ex- 
plained Harriet. 

"  Ah,  tell  me  all  about  him  as  we 
go  along." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Mr.  Tremaine.  "  Will  she  receive 
me  in  a  Bloomer?  " 

Harriet.  "I  don't  know.  I  hope 
not.    She  was  decent  a  minute  ago." 

Tremaine.  "  Perhaps  she  has  gone 
to  put  one  on." 

Harriet  gave  a  start,  and  had  a  mis- 
giving, Caroline  being  a  devil.  "Heav- 
en forbid,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  go  and 
see." 

The  next  minute  a  young  lady  of 


singular  beauty  and  grace  glided  into 
the  room.  She  was  dressed  richly,  but 
very  plainly.  Mr.  Tremaine  looked 
at  her  with  surprise.  "  Are  you  Miss 
Courtenay  '?  " 

She  smiled  sweetly  and  told  him 
she  was  Miss  Courtenay.  She  added 
that  Mr.  Tremaine  was  no  stranger 
to  her, — she  had  often  heard  of  him 
and  his  virtues,  in  happier  days. 
After  that  she  thanked  him  for  being 
the  first  to  welcome  her  home. 

"  We  shall  all  feel  flattered  at  your 
calling  it  home,  Miss  Courtenay  :  we 
must  try  and  keep  you  here  after 
that." 

In  about  ten  minutes  the  intelligent 
young  beauty  had  not  only  dissolved 
Mr.  Tremaine's  prejudices  against  her, 
but  had  substituted  a  tolerably  strong 
prejudice  in  her  favor. 

"  This  quiet,  lady-like,  dignified, 
gentle,  amiable,  beautiful  young  wo- 
man a  tomboy  ?  "  said  he  to  himself. 
"  I  don't  believe  it.  It  surpasses  be- 
lief: it  is  false." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  Miss  Courtenay,"  began  the  old 
gentleman,  "your  late  father  during 
the  short  time  he  was  among  us  gained 
the  respect  of  the  whole  country.  I 
cannot  help  thinking  you  will  be  his 
successor  in  our  esteem  as  well  as  in. 
Courtenay  Court." 

Miss  Courtenay  bowed  with  quiet 
dignity. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  we  are  an 
old-fashioned  people  here  in  Devon- 
shire. We  are  strait-laced,  perhaps  too 
strait-laced  —  ahem  !  in  short,  shall  I 
be  presuming  too  far  on  our  short  ac- 
quaintance if  (pray  give  me  credit 
for  friendly  motives)  I  ask  permission 
to  put  you  a  question  1  But  no,  — 
when  I  look  at  you,  —  it  is  impossi- 
ble." 

"  What  is  impossible,  sir  1  " 

"  That  you  can  ever  have —  by  the 
by,  they  say  you  can  swim,  Miss 
Courtenay  ";  and  the  old  gentleman 
colored  a  bit. 

"  A  little,  not  worth  boasting  of," 
replied  Caroline,  modestly.     "  I  think 


PROPRIA   QILE   MARIDUS. 


2C1 


I  could  make  shift  to  swim  across  this 
room,  if  the  sea  was  in  it." 

"  0,  no  farther  than  that  ?  well, 
there  is  not  much  harm  in  that.  Cut 
they  do  say  you  have  done  us  the 
honor,  ahem,  to  wear  male  habili- 
ments.    Is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Tremaine,  I  have. 
Let — me  —  see!  I  think  it  was  at  a 
fancy  ball ;  in  my  own  house ;  at 
New  York."  The  words  were  said 
with  assumed  carelessness  and  candor. 

"  What,  on  no  other  occasion  1  " 
"  On    no  other    public    occasion. 
Why  ?  " 

"  Then  really  I  think  too  much  has 
been  made  of  it.  But  you  are  said  to 
advocate  the  Bloomer  costume." 

"  I  have  often  advocated  it  in  words, 
sir,  but  wearing  it  is  a  different  matter, 
you  know." 

"  Very  different,  very  different  in- 
deed," said  Tremaine,  hastily. 

"  I  could  not  help  advocating  it, 
its  adversaries  argued  so  weakly 
against  it.  Shall  1  repeat  their  argu- 
ments, and  my  own  1 " 

"If you  please." 

Caroline  then,  with  the  calm  indif- 
ference of  a  judge,  stated  the  usual 
arguments  pro  and  con,  and  did  not 
fail  to  dwell  upon  the  trousers  of 
Eastern  women.  Mr.  Tremaine  took 
her  up  :  "  There  is  a  flaw  in  your  rea- 
soning, I  think."  said  he.  "  Those 
Eastern  women  distinguish  themselves: 
from  men  by  a  thick  veil.  They  all 
wear  a  thick  veil. 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  the  true  ar- 
gument against  Bloomer  has  never 
been  laid  before  you.  It  is  this.  In 
every  civilized  nation  the  entire  sex  is 
distinguished  by  some  marked  cos- 
tume. But  Bloomer  proposes  that 
one  third  of  the  women  should  be  at 
variance  with  the  other  two  thirds." 

"  O  no,  sir,  she  is  for  dressing  them 
all  in  Bloomer." 

"No.  Excuseme:  how  would  old 
\\omen  and  fat  women  look  in  a 
Bloomer  ?  how  would  young  matrons 
look  at  that  period  when  a  woman  i> 
next  a  woman'  Xo  ;  the  dress  of 
Women  must  clearly    be   some    dress 


that  becomes  all  women,  at  all  times 
and  occasions  of  life.  There  are 
plenty  of  boys  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
who  could  be  dressed  as  women  and 
eclipse  all  the  women  in  a  ball-room  : 
but  it  would  be  indelicate  and  unman- 
ly;  you,  with  your  youthful  symmet- 
rical figure,  could  eclipse  most  young 
men  in  their  own  habiliments  :  but  it 
would  be  indelicate  and  unwomanly. 
Forgive  me,  —  I  distress  you." 

"No,  sir,  but  you  convince  me,  and 
that  is  new  to  me.  I  admit  this  argu- 
ment at  once,  and  so  I  would  have  done 
six  months  ago ;  but  no  one  had  the 
intelligence  to  put  the  master  to  me 
so,"  said  the  sly  thing. 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  very  reasonable 
young  lady." 

'•  I  try  to  be  :  it  is  the  only  merit  I 
have." 

"  There  I  must  contradict  you 
again,  and  stoutly.  Well,  then,  sinca 
the  Bloomer  difficulty  is  despatched, 
let  me  have  the  honor  and  happiness* 
of  reconciling  an  honorable  young 
man  to  the  most  charming  young 
lady  I  have  met  with  this  manya  day." 
The  charming  young  lady  froza 
directly. 

"  I  will  not  affect  to  misunderstand 
you,  sir.  But  the  difference  between 
Mr.  Seymour  and  myself  lies  deeper 
than  this  paltry  dress,  —  lies  too  deep 
for  you  to  cure.  The  Bloomer  was  a 
mere  pretext.  Mr.  Seymour  did  not 
love  me." 

"  Excuse  me.     I  know  better." 
"  Whet.'  we  love  people,  we  forgive 
their  faults.     We  forgive  their  virtues 
even." 

Mr.  Trcmaino  looked  at  her  with 
some  surprise  !  The  Devonshire  ladies 
had  not  tongues  so  pointed  as  the  fail- 
Yankees. 

"lie  did  love  you;  ho  docs  love 
you  !  " 

"No,  Mr.  Tremaine!  no!  Was 
that  a  fault  for  any  one,  who  really 
loved  me,  to  quarrel  out  and  out  with 
a  spoiled  child  for  '.  "  Here  two  tears, 
the  one  real,  the  Other  crocodile,  rail 
down    her   lovely  cheeks   and   did    thfl 

poor  old  gentleman's  business  entirely. 


292 


PROPRIA   QVM  MARIEUS. 


"  He  deserves  to  be  hanged,"  cried 
he,  jumping  up  in  great  heat.  "  Young 
fool !  hut  he  does  love  you,  tenderly, 
sincerely  !  He  has  never  been  happy 
since.  He  never  will  be  happy,  till 
you  are  reconciled  to  him.  He  is  wait- 
ing in  great  anxiety  for  ray  return. 
I  shall  tell  him  to  ride  over  here, 
and  just  go  down  —  on  —  his  —  knees 
to  you  and  ask  your  forgiveness.  If 
he  does,  will  you  foryive  him  1  " 

"  I  will  try,  sir,"  said  Caroline, 
doubtfully  ;  "  but  he  owes  much  to  his 
advocate,  and  so  you  must  tell  him." 

"  I  shall  he  vain  enough  to  tell  him 
so,  you  may  depend " ;  and  away 
went  Mr.  Tremaine,  Caroline's  devot- 
ed champion  through  thick  and  thin 
from  this  hour.  As  he  rode  away, 
zeal  and  benevolence  shining  through 
him,  Caroline  said  dryly  to  herself: 
"  I  am  your  friend  for  life,  old  boy." 
Harriet  came  in  and  heard  the  news. 
She  was  delighted.  Reginald  will  be 
here  as  fast  as  his  horse's  feet  can 
carry  him.  Mr.  Tremaine  is  all-pow- 
erful in  our  house. 

"  So  I  concluded  from  what  you 
told  me,"  said  Caroline,  demurely, 
"  and  I  —  hem  —  will  you  excuse  me 
for  half  an  hour  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  will  find  me  on  the 
lawn." 

Full  three  quarters  of  an  hour  had 
elapsed,  and  Harriet  was  beginning 
to  wonder  what  had  become  of  her 
friend,  when  a  musical  laugh  rang  be- 
hind her.  She  turned  round  and  be- 
held  a  sight  that  made  her  scream 
with  terror  and  dismay,  —  there  stood 
Caroline  in  propria  quae  maribus,  as 
bold  as  brass. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

The  face  of  uneasy  defiance  Caro- 
line got  up,  when  Harriet  faced  her, 
was  truly  delicious.  "  It  is  all  over," 
gasped  Harriet,  "you  are  incurable." 

"  He  loves  me,"  explained  Caro- 
line. "  When  I  felt  like  giving  in,  I 
did  n't  think  he  loved  me." 


Harriet  made  no  reply.  She  marched 
off  stiffly.  The  Bloomer  followed, 
and  tried  to  appease  her  by  reminding 
her  how  hard  it  was  to  give  in  as  long 
as  a  chance  of  victory  remained. 
"  Hard  ?  it  is  impossible,  —  it  hurts  ! " 
No  answer. 

'•  It  was  all  that  dear  old  man's 
fault,  for  letting  out  that  he  loves  me 
still,  and  is  unhappy  :  so  then  he  is 
in  my  power,  and  I  can't  give  in  now  ; 
and  I  won't.  No  !  let  us  see  whether 
it  is  me  or  my  clothes  he  loves.  Ah ) 
ah.  O  my  dear  girl,  here  he  comes ! 
let  me  get  behind  you.  O  dear,  I  wish 
I  had  n't ! " 

Sure  enough  Reginald  was  coming 
down  to  the  other  side  of  the  stream. 

Caroline  got  half  behind  Harriet. 

Reginald  came  along  the  bridge  to 
join  them. 

"  I  wish  it  would  break  down,"  said 
Caroline,  "  and  then  I  'd  run  home, 
and  I  know  what  I  would  do." 

The  words  were  out  of  her  mouth 
and  no  more,  when  some  portion  of 
the  rotten  wood  gave  way,  and  splash 
went  Reginald  into  the  water.  Har- 
riet screamed.  Caroline  laughed;  bu'; 
her  laughter  was  soon  turned  to  dis- 
may. Reginald  sank.  He  came  up 
and  struggled  towards  the  wood-work, 
but  in  vain  :  the  current  had  carried 
him  a  yard  or  two  from  it,  and  even 
that  small  space  he  could  not  recover. 
He  was  too  proud  to  cry  for  help,  but 
he  was  drowning. 

"  He  can't  swim,"  cried  Caroline, 
and  she  dashed  into  the  stream  like  a 
water-spaniel :  in  two  strokes  she  was 
beside  him  and  seized  him  by  the 
hair.  One  stroke  took  her  to  the  rem- 
nant of  the  bridge ;  "  Lay  hold  of 
that,  Reginald,"  she  cried  ;  he  obeyed, 
and  while  she  swam  ashore  he  worked 
alon^  the  wooden  bridge  to  the  bank. 
The  moment  she  saw  him  safe  she  be- 
gan to  laugh  again,  and  then  what 
does  my  lady  do  but  sets  off  running 
home  full  pelt  before  he  could  say  a 
word  to  her?  He  followed  her,  crying, 
"  Caroline,  Caroline  !  "  It  was  no 
use,  she  was  in  her  Bloomer,  and  ran 
like  a  doe. 


PROPRIA   QILE  MARIBUS. 


293 


"  O  Reginald,  go  home  and  change 
your  clothes,"  cried  the  tender  Har- 
riet. 

"  What,  go  home,  before  I  have 
thanked  my  guardian  angel,  —  my 
beloved  1  " 

"  Your  guardian  angel  must  change 
her  clothes  (they  are  spoiled  forever 
now,  that  is  one  comfort),  and  you 
must  change  yours,  —  you  will  catch 
your  death." 

"At  least  tell  her  she  shall  wear 
what  she  pleases  — tell  her  —  " 

"  I  will  tell  her  nothing  ;  come  and 
tell  it  her  yourself  iu  dry  clothes  ; 
frightening  me  so  !  " 

Reginald  ran  to  the  stables,  got  his 
horse,  galloped  home ;  dressed  him- 
self and  galloped  back,  and  came 
into  Caroline's  drawing-room,  open- 
mouthed:  "  Wear  what  you  like,  dear 
Caroline ;  why,  where  is  the  Bloomer 
gone  ?  you  're  in  a  gown  !  No  mat- 
ter —  forgive  mc  —  (J  forgive  me  —  I 
have  been  ungrateful  once  —  I  never 
will  again,  my  beloved  —  what,  did  I 
not  owe  you  enough  before,  that  you 
must  save  my  life  ?  0  Caroline  !  one 
word !  can  the  devotion  of  a  life  re- 
store me  the  treasure  I  once  had  and 
trifled  with  ?  "  Then  he  fell  to  kiss- 
ing her  hands  and  her  gown. 

Then  she,  seeing  him  quite  over- 
came, turned  all  woman. 

"  Reginald,"  she  murmured,  and 
sank  upon  his  neck,  all  her  archness 
dissolving  for  one  sacred  moment  in 
tears  and  love. 

"  What  did  you  say  about  Bloom- 
er, Reginald,  dear?  " 

"  I  said  you  should  wear  whatever 
you  liked,  sweet  one." 

"  ( ),  then  we  are  never  to  agree  ;  for 
I  mean  to  wear  whatever  you  like." 

This  was  "  the  way  to  take  her," 
one  of  that  sort. 

They  are  to  be  made  slaves  of  just 
as  easily  as  the  hen-hearted  ones. 
But  ye  must  not  show  them  the  chain. 

Mr.  Fitzpatrick  came  in  the  after- 
noon. 

Caroline.  "  Mr.  Fitzpatrick,  will 
you  come  here  i  " 


Fitzpatrick.  "1  will."  N.  B.  An 
Irishman  always  consents,  and  never 
says  "  Yes." 

Caroline  (with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye). 
"  Will  vou  do  me  a  favor  1 " 

Fitz.   "I  will." 

Carol.  "  Do  you  see  that  lady  sit- 
ting there  ?  "     (Harriet.) 

Fitz.    "I  do"  (coloring). 

Carol.  "  Go  and  marry  her."  And 
she  gave  him  a  push  that  seemed  less 
than  a  feather,  but  somehow  it  pro- 
pelled Fitz  all  across  the  room  and 
sent  him  down  on  his  knees  before 
Harriet.  There  were  only  these  three 
in  the  room. 

Mr.  Tremaine  married  two  couples 
in  one  day :  Reginald  and  Caroline, 
Fitzpatrick  and  Harriet.  I  ought  to 
explain  to  those  who  have  not  seen  it 
that  during  the  voyage  Fitz  had  dis- 
covered it  was  Harriet  he  loved  a  shade 
the  best  of  the  two. 

At  the  wedding  breakfast,  arrayed 
in  white  and  adorned  with  wreaths, 
both  the  Yankee  and  the  English  beau- 
ty, were  intolerably  lovely.  No  one 
seemed  more  conscious  of  this  double 
fact  than  Fitz.  Caroline  observed  his 
looks  and  said  to  him  confidentially  : 
"  Would  n't  you  like  to  have  married 
both  ladies  now  1  tell  the  truth  !  ! !  !  " 
"  Indeed  and  I  would,"  replied  the 
candid  Celt,  unconscious  of  any  satire 
in  the  question. 

America  takes  two  hundred  thou- 
sand English  every  year  :  we  have  got 
this  one  Yankee  in  return,  and  wo 
mean  to  keep  her. 

A  year  after  they  had  been  married, 
she  wanted  to  give  her  Bloomer  to  one 
of  the  stable  boys. 

"  What,  the  dress  you  saved  my  life 
in  ?  "  cried  Reginald.  "  I  would  not 
part  with  it  to  a  princo  for  the  prico 
of  a  kind's  random." 

Lads  and  lasses,  this  story  is  what  I 
have  called  it,  a  jeu  cTespnt :  written 
for  vour  ainuseinent,  and  intended  not 
to  improve  you,  instruct  you,  or  ele- 
vate your  morals.  Receive  it  so  ! 
and,  when  next  wc  meet,  majora  ca- 
niunus  ! 


THE   BOX   TUNNEL 


A    FACT. 


THE   BOX   TUNNEL. 


THE  10.15  train  glided  from  Pad- 
dington,  May7,  1847.  In  the  left 
compartment   of  a  certain    first-class 
carriage  were  four  passengers ;  of  these, 
two  were  worth  description.     The  lady 
had  a  smooth,  white,  delicate  brow, 
Strongly  marked  eyebrows,  long  lash- 
es, eves  that  seemed  to  change  color, 
and  a  good-sized  delicious  mouth,  with 
teeth  as  white  as  milk.     A  man  could 
not  see  her  nose   for    her    eyes   and 
mouth,  her  own  sex  could  ami  would 
have  told  us  some  nonsense  about  it. 
She    wore   an    unpretending   grayish 
dress,  buttoned  to  the  throat,  with  loz- 
enge-shaped   buttons,   and   a   Scotch 
shawl    that  agreeably   evaded  the  re- 
sponsibility of  color.     She  was  like  a 
duck,  so  tight  her  plain  feathers    fit- 
ted her  ;     and  there  she  sat,  smooth, 
snug,  and    delicious,   with    a  book  in 
her  hand  and  a  saupgw  of  her  snowy 
wrist  just  visible  as  she  held  it.     II  r 
opposite  neighbor  was  what  I  call  a 
good  style  of  man,  —  the  more  to  his 
credit,  since  he  belonged  to  a  corpora- 
tion that  frequently  turns  oat  the  worst 
imaginable  style  of  young  man.     He 
was  a  cavalry  officer  aged  twenty-five, 
lie  had  a  mustache,  but  not  a  repul- 
sive one  ;  not  one  of  those  sub  nasal 
fog-tails,  on  which  soup  is  suspended 
ike  dew  on  a  shrub  ;    it    was    short, 
thick,  and  black  as  a  coal.     His  teeth 
had   not  yet  been   turned   by  tobacco 
smoke  to  the  color  of  tobacco  juice,  his 
clothes  did  not  stick  to  nor  bang  on 
him,  they  sat  on  him  ;  he  had  an  engag- 
ing smile,  and,  what  1  liked  the  dog  for, 
his  vanity,  which  was   inordinate,  was 
in  its  proper  place  his  heart,  not  in  his 
13* 


face,  jostling  mine  and  other  people's, 
who  have  none  :  — in  a  word,  he  was 
what  one  oftener  hears  of  than  meets, 
a  young  gentleman.  He  was  conversing 
in  an  animated  whisper  with  a  com- 
panion, a  fellow-officer,  —  they  were 
talking  about,  what  it  is  far  better  not 
to  do,  women.  Our  friend  clearly  did 
not  wish  to  be  overheard,  for  he  cast, 
ever  and  anon,  a  furtive  glance  at  his 
fair  vis-a-vis  and  lowered  his  voice.  She 
seemed  completely  absorbed  in  her 
book,  and  that  reassured  him.  At  last 
the  two  soldiers  came  down  to  a  whis- 
per, and  in  that  whisper  (the  truth 
must  be  told)  the  one  who  got  down 
at  Slough,  and  was  lost  to  posterity, 
bet  ten  pounds  to  three,  that  he  who 
was  going  down  with  us  to  Bath  and 
immortality,  would  not  kiss  either  of 
the  ladies  opposite  upon  the  road. 
"  Done  !  Done  !  "  Now  I  am  sorry 
a  man  I  have  hitherto  praised  should 
have  lent  himself,  even  in  a  whisper, 
to  such  a  speculation  ;  but  "nobody  is 
wise  at  all  hours,"  not  even  when  the 
clock  is  striking  iive-and-twenty  ;  and 
you  are  to  consider  his  profession,  hid 
good  looks,  and  the  temptation,  —  teu 
to  three. 

After  Slough  the  party  was  reduced 
to  three  :  at  Twyford  one  lady  dropped 
her  handkerchief;  Captain  Dolignan 
fell  on  it  like  a  tiger  and  returned  it 
like  a  lamb  ;  two  or  three  words  wcra 
interchanged  on  that  occasion.  At 
Reading  the  Marlborough  of  our  talo 
made  one  of  the  safe  investments  of 
that  day  ;  he  bought  a  "  Times  "  iwA 
a  "  Punch  "  ;  the  latter  was  full  of 
steel-pen  thrusts  and  wood-cuts.    Yal- 


298 


THE  COX  TUNNEL. 


or  and  beauty  deigned  to  laugh  at 
some  inflated  humbug  or  other  punc- 
tured by  Punch.  Now  laughing  to- 
gether thaws  our  human  ice ;  long 
before  Swindon  it  was  a  talking 
match, — at  Swindon  who  so  devoted 
as  Captain  Dolignan,  —  he  handed 
them  out,  —  he  souped  them,  —  he 
tough-chickened  them,  —  he  brandied 
and  cochinealed*  one,  and  he  bran- 
died  and  burnt-sugared  the  other  ;  on 
their  return  to  the  carriage,  one  lady 
passed  into  the  inner  compartment  to 
inspect  a  certain  gentleman's  seat  on 
that  side  the  line. 

Reader,  had  it  been  you  or  I,  the 
beauty  would  have  been  the  deserter, 
the  average  one  would  have  stayed 
with  us  till  all  was  blue,  ourselves  in- 
cluded ;  not  more  surely  does  our 
slice  of  bread  and  butter,  when  it  es- 
capes from  our  hand,  revolve  it  ever 
so  often,  alight  face  downwards  on  the 
carpet.  But  this  was  a  bit  of  a  fop, 
Adonis,  dragoon,  —  so  Venus  re- 
mained in  tete-a-tete  with  him.  You 
have  seen  a  dog  meet  an  unknown 
female  of  his  species  ;  how  hand- 
some, how  empresse,  how  expressive 
he  becomes  :  such  was  Dolignan  af- 
ter Swindon,  and,  to  do  the  dog  jus- 
tice, he  got  handsomer  and '  hand- 
somer ;  and  you  have  seen  a  cat  con- 
scious of  approaching  cream,  —  such 
was  Miss  Haythorn ;  she  became  de- 
murer and  demurer :  presently  our 
Captain  looked  out  of  window  and 
laughed  ;  this  elicited  an  inquiring 
look  from  Miss  Haythorn.  "  We 
are  only  a  mile  from  the  Box  Tun- 
nel."—  "Do  you  always  laugh  a 
mile  from  the  Box  Tunnel  ?  "  said  the 
lady. 

"  Invariably." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Why  !  hem  !  it  is  a  gentleman's 
joke." 

"  O,  I  don't  mind  its  being  silly,  if 
it  makes  me  laugh."  Captain  Dolig- 
nan,   thus  encouraged,   recounted  to 

*  This  is  supposed  to  allude  to  two  decoc- 
tions called  port  and  sherry,  and  imagined  by 
one  earthly  nation  to  partake  of  a  vinous  na- 
ture. 


Miss  Haythorn  the  following :  "  A 
lady  and  her  husband  sat  together 
going  through  the  Box  Tunnel,-  — 
there  was  one  gentleman  opposite  ;  it 
was  pitch-dark ;  after  the  Tunnel  the 
lady  said, '  George,  how  absurd  of  you 
to  salute  me  going  through  the  tun- 
nel!' —  'I  did  no  such  thing  ! '  — '  You 
did  n't  V  —  '  No  !  why  1 '  —  '  Why, 
because  somehow  I  thought  you 
did  ! '  "  Here  Captain  Dolignan 
laughed,  and  endeavored  to  lead  his 
companion  to  laugh,  but  it  was  not  to 
be  done.  The  train  entered  the  tunnel. 
Miss  Haythorn.  "  Ah  !  " 
Dolignan.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 
Miss  Haythorn.  "  I  am  frightened." 
Dolignan  (moving  to  her  side). 
"  Pray  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  am  near 
you."" 

Miss  Haythorn.  "  You  are  near  me, 
very  near  me  indeed,  Captain  Dolig- 
nan." 

Dolignan.    "  You  know  my  name  !  " 
Miss  Haythorn.  "  I  heard  your  friend 
mention  it.    I  wish  we  were  out  of  this 
dark  place." 

Dolignan.  "  I  could  be  content  to 
spend  hours  here,  reassuring  you, 
sweet  lady." 

Miss  Haythorn.  "  Nonsense  !  " 
Dolignan.  "  Pweep  ! "  (Grave  read- 
er, do  not  put  your  lips  to  the  cheek, 
of  the  next  pretty  creature  you  meet, 
or  you  will  understand  what  this 
means.) 

Miss  Haythorn.    "  Ee  !  Ee  !  Ee  !  " 
Friend.  '"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 
Miss  Haythorn.    "  Open  the   door  ! 
open  the  door  !  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  hurried  whis- 
pers, the  door  was  shut  and  the  blind 
pulled  down  with  hostile  sharpness. 

If  any  critic  falls  on  me  for  putting 
inarticulate  sounds  in  a  dialogue  as 
above,  I  answer  with  all  the  insolence 
I  can  command  at  present,  "  Hit 
boys  as  big  as  yourself,"  bigger  per- 
haps, such  as  Sophocles,  Euripides, 
and  Aristophanes  ;  they  began  it,  and 
1  learned  it  of  them,  sore  against  my 
will. 

Miss  Haythorn's  scream  lost  a  part 
of  its  effect  because  the  engine  whis- 


THE   BOX   TUNNEL. 


299 


tied  forty  thousand  murders  at  the 
same  moment ;  and  fictitious  grief 
makes  itself  heard  when  real  can- 
not. 

Between  the  tunnel  and  Bath  our 
young  friend  had  time  to  ask  himself 
whether  his  conduct  had  been  marked 
by  that  delicate  reserve  which  is  sup- 
posed to  distinguish  the  perfect  gen- 
tleman. 

With  a  long  face,  real  or  feigned, 
he  held  open  the  door,  —  his  late 
friends  attempted  to  escape  on  the 
other  side,  —  impossible!  they  must 
pass  him.  She  whom  he  had  insulted 
(Latin  for  kissed)  deposited  some- 
where at  his  foot  a  look  of  gentle 
blushing  reproach  ;  the  other,  whom 
he  had  not  insulted,  darted  red-hot 
daggers  at  him  from  her  eyes,  and  so 
they  parted. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  Do- 
liguan  that  he  had  the  grace  to  be 
friends  with  Major  Hoskyns  of  his 
regiment,  a  veteran  laughed  at  by  the 
youngsters,  for  the  Major  was  too  apt 
to  look  coldly  upon  billiard  balls  and 
cigars  ;  he  had  seen  cannon  balls  and 
linstocks-.  He  had  also,  to  tell  the 
truth,  swallowed  a  good  bit  of  the 
mess-room  poker,  but  with  it  some 
sort  of  moral  poker,  which  made  it  as 
impossible  for  Major  Hoskyns  to  de- 
si  end  to  an  ungcntlemanlike  word  or 
action  as  to  brush  his  own  trousers 
below  the  knee. 

( 'aptain  Dolignan  told  this  gentle- 
man his  story  in  gleeful  accents ;  but 
Major  Hoskyns  heard  him  eoldlv,and 

a-  coldly  answered  that  he  had  known 
a  man  lose  liis  life  for  the  same  thing. 
'•  'Hint  is  nothing,"  continued  the 
Major,  "hut  Unfortunately  he  de- 
served to  lose  it." 

At  this  the  blood  mounted  to  the 
younger  man's  temples,  mid  his  se- 
nior added:  "  I  mean  to  say  he  was 
thirtv-rive;  you,  I  presume,  are  twen- 
ty-one !  •' 
'  "  Twenty-five." 

"  That  is  much  the  same  thing  , 
will  you  he  advised  by  me  !  " 

"  If  you  will  advise  me." 

"  Speak  to  no  one  of  this,  and  send 


White  the  £  3  that  he  may  think  you 
have  lost  the  bet." 

"  That  is  hard  when  I  won  it !  " 

"  Do  it  for  all  that,  sir." 

Let  the  disbelievers  in  human  per- 
fectibility know  that  this  dragoon 
capahle  of  a  blush  did  this  virtuous 
action,  albeit  with  violent  reluctance  : 
and  this  was  his  first  damper.  A  week 
after  these  events,  he  was  at  a  ball. 
He  was  in  that  state  of  factitious  dis- 
content which  belongs  to  us  amiable 
English.  He  was  iooking,  in  vain, 
for  a  lady,  equal  in  personal  attrac- 
tions to  the  idea  he  had  formed  of 
George  Dolignan  as  a  man,  when 
suddenly  there  glided  past  him  a  most 
delightful  vision  !  a  lady  whose  beauty 
and  symmetry  took  him  by  the  e\x-^, 

—  another  look  :  "  It  can't  be  )  — 
Yes,  it  is  !  "  Miss  Haythorn  !  (not 
that  he  knew  her  name!)  but  what 
an  apotheosis  ! 

The  duck  had  become  a  pea-hen, 

—  radiant,  dazzling,  she  looked  twice 
as  beautiful  and  almost  twice  as  large 
as  before.  He  lost  sight  of  her.  He 
found  her  again.  She  was  so  lovely 
she  made  him  ill, — and  he,  alone, 
must  not  dance  with  her,  speak  to 
her.  If  he  had  been  content  to  begin 
her  acquaintance  the  usual  way,  it 
might  have  ended  in  kissing,  but  hav- 
ing begun  with  kissing  it  must  end  in 
nothing.  As  she  danced,  sparks  of 
beauty  fell  from  her  on  all  around, 
but  him, — she  did  not  see  him;  it 
was  clear  she  never  would  see  him,  — 
one  gentleman  was  particularly  as- 
siduous ;  she  smiled  on  his  assiduity; 
he  was  ugly,  but  she  smiled  on  him. 
Dolignan  was  surprised  at  his  success, 
his  ill  taste,  his  ugbness,  his  imperti- 
nence. Dolignan  at  last  found  him- 
self injured.  "  Who  was  this  man  ! 
and  what  right  had  he  to  go  on 
so  ?  He  bad  never  kissed  her,  I 
suppose,"  said  Dolly.  Dolignan 
could  not  prove  it,  but  he  felt  that 
somehow  the  rights  of  property  were 
invaded.  lie  went  home  and  dreamed 
of  Miss  llavthorn,  and  hated  all  the 
ugly  successful.*     He    spent    a    fort- 

*   When  our  successful   rival   is   ugly  (he 


300 


THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 


night  trying  to  find  out  who  this 
beauty  was,  —  he  never  could  encoun- 
ter her  again.  At  last  he  heard  of  her 
in  this  way  ;  a  lawyer  s  clerk  paid  him 
a  little  visit  and  commenced  a  little 
action  against  him,  in  the  name  of 
Miss  Haythorn,  for  insulting  her  in  a 
railway  train. 

The  young  gentleman  was  shocked  ; 
endeavored  to  soften  the  lawyer's  clerk; 
that  machine  did  not  thoroughly  com- 
prehend the  meaning  of  the  term. 
The  lady's  name,  however,  was  at 
least  revealed  by  this  untoward  inci- 
dent ;  from  her  name  to  her  address 
was  but  a  short  step ;  and  the  same 
day  our  crestfallen  hero  lay  in  wait 
at  her  door,  and  many  a  succeeding 
day,  without  effect.  But  one  fine  af- 
ternoon she  issued  forth  quite  natu- 
rally, as  if  she  did  it  every  day,  and 
walked  briskly  on  the  nearest  Parade. 
Dolignan  did  the  same,  he  met  and 
passed  her  many  times  on  the  Parade, 
and  searched  for  pity  in  her  eyes,  but 
found  neither  look,  nor  recognition, 
nor  any  other  sentiment;  for  all  this 
she  walked  and  walked,  till  all  the 
other  promenaders  were  tired  and 
gone,  —  then  her  culprit  summoned 
resolution,  and  taking  off  his  hat, 
with  a  voice  tremulous  for  the  first 
time,  besought  permission  to  address 
her.  She  stopped,  blushed,  and  nei- 
ther acknowledged  nor  disowned  his 
acquaintance.  He  blushed,  stammered 
out  how  ashamed  he  was,  how  he  de- 
served to  be  punished,  how  he  was 
punished,  how  little  she  knew  how 
unhappy  he  was  ;  and  concluded  by 
begging  her  not  to  let  all  the  world 
know  the  disgrace  of  a  man  who  was 
already  mortified  enough  by  the  loss 
of  her  acquaintance.  She  asked  an 
explanation  ;  he  told  her  of  the  action 
that  had  been  commenced  in  her  name; 
she  gently  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
said,  "  How  stupid  they  are."  Em- 
boldened by  this,  he  begged  to  know 
whether  or  not  a  life  of  distant  un- 
pretending devotion    would,   after   a 

blow  is  doubly  severe,  crushing,  —  we  fait  by 
bludgeon  :  we  who  thought  the  keenest  ra- 
pier might  perchance  thrust  at  us  in  vain. 


lapse  of  years,  erase  the  memory  of  Mi 
madness,  —  his  crime  ! 

"  She  did  not  know! 

"  She  must  now  bid  him  adieu,  as 
she  had  some  preparations  to  make 
for  a  ball  in  the  crescent,  where  every- 
body was  to  be."  They  parted,  and  Do- 
lignan determined  to  be  at  the  ball, 
where  everybody  was  to  be.  He  was 
there,  and  after  some  time  he  obtained 
an  introduction  to  Miss  Haythorn,  and 
he  danced  with  her.  Her  manner  was 
gracious.  With  the  wonderful  tact 
of  her  sex,  she  seemed  to  have  com- 
menced the  acquaintance  that  even- 
ing. That  night,  for  the  first  time, 
Dolignan  was  in  love.  I  will  spare 
the  reader  all  a  lover's  arts,  by  which 
he  succeeded  in  dining  where  she 
dined,  in  dancing  where  she  danced, 
in  overtaking  her  by  accident,  when 
she  rode.  His  devotion  followed  her 
even  to  church,  where  our  dragoon 
was  rewarded  by  learning  there  is  a 
world  where  they  neither  polk  nor 
smoke, — the  two  capital  abominations 
of  this  one. 

He  made  acquaintance  with  her 
uncle,  who  liked  him,  and  he  saw  at 
last,  with  joy,  that  her  eye  loved  to 
dwell  upon  him,  when  she  thought  he 
did  not  observe  her. 

It  was  three  months  after  the  Box 
Tunnel,  that  Captain  Dolignan  called 
one  day  upon  Captain  Haythorn,  R. 
N.,  whom  he  had  met  twice  in  his 
life,  and  slightly  propitiated  by  vio- 
lently listening  to  a  cutting-out  expe- 
dition ;  he  called,  and  in  the  usual 
way  asked  permission  to  pay  his  ad- 
dresses to  his  daughter.  The  worthy 
Captain  straightway  began  doing 
Quarter-Deck,  when  suddenly  he  was 
summoned  from  the  apartment  by  a 
mysterious  message.  On  his  return 
he  annouueed,  with  a  total  change  of 
voice,  that,  "  It  was  all  right,  and  his 
visitor  might  run  alongside  as  soon 
as  he  chose."  My  reader  has  divined 
the  truth ;  this  nautical  commander, 
terrible  to  the  foe,  was  in  complete 
and  happy  subjugation  to  his  daugh- 
ter, our  heroine. 

As  he  was  taking  leave,  Dolignan 


THE  BOX   TUNNEL. 


301 


saw  liis  divinity  glide  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. He  followed  her,  observed 
a  sweet  consciousness  which  encour- 
aged him  ;  that  consciousness  deep- 
ened into  contusion,  —  she  tried  to 
laugh,  she  cried  instead,  and  then  she 
smiled  again  ;  and  when  he  kissed  her 
hand  at  the  door,  it  was  "  George," 
and  "  Marian,"  instead  of  Captain 
this,  and  Miss  the  other.  A  reasona- 
ble time  after  this  (for  my  tale  is  mer- 
ciful and  skips  formalities  and  tortur- 
ing delays),  these  two  were  very 
happy, — they  were  once  more  upon 
the  railroad,  going  to  enjoy  their  hon- 
eymoon all  by  themselves.  Marian 
Dolignan  was  dressed  just  as  before, 
—  duck-like,  and  delicious;  all  bright, 
except  her  clothes  :  but  George  sat 
beside  her  this  time  instead  of  oppo- 
site; and  she  drank  him  in  gently  from 
under  her  long  eyelashes.  "  Marian," 
said  George,  "  married  people  should 
tell  each  other  all.  Will  you  ever  for- 
give me  if  I  own  to  you  —  no  —  " 

"  Yes !  yes  !  " 

"  Well,  then  !  you  remember  the 
Box  Tunnel "  (this  was  the  first  al- 
lusion he  had  ventured  to  it),  "  I 
am  ashamsd  to  say  I  had  bet  £3  to 
£10  with  White,  I  would  kiss  one  of 
you  two  ladies  " ;  and  George,  pathetic 
externally,  chuckled  within. 


"  I  know  that,  George ;  I  over- 
heard you,"  was  the  demure  reply. 

"  0,  you  overheard  me  ?  impossi- 
ble." 

"  And  did  you  not  hear  me  whisper 
to  my  companion  ?  I  made  a  bet  with 
her." 

"  You  made  a  bet,  how  singular ! 
What  was  it  1 " 

"  Only  a  pair  of  gloves,  George." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  what  about 
it?" 

"  That,  if  you  did,  you  should  be  my 
husband,  dearest." 

"  Oh  !  —  but  stay  —  then  you  could 
not  have  been  so  very  angry  with  me, 
love;  why,  dearest,  then  who  brought 
that  action  against  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dolignan  looked  down. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  forgetting 
me  !  George,  you  will  never  forgive 
me?" 

"  Sweet  angel,  why,  here  is  the 
Box  Tunnel  !  " 

Now,  reader,  —  fie !  —  no !  no  such 
thing  !  You  can't  expect  to  be  in- 
dulged in  this  way,  every  time  we 
come  to  a  dark  place, — besides,  it  is 
not  the  thing.  Consider,  two  sensible 
married  people,  —  no  such  phenome- 
non, I  assure  you,  took  place.  No 
scream  issued  in  hopeless  rivalry  of 
the  engine  —  this  time  ! 


JACK    OF    ALL    TRADES. 


A  MATTER-OF-FACT  ROMANCE. 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


THERE  arc  nobs  in  the  world,  and 
there  are  snobs. 

I  regret  to  say  I  belong  to  the  lat- 
ter department. 

There  are  men  that  roll  through 
life,  like  a  tire-new  red  ball  going 
across  Mr.  Lord's  cricket  ground  on 
a  sunshiny  day  ;  there  is  another  sort 
that  have  to  rough  it  in  general,  and, 
above  all,  to  tight  tooth  and  nail  for 
the  quartern-loaf,  and  not  always  win 
the  battle.     I  am  one  of  tins  lot. 

One  comfort,  folk  are  beginning  to 
take  an  interest  in  us.  I  see  nobs  of 
the  first  water  looking  with  a  fatherly 
eye  into  our  affairs,  —  our  leaden  taxes 
and  feather  incomes  j  our  fifteen  per 
cent  on  undeniable  security  when  the 
rich  pay  but  three  and  a  half;  our 
privations  and  vexations  ;  our  dirt 
and  distresses  ;  and  one  day  a  liter- 
ary gent,  that  knows  my  horrible 
story,  assured  me  that  my  ups  and 
downs  would  entertain  the  nobility, 
gentry,  and  commonalty  of  these 
realms. 

"  Instead  of  grumbling  to  me,"  says 
he,  "  print  your  troubles,  and  I  prom- 
ise you  all  the  world  will  read  them, 
and  laugh  at  them." 

"No  doubt,  sir,"  said  I,  rather 
ironical  ;  "all  the  world  is  at  leisure 
for  that." 

"  Why,  look  at  the  signs  of  the 
times,"  say-  be  ;  "  can't  you  B66 work- 
men are  up  i  so  take  us  while  we  are 
in  the  humor,  and  that  is  now.  We 
sh:ill  not  always  be  for  Squeezing  hon- 
ey out  of  Weeds,  shall  we  '  "  "  Not 
likely,  sir,"  says  I.  Says  be,  "  How 
nice  it  will  be  to  growl  wholesale  to  a 


hundred  thousand  of  your  country- 
men (which  they  do  love  a  bit  of  a 
growl),  instead  of  growling  retail  to 
a  small  family  that  has  got  hardened 
to  you  !  "  And  there  he  had  me ; 
for  I  am  an  Englishman,  and  proud 
of  it,  and  attached  to  all  the  national 
habits  except'  delirium  tremens.  In 
short,  what  with  him  inflaming  my 
dormant  conceit,  and  me  thinking, 
"  Well,  I  can  but  say  my  say,  and 
then  relapse  into  befitting  silence,"  I 
did  one  day  lay  down  the  gauge  and 
take  up  the  pen,  in  spite  of  my  wife's 
sorrowful  looks. 

She  says  nothing,  but  you  may  see 
she  does  not  believe  in  the  new  tool, 
and  that  is  cheerful  and  inspiriting  to 
a  beginner. 

However,  there  is  a  something  that 
gives  me  more  confidence  than  all  my 
literary  friend  says  about  "  workmen 
being  up  in  the  literary  world,"  and 
that  is  that  I  am  not  the  hero  of  my 
own  story. 

Small  as  I  sit  here  behind  my  wife's 
crockcrv  and  my  own  fiddles,  in  this 
thundering  hole,  Wardour  Street,  I 
was  for  many  years  connected  with 
one  of  the  most  celebrated  females  of 
modern  times.  Her  adventures  run 
side  by  sidi'  with  mine.  She  is  the 
bit  of  romance  that  colors  my  humble 
hie,  and  my  safest  excuse  for  intruding 
on  the  public. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FxTHBB  and  mother  lived  in  King 
Street,  Boho  :  he  was  a  fiddle-maker, 
t 


306 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


and  taught  mc  the  A  B  C  of  that  sci- 
ence at  odd  times  ;  for  I  had  a  reg- 
ular education,  and  a  very  good  one, 
at  a  school  in  West  Street.  This  part 
of  my  life  was  as  smooth  as  glass. 
My  troubles  did  not  begin  till  I  was 
thirteen  :  at  that  age  my  mother  died, 
and  then  I.  found  out  what  she  had 
been  to  me  :  that  was  the  first  and  the 
worst  grief;  the  next  I  thought  bad 
enough.  Coming  in  from  school  one 
day,  about  nine  months  after  her 
death,  I  found  a  woman  sitting  by  the 
fire  opposite  father. 

I  came  to  a  stand  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  with  two  eyes  like  saucers, 
staring  at  the  pair ;  so  my  father  in- 
troduced me. 

"  This  is  your  new  mother.  Anne, 
this  is  John  !  " 

"  Come  and  kiss  me,  John,"  says 
the  lady.  Instead  of  which  John 
stood  stock-still,  and  burst  out  roar- 
ing and  crying  without  the  least  leav- 
ing off  staring,  which  to  be  sure  was 
a  cheerful,  encouraging  reception  for 
a  lady  just  come  into  the  family.  I 
roared  pretty  hard  for  about  ten  sec- 
onds, then  stopped  dead  short,  and 
savs  I,  with  a  sudden  calm,  the  more 
awful  for  the  storm  that  had  raged  be- 
fore :  "  I  '11  go  and  tell  Mr.  Paley  !  " 
and  out  I  marched. 

Mr.  Paley  was  a  little  humpbacked 
tailor,  with  the  heart  of  a  dove  and 
the  spirit  of  a  lion  or  two.  I  made 
his  acquaintance  through  pitching  in- 
to two  boys  that  were  queering  his  pro- 
tuberances all  down  Princes  Street, 
Soho ;  a  kind  of  low  humor  he- de- 
tested ;  and  lie  had  taken  quite  a  fan- 
cy to  me.  We  were  hand  and  glove, 
the  old  man  and  me. 

I  ran  to  Paley  and  told  him  what 
had  befallen  upon  the  house.  He  was 
not  struck  all  of  a  heap,  as  I  thought 
he  would  be ;  and  ho  showed  me  it 
was  Legal,  of  which  I  had  not  an 
idea  ;  and  his  advice  was  :  "  Put  a 
good  face  on  it,  or  the  house  will 
soon  hi  too  hot  to  hold  you,  boy." 

He  was  right.  I  don't  know  wheth- 
er it  was  my  fault  or  hers,  or  both's, 
but  we  could  never  mix.     I  had  seen 


another  face  by  that  fireside,  and 
heard  another  voice  in  the  house,  that 
seemed  to  me  a  deal  more  melodious 
than  hers,  and  the  house  did  become 
hotter,  and  the  inmates'  looks  colder 
than  agreeable ;  so  one  day  I  asked 
my  father  to  settle  me  in  some  other 
house  not  less  than  a  mile  from  King 
Street,  Soho.  He  and  step-mother 
jumped  at  the  offer,  and  apprenticed 
me  to  Mr.  Dawes.  Here  I  learned 
more  mysteries  of  guitar- making, 
violin-making,  etc.,  etc.,  and  lived  in 
tolerable  comfort  nearly  four  years  ; 
there  was  a  ripple  on  the  water, 
though.  My  master  had  a  brother,  a 
thickset,  heavy  fellow,  that  used  to 
bully  my  master,  especially  when  he 
was  groggy,  and  less  able  to  take  his 
own  part.  My  master  being  a  good 
fellow,  I  used  to  side  with  him,  and 
this  brought  me  a  skinful  of  sore 
bones  more  than  once,  I  can  tell  you. 
But  one  night,  after  some  months 
of  peace,  I  heard  a  terrible  scrim- 
mage, and,  running  down  into  the 
shop  parlor,  I  found  Dawes  junior 
pegging  into  Dawes  senior  no  al- 
lowance, and  him  crying  blue  mur- 
der. 

I  was  now  an  able-bodied  youth 
between  sixteen  and  seventeen  years 
of  age,  and,  having  a  little  score  of 
my  own  with  the  attacking  party,  I 
opened  quite  silent  and  business-like 
with  a  one,  two,  and  knocked  him  in- 
to a  corner  flat  perpendicular.  He 
was  dumfoundered  for  a  moment, 
but  the  next  he  came  out  like  a 
bull  at  me.  I  stepped  on  one  side, 
and  met  him  with  a  blow  on  the  side 
of  the  temple,  and  knocked  him  flat 
horizontal ;  and  when  he  offered  to 
rise  I  shook  my  fist  at  him,  and 
threatened  him  he  should  come  to 
grief  if  he  dared  to  move. 

At  this  time  he  went  on  quite  a  dif- 
ferent lay.  He  lay  still,  and  feigned 
dissolution  with  considerable  skill,  to 
frighten  us  ;  and  I  can't  say  I  felt 
easy  at  all  ;  but  my  master,  who 
took  cheerful  views  of  everything  in 
his  cups,  got  the  enemy's  tumbler  of 
brandy  and  water,  and  with  hiccoughs 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


$07 


and  absurd  smiles,  and  a  teaspoon, 
deposited  the  contents  gradually  on 
the  various  parts  of  his  body. 

"  Lez  revive  'm  !  "  said  he. 

This  was  low  life  to  come  to  pass 
in  a  respectable  tradesman's  hack  par- 
lor. But,  when  grog  comes  in  at 
the  door,  good  manners  walk  to  the 
window,  ready  to  take  leave  if  re- 
quested. Where  there  is  drink  there 
is  always  degradation  of  some  sort 
or  degree ;  put  that  in  your  tumblers 
and  sip  it ! 

After  this  no  more  battles.  The 
lowly  apprentice's  humble  efforts 
(pugilistic)  restored  peace  to  his  mas- 
ter's family. 

Six  months  of  calm  industry  now 
rolled  over,  and  then  1  got  into  trou- 
ble by  niv  own  fault. 

Looking  hack  upon  the  various 
fancies,  and  opinions,  and  crotchets 
that  have  passed  through  my  head 
at  one  time  or  another,  I  find  that, 
between  the  years  of  seventeen  and 
twenty-four,  a  strange  notion  beset 
me;  it  was  this:  that  women  are  all 
angels. 

For  this  chimera  I  now  began  to 
suffer,  and  continued  to  at  intervals 
till  the  error  was  rooted  out, — with 
their  assistance. 

.  There  were  two  women  in  my 
master's  house,  —  his  sister,  aged 
twenty-fonr,  and  his  cook,  aged  thirty- 
seven.  With  both  these  I  fell  ardent- 
ly in  love;  and  SO,  with  my  senti- 
ments, I  should  have  with  six,  had 
the  house  held  half  a  dozen.  Un- 
luckily, my  affections  were  not  ac- 
companied with  the  discretion  so 
ticklish  a  situation  called  for.  The 
ladies  found  one  another  nut,  and  I 
fell  a  victim  to  the  virtuous  indigna- 
tion that  fired  three  bosoms. 

The  cook,  in  virruous  indignation 
that  an  apprentice  should  woo  his 
master's  sister,  told  my  master. 

The  young  lady,  in  virtuous  indig. 
that    a    boy   Bhould    make    a    fool    of 

"that  old  woman,"  told  my  master, 
who,  unluckily  for  me,  was  now  the 
quondam  Dawes  junior;  Dawes  sen 
jor    having    retired     from    the    active 


business,  and  turned  sleeping  and 
drinking  partner. 

My  master,  whose  v.  i.  was  the 
strongest  of  the  three,  since  it  was  him 
1  had  leathered,  took  me  to  Bow  Street, 
made  his  complaint,  and  forced  me  to 
cancel  my  indentures;  the  cook,  with 
tears,  packed  up  my  Sunday  suit ; 
the  young  lady  opened  her  bedroom 
door  three  inches,  and  shut  it  with  a 
don't-come-anigh -me  slam  ;  and  I 
drifted  out  to  London  with  eighteen- 
petice  and  my  tools. 

On  looking  back  on  this  incident 
j  of  my  life,  I  have  a  regret,  —  a  poign- 
j  ant  one ;  it  is,  that  some  good  Chris- 
tian did  not  give  me  a  devilish  good 
!  hiding  into  the  bargain  then  and  there. 

I  did  not  feel  quit  strong  enough  in 
the  spirits  to  go  where  I  was  sure  to 
be  blown  up,  so  I  skirted  King  Street 
and  entered  the  Seven  Dials,  and  went 
to  Mr.  Paley  and  confessed  my  sins. 

How  differently  the  same  thing  is 
seen  by  different  eyes  !  All  the  morn- 
ing I  had  been  called  a  young  vil- 
lain, first  by  one,  then  by  another, 
till  at  last  I  began  to  see  it.  Mr. 
Paley  viewed  me  in  the  light  of 
martyr,  and  I  remember  1  fell  into 
his  views  on  the  spot. 

Paley  was  a  man  that  had  bis  little 
theory  about  women,  and  it  differed 
from  my  juvenile  one. 

He  held  that  women  are  at  bottom 
the  seducers,  men  the  seduced.  "  The 
men  court  the  women,  I  grant  you, 
bat  so  it  is  the  fish  that  runs  after 
the  bait,"  said  he.  "  The  women 
draw  back  ?  yes,  and  so  docs  the  an- 
gler draw  back  the  bait  when  the 
fish  are  shy,  don't  he?  and  then  the 
silly  gudgeons  misunderstand  the 
move,  and  make  a  rush  at  it,  and  get 
hooked,  —  like  you." 

Holding   Mich    rile   sentiments,  ho 

shifted  all  the  blame  off  my  shoul- 
der-. He  turned  to  and  abused  the 
whole  gang,  as  he  called  the  family 
in  Litchfield  Street  |  had  just  left, 
instead  of  reading  me  the  lesson  tor 

tin' day,  which  he  Ought,  and  1  should 

have  listened  to  from  him,  —  perhaps. 
"'  .Now,  then,  don't  hang  your  head 


308 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


like  that,"  shouted  the  spunky  little 
fellow,  "  snivelling  and  whimpering 
at  your  time  of  life  !  We  are  going 
to  have  a  jolly  good  supper,  you  and 
I,  that  is  what  we  are  going  to  do  ; 
and  you  shall  sleep  here.  My  daugh- 
ter is  at  school ;  you  shall  have  her 
room.  I  am  in  good  work,  —  thirty 
shillings  a  week,  —  that  is  plenty  for 
three,  Lucy  and  you  and  me  "  (him- 
self last).  "  Your  father  is  n't  worth 
a  hone  hutton,  and  your  mother  is  n't 
worth  the  shank  to  it ;  I  'm  your  fa- 
ther, and  your  mother  into  the  bar- 
gain, for  want  of  a  better.  You  live 
with  me,  and  snap  your  fingers  at 
Dawes  and  all  his  crew,  —  ha  !  ha  !  a 
fine  loss,  to  be  sure.  The  boy  is  a  fool, 
—  cooks,  and  coquettes,  and  fiddle- 
touters,  rubbish  not  worth  picking  up 
out  of  a  gutter,  —  they  be  d — d." 

And  so  I  was  installed  in  Miss 
Paley's  apartment,  Seven  Dials  ;  and 
nothing  would  have  made  my  adopted 
parent  happier  than  for  me  to  put  my 
hands  in  my  pockets,  and  live  upon 
goose  and  cabbage.  But  downright 
laziness  was  never  my  character.  I 
went  round  to  all  the  fiddle-shops, 
and  offered,  as  bold  as  brass,  to  make 
a  violin,  a  tenor  or  a  bass,  and  bring 
it  home.  Most  of  them  looked  shy  at 
me,  for  it  was  necessary  to  trust  me 
with  the  wood,  and  to  lend  me  one 
or  two  of  the  higher  class  of  tools, 
such  as  a  turning-saw  and  a  jointing- 
plane. 

At  last  I  came  to  Mr.  Dodd,  in 
Berners  Street.  Here  my  father's 
name  stood  me  in  stead.  Mr.  Dodd 
risked  his  wood  and  the  needful  tools, 
and  in  eight  days  I  brought  him,  with 
conceit  and  trepidation  mixed  in  equal 
part,  a  violin,  which  I  had  sometimes 
feared  would  frighten  him,  and  some- 
times hoped  would  charm  him.  He 
took  it  up,  gave  it  one  twirl  round, 
satisfied  himself  it  was  a  fiddle,  good, 
bad,  or  indifferent,  put  it  in  the  win- 
dow along  with  the  rest,  and  paid  for 
it  as  he  would  for  a  penny  roll.  I 
timidly  proposed  to  make  another  for 
Li  in  ;  he  granted  a  consent,  which  it 
did  not  seei.u  to  me  a  rapturous  one. 


Mi'.  Metzler  also  ventured  to  give  me 
work  of  this  kind.  For  some  months 
I  wrought  hard  all  day,  and  amused 
myself  with  my  companions  all  the 
evening,  selecting  my  pals  from  the 
following  classes  :  small  actors,  show- 
men, pedestrians,  and  clever  discon- 
tented mechanics ;  one  lot  I  never 
would  have  at  any  price,  and  that  was 
the  stupid  ones,  that  could  only  booze, 
and  could  not  tell  me  anything  I  did 
not  know  about  pleasure,  business, 
and  life. 

This  was  a  bright  existence ;  so  it 
came  to  a  full  stop. 

At  one  and  the  same  time  Miss 
Paley  came  home,  and  the  fiddle- 
trade  took  one  of  those  chills  all 
fancy  trades  are  subject  to. 

No  work  —  no  lodging  without 
paying  for  it — no  wherewithal. 


CHAPTER  II. 

John  Beard,  a  friend  of  mine, 
was  a  painter  and  graincr.  His  art 
was  to  imitate  oak,  maple,  walnut, 
satin-wood,  etc.,  etc.,  upon  vulgar  deal, 
beech,  or  what  not. 

This  business  works  thus:  first,  a 
coat  of  oil-color  is  put  on  with  a 
brush,  and  this  color  imitates  what 
may  be  called  the  background  of  the 
wood  that  is  aimed  at ;  on  this  oil- 
background  the  champ,  the  fibre,  the 
grain  and  figure,  and  all  the  incidents 
of  the  superior  wood,  are  imitated  by 
various  manoeuvres  in  water-colors, 
or,  rather,  in  beer-colors,  for  beer  is 
the  approved  medium.  A  coat  of 
varnish  over  all  gives  a  unity  to  the 
work. 

Beard  was  out  of  employ  ;  so  was 
I :  bitter  against  London  ;  so  was  I. 
He  sounded  me  about  trying  th<j 
country,  and  I  agreed  ;  and  this  wa» 
the  first  step  of  my  many  travels. 

We  started  the  next  day,  —  he  witli 
his  brushes,  and  a  few  colors,  and  on* 
or  two  thin  panels  painted  by  way  of 
advertisement,  and  I  with  hope,  inex- 
perience,  and   threepence.      On    the 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 


309 


road  we  spout  this  and  his  fivcpence, 
and  entered  the  town  of  Brentford 
toward  nightfall  as  empty  as  drums 
anil  as  hungry  as  wolves. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  After  a 
long  discussion,  we  agreed  to  go  to 
the  mayor  of  the  town  and  tell  him 
our  case,  and  offer  to  paint  his  street 
door  in  the  morning  if  he  would  save 
our  lives  for  the  night. 

We  went  to  the  mayor ;  luckily  for 
us,  he  had  risen  from  nothing,  as  we 
were  going  to  do,  and  so  he  knew 
exactly  what  we  meant  when  we 
looked  up  in  his  face  and  laid  our 
hands  on  our  saneage-grinders.  He 
gave  us  eighteen-pence  and  an  order 
on  a  lodging-bouse,  and  put  bounds 
to  our  gratitude  by  making  us  prom- 
ise to  let  bis  street  door  alone.  We 
thanked  him  from  our  hearts,  supped 
and  went  to  bed,  and  agreed  the 
country  (as  we  two  cockneys  called 
Brentford)  was  chock-full  of  good  fel- 
lows. 

The  next  day  up  early  in  the 
morning,  and  away  to  llounslow. 
Here  Beard  sought  work  all  through 
the  town,  and  just  when  we  were  in  de- 
spair he  got  one  door.  We  dined 
and  slept  on  this  door,  but  we  could 
hot  sup  off  it  ;  we  bad  twopence  over, 
though,  for  the  morning,  and  walked 
on  a  penny  roll  each  to  Maidenhead, 
line,  as  we  entered  the  town,  we 
passed  a  little  house  with  the  door 
painted  oak,  and  a  brass  plate  an- 
nouncing a  plumber  and  glazier,  and 
house-painter.  Beard  pulled  up  be- 
fore this  door  in  sorrowful  contempt. 
"  Now  look  here,  John,"  says  be, 
"here  is  a  fellow  living  among  the 
woods,  and  you  would  iwear  be  never 
saw  an  oak  plank  in  his  life  to  look 
;it  his  work." 

Before  bo  very  long  we  came  to 
another  Specimen  :  this  w:is  maple, 
and  further  from  Nature  than  a  law- 
\er     from    heaven,   as   the   ^:i \- i 1 1 lt     i-. 

"There,  that  will  do,"  says  Heard. 
"I  'II  tell  you  what  it  is,  we  must  try 
a  different  move;  it  is  no  use  looking 
for  work;  folks  will  only  employ 
their  own  tradesmen  ;  we  must  teach 


the  professors  of  the  art  at  so  much  a 
panel." 

"  Will  they  stomach  that  1  "  said  I. 

"  I  think  they  will,  as  Ave  are 
strangers  and  from  London.  You  go 
and  see  whether  there  is  a  fiddle  to  be 
doctored  in  the  town,  and  meet  me 
again  in  the  market-place  at  twelve 
o'clock." 

I  did  meet  him,  and  forlorn  enough 
I  was.  My  trade  had  broke  down  in 
Maidenhead ;  not  a  job  of  any  sort. 

"  Come  to  the  public-house  !  "  was 
his  first  word.  That  sounded  well,  I 
thought. 

We  sat  down  to  bread  and  cheese 
and  beer,  and  he  told  his  tale. 

It  seems  he  went  into  a  shop,  told 
the  master  lie  was  a  painter  and 
grainer  from  a  great  establishment  in 
London,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  trav- 
elling and  instructing  provincial  art- 
ists in  the  business.  The  man  was  a 
pompous  sort  of  a  customer,  and  told 
Heard  be  knew  the  business  as  well 
as  he  did,  better  belike. 

Beard  answered :  "  Then  you  are 
the  only  one  here  that  does  ;  for  I  've 
been  all  through  the  town,  and  any* 
I  thine-  wider  from  the  mark  than  their 
oak  and  maple  I  never  saw."  Then 
he  quietly  took  down  bis  panels  and 
spread  them  out,  and,  looking  out 
sharp,  he  noticed  a  sudden  change 
come  over  the  man's  face. 

"  Well,"  says  the  man,  "  we  reckon 
ourselves  pretty  pood  at  it  in  this  town. 
However,  I  shouldn't  mind  seeing 
how  you  London  chaps  do  it :  what 
do  you  charge  for  a  specimen  >  " 

"  Mv  charge  is  two  shillings  a  pan- 
el What  wood  should  you  like  to 
gain  a  notion  of?  "  said  Beard,  as  dry 
as  a  chip. 

"  Well,  — satin-wood." 

Heard  painted  a  panel  of  satin- 
wood  before  his  eyes,  and,  of  course, 
it  wa>  done  with  great  ease,  and  on  a 
better  system  than  had  reached  Maid- 
enhead lip  to  that  time.  "  Now." 
says  Heard,  "  I  must  go   to   dinner.'1 

"  Well,  come  back  again,  my  lad," 
says  the  man,  "  and  we  will  go  in  for 
something  else."      So  Beard  took  his 


310 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


two   shillings  and  met  me  as   afore- 
said. 

After  dinner  he  asked  for  a  private 
room.  "  A  private  room,"  said  I ; 
"hadn't  you  better  order  our  horse 
juid  gig  out,  and  go  and  call  on  the 
rector  ?  " 

"  None  of  your  chaff,"  says  he. 

When  we  got  into  the  room  he 
opened  the  business. 

"  Your  trade  is  no  good  ;  you  must 
take  to  mine." 

"  What !  teach  painters  how  to 
paint,  when  I  don't  know  a  stroke 
myself!  " 

"  Why  not  1  You  've  only  got  it  to 
learn  ;  they  have  got  to  unlearn  all 
they  know ;  that  is  the  only  long 
process  about  it.  1 11  teach  you  in 
live  minutes,"  says  lie  :  "  look  here." 
He  then  imitated  oak  before  me,  and 
made  me  do  it.  He  corrected  my 
first  attempt;  the  second  satisfied 
him :  we  then  went  on  to  maple,  and 
so  through  all  the  woods  he  could 
mimic,  lie  then  returned  to  his  cus- 
tomer, and  I  hunted  in  another  part 
of  the  town,  and  before  nightfall  I  act- 
ually gave  three  lessons  to  two  pro- 
fessors :  it  is  amazing,  but  true,  that 
I,  who  had  been  learning  ten  minutes, 
taught  men  who  had  been  all  their 
lives  at  it  —  in  the  country. 

Ono  was  so  pleased  with  his  tutor 
that  he  gave  me  a  pint  of  beer  besides 
my  fee.  I  thought  he  was  poking 
fun  when  he  first  offered  it  me. 

Beard  and  I  met  again  triumphant. 
We  had  a  rousing  supper  and  a  good 
bed,  and  the  next  day  started  for  Hen- 
ley, where  we  both  did  a  small  stroke 
of  business,  and  on  to  Reading  for  the 
night. 

Our  goal  was  Bristol.  Beard  had 
friends  there.  But  as  we  zigzagged 
for  the  sake  of  the  towns,  we  were 
three  weeks  walking  to  that  city  ;  but 
we  reached  it  at  last,  having  dissem- 
inated the  science  of  graining  in  many 
cities,  and  got  good  clothes  and  money 
in  return. 

At  Bristol  we  parted.  He  found 
regular  employment  the  first  day,  and 
I  visited  the  fiddle-shops  and  offered 


my  services.  At  most  I  was  refused  ; 
at  one  or  two  I  got  trifling  jobs  ;  but 
at  last  I  went  to  the  right  one.  The 
master  agreed  with  me  for  piece-work 
on  a  large  scale,  and  the  terms  were 
such  that  by  working  quick  and  very 
steady  I  could  make  about  twenty-five 
shillings  a  week.  At  this  I  kept  two 
years,  and  might  have  longer,  no 
doubt,  —  but  my  employer's  niece 
came  to  live  with  him. 

She  was  a  woman ;  and  my  theory 
being  in  full  career  at  this  date,  mu- 
tual ardor  followed,  and  I  asked  her 
hand  of  her  uncle,  and  instead  of  that 
he  gave  me  what  the  Turkish  ladies 
get  for  the  same  offence,  —  the  sack. 
Off  to  London  again,  and  the  money  I 
had  saved  by  my  industry  just  landed 
me  in  the  Seven  Dials  and  sixpence 
over. 

I  went  to  Palcy,  crestfallen  as  usu- 
al, lie  heard  my  story,  compliment- 
ed me  on  my  energy,  industry,  and  tal- 
ent, regretted  the  existence  of  woman, 
and  inveighed  against  her  character 
and  results. 

We  went  that  evening  to  private 
theatricals  in  Berwick  Street,  and 
there  I  fell  in  with  an  acquaintance  in 
the  firework  line.  On  hearing  my 
case,  he  told  me  I  had  just  fallen  from 
the  skies  in  time ;  his  employer  want- 
ed a  fresh  hand. 

The  very  next  day  behold  me  grind- 
ing, and  sifting,  and  ramming  powder 
at  Somers  Town,  and  at  it  ten  months. 
My  evenings,  when  I  was  not  undo- 
ing my  own  work  to  show  its  brillian- 
cy, were  often  spent  in  private  theat- 
ricals. 

I  hear  a  row  made  just  now  about  a 
dramatic  school. 

"  We  have  no  dramatic  schools,"  is 
the  cry.  Well,  in  the  day  I  speak  of 
there  were  several ;  why,  I  belonged 
to  two.  We  never  brought  to  light 
an  actor,  but  we  succeeded  so  far  as  to 
ruin  more  than  one  lad  who  had  brains 
enough  to  make  a  tradesman,  till  we 
heated  those  brains  and  they  boiled  all 
away. 

The  way  we  destroyed  youth  was 
this  :  of  course  nobody  would  pay  a 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


311 


shilling  at  the  door  to  see  us  running 
wild  among  Shakespeare's  lines  like 
pigs  broken  into  a  garden,  so  the  ex- 
penses fell  upon  the  actors,  and  they 
paid  according  to  the  value  of  the  part 
each  played.  Richard  the  Third  cost 
a  puppy  two  pounds  ;  Richmond,  fif- 
teen shillings ;  and  so  on ;  so  that 
with  us,  as  in  the  big  world,  dignity 
went  by  wealth,  not  merit.  I  remem- 
ber this  made  me  sore  at  the  time ; 
still,  there  are  two  sides  to  every- 
thing :  they  say  poverty  urges  men  to 
crime  ;  mine  saved  me  from  it.  If  I 
could  have  afforded,  I  would  have  mur- 
dered one  or  two  characters  that  have 
lived  with  good  reputation  from  Queen 
Bess  to  Queen  Victoria ;  but,  as  1 
could  n't  afford  it,  others  that  could 
did  it  for  me. 

Well,  in  return  for  Ids  cash  Rich- 
ard, or  Hamlet,  or  Othello  command- 
ed tickets  in  proportion  ;  for  the 
tickets  were  only  gratuitous  to  the 
spectators. 

Consequently,  at  night,  each  im- 
portant actor  played  not  only  to  a 
most  merciful  audience,  but  a  large 
band  of  devoted  friendly  spirits  in  it, 
who  came,  not  to  judge  him,  but  ex- 
press to  carry  him  through  trium- 
phant,—  like  an  election.  Now  when 
a  vain,  ignorant  chap  hears  a  lot  of 
hands  clapping,  he  has  not  the  sense 
to  say  to  himself  "  paid  for  !  "  No,  it 
is  applause,  and  applause  stamps  his 
own  secret  opinion  of  himself.  He 
was  off  his  Balance  before,  and  now 
he  tumbles  heel  over  tip  into  the  no- 
tion that  he  is  a  genins;  throws  his 
commercial  prospects  after  the  two 
pounds  that  went  in  Richard  or  Bev- 
erley, and  crosses  Waterloo  Bridge 
spouting, 

"  A  fico  for  the  shop  and  poplins  base  ! 
Counter,  avaunt  !   I  on  his  southern  bank 
Will  lire  the  Thames." 

Noodle,  thus  sinking,  goes  over  the 
water.  But  they  won't  have  him  at 
the  Surrey  or  the  Vic,  so  lie  takes  to 
the  country;  and,   while  his   money 

lasts,  and  he  can  pay  the  misiuanauer 
of  a  small    theatre,  he  gets  leave  to 


play  with  Richard  and  Hamlet.  But 
when  the  money  is  gone,  and  ho 
wants  to  be  paid  for  Richard  &  Co., 
they  laugh  at  him,  and  put  him  in 
his  right  place,  and  that  is  a  utility, 
and  perhaps  ends  a  "  super  "  ;  when, 
if  he  had  not  been  a  coxcomb,  he 
might  have  sold  ribbon  like  a  man  to 
his  dying  day. 

We  and  our  dramatic  schools  ruined 
more  than  one  or  two  of  this  sort  by 
means  of  his  vanity  in  my  young 
days. 

My  poverty  saved  me.  The  conceit 
was  here  in  vast  abundance,  but  not 
the  funds  to  intoxicate  myself  with 
such  choice  liquors  as  Hamlet  &  Co. 
Nothing  above  old  Gobbo  (five  shil- 
lings) ever  fell  to  my  lot  and  by  my 
talent. 

When  I  had  made  and  let  off  fire- 
works for  a  few  months,  I  thought  I 
could  make  more  as  a  rocket-master 
than  a  rocket-man.  I  had  saved  a 
pound  or  two.  Most  of  my  friends 
dissuaded  me  from  the  attempt ;  but 
Paley  said  :  "  Let  him  alone  now ; 
don't  keep  him  down ;  he  is  born  to 
rise.  I  '11  risk  a  pound  on  him."  So, 
by  dint  of  several  small  loans,  I  got 
the  materials  and  made  a  set  of  tire- 
works  myself,  and  agreed  with  the 
keeper  of  some  tea-gardens  at  II amp- 
stead  for  the  spot. 

At  the  appointed  time,  attended  by 
a  trusty  band  of  friends,  I  put  them 
up ;  and,  when  I  had  taken  a  toler- 
able sum  at  the  door,  I  let  them  all 
off. 

But  they  did  not  all  profit  by  the 
permission.  Some  went,  but  others, 
whose  supposed  destination  was  the 
sky,  soared  about  as  high  as  a  house, 
then  returned  and  forgot  their  wild 
nature,  and  performed  the  office  of 
our  household  fires  upon  the  clothes 
of  my  visitors ;  and  some  faithful 
spirits,  like  old  domestics,  would  not, 
leave  their  master  at  any  price, — 
would  not  take  their  discharge.  Then 
there  was  a  row,  and  I  should  have 
been  mauled,  but  my  guards  rallied 
round  me  and  brought  me  off  with 
whole   bones,   and    inarched    back  to 


'12 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 


London  with  me,  quizzing  mc  and 
drinking  at  my  expense.  The  pub- 
lican refused  to  give  me  my  prom- 
ised fee,  and  my  loss  by  ambition 
-was  twenty-eight  shillings  and  my 
reputation,  —  if  you  could  call  that  a 
loss. 

Was  not  I  quizzed  up  and  down 
the  Seven  Dials  !  Paley  alone  con- 
trived to  stand  out  in  my  favor. 
"Nonsense!  a  first  attempt,"  said 
he ;  "  they  mostly  fail.  Don't  you 
give  in  for  those  fools  !  I  '11  tell  you 
a  story.     There  was  a  chap  in  prison 

—  I  forget  his  name.  He  lived  in  the 
old  times  a  few  hundred  years  ago. 
I  can't  justly  say  how  many.  He 
had  failed, — at  something  or  other, 

—  I  don't  know  how  many  times, 
and  there  he  was.  Well,  Jack,  one 
day  he  notices  a  spider  climbing  up  a 
thundering  great  slippery  stone  in 
the  wall.  She  got  a  little  way,  then 
down  she  fell ;  up  again,  and  tries  it 
on  again  ;  down  again.  Ah !  says 
the  man,  you  will  never  do  it.  But 
the  spider  was  game.  She  got  six 
falls,  but,  by  George,  the  seventh  trial 
she  got  up.  So  the  gentleman  says, 
'  A  man  ought  to  have  as  much  heart 
as  a  spider :  I  won't  give  in  till  the 
seventh  trial.'  Bless  you,  long  be- 
fore the  seventh  he  carried  all  before 
him,  and  got  to  be  King  of  England 

—  or  something." 

"  King  of  England !  "  said  I ;  "  that 
was  a  move  upward  out  of  the  stone 
jog* 

"  Well,"  said  Paley  the  hopeful, 
"  you  can't  be  Kin^  of  England,  but 
you  may  be  the  fire-king  —  he!   he! 

—  if  you  are  true  to  powder.  How 
much  money  do  you  want  to  try 
again? " 

I  was  nettled  at  my  failure ;  and, 
fired  by  Paley  and  his  spider,  I 
scraped  together  a  few  pounds  once 
more,  and  advertised  a  display  of  fire- 
works for  a  certain  Monday  night. 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon  Paley 
and  I  happened  to  walk  on  the 
Hampstead  Road,  and  near  the  Adam 
and  Eve  we  fell  in  with  an  announce- 
ment  of  fireworks.     On  the  bill  ap- 1 


peared  in  enormous  letters  the  follow- 
ing:— 

"No  CONNECTION  WITH  THE  DIS- 
GRACEFUL EXHIBITION  THAT  TOOK 
PLACE  LAST  FRIDAY  WEEK  1  !  " 

Paley  was  in  a  towering  passion. 
"  Look  here,  John,"  says  he ;  "  but 
never  you  mind;  it  won't  be  here 
long,  for  I  '11  tear  it  down  in  about 
half  a  moment." 

"  No,  you  must  not  do  that,"  said 
I,  a  little  nervous. 

"  Why  not,  you  poor-spirited  muff?" 
shouts  the  little  fellow  :  "  let  me  alone 
—  let  me  get  at  it  —  what  are  you 
holding  me  for  ?  " 

"No !  no  !  no  !     Well,  then  — " 

"Well,  then,  what?" 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  mine." 

"  What  is  yours  ?  " 

"  That  advertisement." 

"  How  can  it  be  yours,  when  it  in- 
sults you  ?  " 

"  O,  business  before  vanity." 

"  Well,  I  am  blessed  !  Here  's  » 
go.  Look  here,  now  "  ;  and  he  begair 
to  split  his  sides  laughing ;  but  all 
of  a  sudden  he  turned  awful  grave: 
"  You  will  rise,  my  lad ;  this  is  genu- 
ine  talent ;  they  might  as  well  try  to 
keep  a  balloon  down."  In  short,  my 
friend,  who  was  as  honest  as  the  day 
in  his  own  sayings  and  doings,  ad. 
mired  this  bit  of  rascality  in  mc,  and 
augured  the  happiest  results. 

That  district  of  London  which  ia 
called  the  Seven  Dials  was  now  di- 
vided into  two  great  parties  ;  one  au- 
gured for  me  a  brilliant  success  next 
day,  the  other  a  dead  failure.  The 
latter  party  numbered  many  names 
unknown  to  fame,  the  former  consist- 
ed of  Paley.  I  was  neuter,  distrust- 
ing, not  my  merits,  but  what  I  called 
my  luck. 

On  Monday  afternoon  I  was  busy 
putting  out  the  fireworks,  nailing 
them  to  their  posts,  etc.  Toward 
evening  it  began  to  rain  so  heavily 
that  they  had  to  be  taken  in,  and  the 
whole  thing  given  up  ;  it  was  post- 
poned to  Thursday. 

On  Thursday  night  we  had  a  good 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


313 


assembly ;  the  sum  taken  at  the  doors 
exceeded  my  expectation.  1  had  my 
misgivings  on  account  of  the  rain  that 
had  fallen  on  my  kickshaws  Monday 
evening,  so  I  began  with  those  articles 
I  had  taken  in  tirst  out  of  the  rain. 
They  went  off  splendidly,  and  my  per- 
sonal friends  were  astounded ;  but  soon 
my  poverty  began  to  tell.  Instead  of 
having  many  hands  to  save  the  fire- 
works from  wet,  I  had  been  alone, 
ami  of  course  much  time  had  been 
lost  in  getting  them  under  cover. 
We  began  now  to  get  among  the 
damp  lot,  and  science  was  lost  in 
chance  ;  some  would  and  some  would 
n't,  and  the  people  began  to  goose  me. 

A  rocket  or  two  that  fizzled  them- 
selves out  without  rising  a  foot  in- 
flamed their  angry  passions  ;  so  I  an- 
nounced two  fiery  pigeons. 

The  fiery  pigeon  is  a  pretty  fire- 
work enough.  It  is  of  the  nature  of 
a  rocket,  but,  being  on  a  string,  it 
travels  backward  and  forward  be- 
tween two  termini,  to  which  the  string 
is  fixed.  When  tlierc  are  two  strings 
and  two  pigeons,  the  fiery  wings  race 
one  another  across  the  ground,  and 
charm  the  gazing  throng.  One  of 
my  termini  was  a  tree  at  the  extrem- 
ity of  the  gardens.  Up  this  tree  I 
mounted  in  my  shirt-sleeves  with  my 
birds.  The  people  surrounded  the, 
tree,  and  were  dead  silent.  I  could 
see  their  final  verdict  and  my  fate 
hung  on  these  pigeons.  I  placed 
them,  and  with  a  beating  heart  light- 
ed their  matches.  To  my  horror,  one 
did  not  move.  I  mi^ht  as  well  have 
tried  to  explode  green  sticks.  The 
other  started  and  went  off  with  great 
resolution  and  accompanying  cheers 
toward  the  opposite  side.  But  mid- 
way it  suddenly  Btoppcd,  and  the 
cheers  with  it  it  did  not  come  to  an 
end  all  at  once,  but  the  lire  oozed 
gradually  out  of  it  like  water.  A 
howl  of  derision  was  burled  up  into 
the  tree  at  me  ;  hut,  worse  than  that, 
looking  down,  I  saw  in  the  moonlight 

a  hundred   stern  faces,  with   eves  like 
red-hot  emeralds,  in  which  I  read  my 
fate.      They  were  waiting  for  me  to 
14 


come  down,  like  terriers  for  a  rat  in  a 
trap,  and  1  felt  by  the  look  of  them 
that  they  would  kill  me,  or  near  it.  I 
crept  along  a  l>ough,  the  end  of  which 
cleared  the  wall  and  overhung  the 
road.  I  determined  to  break  my 
neck  sooner  than  fall  into  the  hands 
of  an  insulted  public.  An  impatient 
orange  whizzed  by  my  ear,  and  an  ap- 
ple knocked  my  hat  out  of  the  prem- 
ises. I  crouched  and  clung;  luckily, 
I  was  on  an  ash-bough,  long,  taper- 
ing, and  tough  ;  it  bent  with  me  like 
a  rainbow.  A  stick  or  two  now 
whizzed  past  my  ear,  and  it  began  to 
hail  fruit  I  held  on  like  grim  death 
till  the  road  was  within  six  feet  of  me, 
and  then  dropped  and  ran  off  home, 
like  a  dog  with  a  kettle  at  his  tail. 
Meantime  a  rush  was  made  to  the 
gate  to  cut  me  off;  but  it  was  too 
late.  The  garden  meandered,  and 
my  executioners,  when  they  got  to 
the  outside,  saw  nothing  but  a  flit- 
ting spectre — me  in  my  shirtsleeves 
making  for  the  Seven  Dials. 

Mr.  and  Miss  Palcy  were  seated  by 
their  fire,  and,  as  I  afterward  learned, 
Paley  was  recommending  her  to  me 
for  a  husband,  and  explaining  to  her 
at  some  length  why  I  was  sure  to  rise 
in  the  world,  when  a  figure  in  shirt- 
sleeves, begrimed  with  gunpowder, 
and  no  hat,  burst  into  the  room,  and 
shrank  without  a  word  into  the  corner 
by  the  fire. 

"  Miss  Paley  looked  up,  and  then  be- 
gan to  look  down  and  snigger.  Her 
father  stared  at  me,  and  after  a  while 
I  could  see  him  set  his  teeth  and  nerve 
his  obstinate  old  heart  for  the  coining 
struggle. 

"  Well,  how  did  it  happen  ?  "  said 
he,  at  last.     "  Where  is  your  coat?  " 

I  told  him  the  whole  story. 

Mi>^  Paley  had  her  hand  to  her 
mouth  all  the  time,  afraid  to  give  vent 
to  the  feelings  proper  to  the  occasion 
because  of  her  father. 

"Now  answer  me  one  question. 
Have  you  got  their  money  '  "  savs 
Paley. ' 

"  S'es,  I  have  got  their  money,  for 
that  matter." 


314 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


"Well,  then,  what  need  you  care? 
You  are  all  right ;  and  if  they  had 
gone  off  they  would  have  heen  all  over 
by  now,  just  the  same.  He  wants  his 
supper,  Lucy.  Give  us  something 
hot,  to  make  us  forget  our  squibs  and 
crackers,  or  we  shall  die  of  a  broken 
heart,  all  us  poor  fainting  souls. 
Such  a  calamity !  The  rain  wetted 
them  through,  —  that  is  all ;  you 
couldn't  fight  against  the  elements, 
could  you?     Lay  the  cloth,  girl." 

"  But,  Mr.  Paley,"  whined  I,  "  they 
have  got  my  new  coat,  and  you  may 
be  sure  they  have  torn  it  limb  from 
jacket." 

"  Have  they  ?  "  cried  he ;  "  well, 
that  is  a  comfort,  any  way.  Your 
new  coat,  eh  ?  Lucy,  it  hung  on  the 
boy's  back  like  an  old  sack.  Do  you 
see  this  bit  of  cloth  ?  I  shall  make 
you  a  Sunday  coat  with  this,  and  then 
you  '11  sell.  Fetch  a  quart  to-night, 
girl,  instead  of  a  pint :  the  fire-king 
is  goinff  to  do  us  the  honor.  Che-er 
up 


1 1 " 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  now  time  that  Miss  Paley 
should  suffer  the  penalty  of  her  sex. 
She  was  a  comely,  good-humored,  and 
sensible  girl.  We  used  often  to  walk 
out  together  on  Sundays,  and  very 
friendly  we  were.  I  used  to  tell  her 
she  was  the  flower  of  her  sex,  and 
she  used  to  laugh  at  that.  One  Sun- 
day I  spoke  more  plainly,  and  laid 
my  heart,  my  thirteen  shillings,  the 
fruit  of  my  last  imposture  on  the  pub- 
lic, and  my  various  arts,  at  her  feet, 
out  walking. 

A  proposal  of  this  sort,  if  I  may 
trust  the  stories  I  read,  produces 
thrilling  effects.  If  agreeable,  the 
ladies  cither  refuse  in  order  to  torment 
themselves,  which  act  of  virtue  justi- 
fies them,  they  think,  in  tormenting 
the  man  they  love,  or  else  they  show 
their  rapturous  assent  by  bursting 
out  crying,  or  by  fainting  away,  or 
their  lips  turning  cold,  anil  other  signs 
proper  to  a  disordered  stomach  ;  if  it  is 


to  be  "no,"  they  are  almost  as  mu  *■ 
cut  up  about  it,  and  say  no  like  yet. 
which  has  the  happy  result  of  leaving 
him  hope  and  prolonging  his  pain. 
Miss  Paley  did  quite  different.  She 
blushed  a  little,  and  smiled  archly  and 
said  :  "  Now,  John,  you  and  I  are 
good  friends,  and  I  like  you  very 
much,  and  I  will  walk  with  you  and 
laugh  with  you  as  much  as  you  like ; 
but  I  have  been  engaged  these  two 
years  to  Charles  Hook,  and  I  love 
him,  John." 

"  Do  you,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  under  her  breath  a  bit. 

"  Oh !  " 

"  So,  if  we  are  to  be  friends,  you 
must  not  put  that  question  to  me 
again,  John.  What  do  you  say  ?  we 
are  to  be  friends,  are  we  not  1  "  and 
she  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  Lucy." 

"  And,  John,  you  need  not  go  for 
to  tell  my  father ;  what  is  the  use 
vexing  him  ?  He  has  got  a  notion, 
but  it  will  pass  away  in  time." 

I  consented,  of  course,  and  Lucy 
and  I  were  friends. 

Mr.  Paley  somehow  suspected  which 
way  his  daughter's  heart  turned,  and 
not  long  after  a  neighbor  told  me  he 
heard  him  quizzing  her  unmerciful 
for  her  bad  judgment.  As  for  harsh- 
ness or  tyranny,  that  was  not  under 
his  skin,  as  the  saying  is.  He  wound 
up  with  telling  her  that  John  was  a 
man  safe  to  rise. 

"  I  hope  he  may,  father,  I  am 
sure,"  says  Lucy. 

"  Well,  and  can't  you  see  he  is  the 
man  for  you  1 " 

"  No,  father,  I  can't  see  that,  — 
he!  he!" 


CHAPTER   IV. 

I  don't  think  I  have  been  penniless 
not  a  dozen  times  in  my  life.  When 
I  get  down  to  twopence  or  three- 
pence, which  is  very  frequent  indeed, 
something  is  apt  to  turn  up  and  raise 
me  to  silver  once  more,  and  there  I 
stick.     But  about  this  time  I  lay  out 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


315 


of  work  a  long  time,  and  was  reduced 
to  the  lowest  ebb.  In  this  condition, 
a  friend  of  mine  took  me  to  the 
"  Harp,"  in  Little  Russell  Street,  to 
meet  Mr.  Webb,  the  manager  of  a 
strolling  company.  Mr.  Webb  was 
beating  London  for  recruits  to  com- 
plete his  company  which  lay  at  Bish- 
ops Stortford,  but  which,  owing  to 
desertions,  was  not  numerous  enough 
to  massacre  five-act  plays.  I  instant- 
ly offered  to  go  as  carpenter  and  scene- 
shifter.  To  this  he  demurred  :  he 
was  provided  with  them  already  ;  he 
wanted  actors.  To  this  I  objected, 
not  that  I  cared  to  what  sort  of  work 
I  turned  my  hand,  but  in  these  com- 
panies a  carpenter  is  paid  for  his  day's 
work  according  to  his  agreement,  but 
the  actors  are  remunerated  by  a  share 
in  the  night's  profits,  and  the  profits 
are  often  written  in  the  following  fig- 
ures, —  .CO  Os.  Oil. 

However,  Mr.  Webb  was  firm  ;  he 
had  no  carpenter's  place  to  offer  me, 
so  I  was  obliged  to  lower  my  preten- 
sions. I  agreed  then  to  be  an  actor. 
1  was  cast  as  Father  Philip,  in  the 
"  Iron  Chest,"  next  evening,  my 
share  of  the  profits  to  be  one  eighth. 
I  borrowed  a  shilling,  and  my  friend 
Johnstone  and  I  walked  all  the  way 
to  Bishops  Stortford.  We  played  the 
"  Iron  Chest  "  and  divided  the  profits. 
Hitherto  I  had  been  in  the  mechan- 
ical arts  ;  this  was  my  first  step  into 
the  fine  ones.  Father  Philip's  share 
of  the  "  Chest  "  was  2$d. 

Now  this  might  be  a  just  remuner- 
ation for  the  performance  ;  I  almost 
think  it  was  ;  but  it  left  the  walk, 
thirty  miles,  not  accounted  for. 

Tlir  next  night  I  was  cast  in 
"Jerry  Sneak."  1  had  no  objection 
to  the  party  only,  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances, the  place  to  play  it 
Seemed  to  me  to  be  the  road  to  Lon- 
don, not  the  hoard -i  of  liishops  Stort- 
ford ;  so  I  sneaked  off  toward  the  Sev- 
en Dials.  JohnBtone,  though  cast  for 
the  hero,  was  of  Jerry's  mind,  and 
sneaked  away  along  with  him. 

We  had  made  but  twelve  miles 
when    the  manager  and  a    constable 


came  up  with  us.  Those  were  per- 
emptory days ;  they  offered  us  our 
choice  of  the  fine  arts  again,  or  prison. 
After  a  natural  hesitation,  we  chose 
the  arts,  and  were  driven  back  to 
them  like  sheep.  Night's  profits  5d. 
In  the  morning  the  whole  company 
dissolved  away  like  a  snowball. 
Johnstone  and  I  had  a  meagre  break- 
fast, and  walked  on  it  twenty-six 
miles.  He  was  a  stout  fellow,  — 
shone  in  brigands,  —  he  encouraged 
and  helped  me  along;  but  at  last  I 
could  go  no  farther. 

My  slighter  frame  was  quite  worn 
out  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  "  Leave 
me,"  I  said  ;  "  perhaps  some  charita- 
ble hand  will  aid  me,  and  if  not,  why, 
then  I  shall  die  ;  and  I  don't  care  if  I 
do,  for  I  have  lost  all  hope." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  the  fine  fellow. 
"  I  '11  carry  you  home  on  my  back 
sooner  than  leave  you.  Die  '.  that  is 
a  word  a  man  should  never  say. 
Come !  courage !  only  four  miles 
more." 

No.  I  could  not  move  from  the 
spot.  I  was  what  I  believe  seldom 
really  happens  to  any  man,  dead 
beat  body  and  soul. 

I  sank  down  on  a  heap  of  stones. 
Johnstone  sat  down  beside  me. 

The  sun  was  just  setting.  It  was  a 
bad  lookout,  —  starving  people  to  lie 
out  on  stones  all  night.  A  man  can 
stand  cold,  and  he  can  fight  with 
hunger  ;  but  put  those  two  together, 
and  lite  is  soon  exhausted. 

At  last  a  rumble  was  heard,  and 
presently  an  empty  coal-wagon  came 
up.  A  coal-heaver  sat  on  the  shaft, 
and  another  walked  by  the  side. 
Johnstone  went  to  meet  them  ;  they 
Stopped  ;  I  saw  him  pointing  to  me, 
and  talking  earnestly. 

The  men  came  up  to  me ;  they 
took  hold  of  me,  and  Bhot  me  into  the 
cart  like  a  hundred-weigh)  of  coal. 
"  Why,  he  is  Btarving with  cold,"  said 
one  01  them,  and  lie  tinner  half  a  doz- 
en empty  sacks  over  me,  and  on 
we  went.  At  the  first  public  the 
wngon  stopped,  and  soon  one  of  my 
new   friends,   with  a  cheerful   voice, 


316 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


brought  a  pewter  flagon  of  porter  to 
me.  I  sipped  it.  "  Don't  be  afraid 
of  it,"  cried  lie  ;  "  down  with  it;  it  is 
meat  and  drink,  that  is."  And,  in- 
deed, so  I  found  it.  It  was  a  heaven- 
ly solid  liquid  to  me  ;  it  was  "  stout" 
by  name  and  "  stoixt "  by  nature. 

These  good  fellows,  whom  men  do 
right  to  call  black  diamonds,  carried 
me  safe  into  the  Strand,  and  thence, 
being  now  quite  my  own  man  again, 
I  reached  the  Seven  Dials.  Paley 
was  in  bed.  He  came  down  directly 
in  his  nightgown,  and  lighted  a  fire, 
and  pulled  a  piece  of  cold  beef  out  of 
the  cupboard,  and  cheered  me  as  usu- 
al, but  in  a  fatherly  way  this  time  ; 
and  of  course,  at  my  age,  I  was  soon 
all  right  again,  and  going  to  take  the 
world  by  storm  to-morrow  morning. 
He  left  me  for  a  while  and  went  up 
stairs.  Presently  he  came  down 
again. 

"  Your  bed  is  ready,  John." 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "  you  have  not 
three  rooms." 

"  Lucy  is  on  a  visit,"  said  he  ;  then 
he  paused.  "  Stop  a  bit ;  I  '11  warm 
your  bed." 

He  took  me  up  stairs  to  my  old 
room  and  warmed  the  bed.  I,  like  a 
thoughtless  young  fool,  rolled  into  it 
half  gone  with  sleep,  and  never  woke 
till  ten  next  morning. 

I  don't  know  what  the  reader  will 
think  of  me  when  I  tell  him  that  the 
old  man  had  turned  Lucy  out  of  her 
room  into  his  own,  and  sat  all  night 
by  the  fire  that  I  might  lie  soft  after 
my  troubles.  Ah !  he  was  a  bit  of 
steel.  And  have  you  left  me,  and  can 
I  share  no  more  sorrow  or  joy  with 
you  in  this  world  ?  Eh !  dear,  it 
imikes  me  misty  to  think  of  the  old 
man,  —  after  all  these  years. 


CHAPTER    V. 

I  fsed  often  to  repair  and  doctor  a 
violin  for  a  gent  whom  "  shall  call 
Chaplin.     He  played  in  the  orchestra 

of  the  Adelphi  Theatre.     Mr.  Chap- 


lin was  not  only  a  customer,  but  a 
friend.  He  saw  how  badly  ofl*  I  was, 
and  had  a  great  desire  to  serve  me. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Yates, 
the  manager,  was  going  to  give  an 
entertainment  he  called  his  "  At 
Homes,"  and  this  took  but  a  small 
orchestra,  of  which  Mr.  Chaplin  was 
to  be  the  leader ;  so  he  was  allowed 
to  engage  the  other  instruments,  and 
he  actually  proposed  to  me  to  be  a 
second  violin. 

I  stared  at  him.  "  How  can  I  do 
that  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  often  hear  you  try  a  vio- 
lin."^ 

"  Yes,  and  I  always  play  the  same 
notes  ;  perhaps  you  have  observed 
that   too  ?  " 

"  I  notice  it  is  always  a  slow  move- 
ment—  eh  ?  Never  mind,  this  is  the 
only  thing  I  can  think  of  to  serve 
you  ;  you  must  strum  out  something; 
it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  you,  you 
know." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  Mr.  Yates  will 
promise  to  sing  nothing  faster  than 
'  Je-ru-sa-lem,  my  hap-py  home,'  I'll 
accompany  him." 

No,  he  would  not  be  laughed  out 
of  it ;  he  was  determined  to  put 
money  in  my  pocket,  and  would  take 
no  denial.  "  Next  Monday  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  meet  me  at  the 
theatre  at  six  o'clock  with  your  fiddle. 
Play  how  you  like,  play  inaudible  for 
what  I  care  ;  but  play  and  draw  your 
weekly  salary  you  must  and  shall." 

"  Play  inaudible,"  —  these  words 
sunk  to  the  very  bottom  of  me,  — 
"  play  inaudible." 

I  fell  into  a  brown  study  :  it  lasted 
three  days  and  three  nights ;  finally, 
to  my  good  patron's  great  content,  I 
consented  to  come  up  to  the  scratch, 
and  Monday  night  I  had  the  hardi- 
hood to  present  myself  in  the  music- 
room  of  the  Adelphi.  My  violin  was 
a  ringing  one.  I  tuned  up  the  loud- 
est of  them  all,  and  Mr.  Chaplin's 
eye  rested  on  me  with  an  approving 
glance. 

Time  was  called.  We  played  an 
overture,  and  accompanied  Mr.  Yates 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 


317 


in  his  recitatives  and  songs,  and  per- 
formed pieces  and  airs  between  the 
acts,  etc.  The  leader's  eye  often  fell 
on  me,  and  when  it  did,  he  saw  the 
most  conscientious  workman  of  the 
crew  ploughing  every  note  with  singu- 
lar care  and  diligence. 

In  this  same  little  orchestra  was 
James  Bates,  another  favorite  of  Mr. 
Chaplin,  and  an  experienced  fiddler. 

This  young  man  was  a  great  chum 
of  mine.  lie  was  a  fine  honest  young 
fellow,  but  of  rather  a  satanine  tem- 
per. He  was  not  movable  to  mirth 
at  any  price.  He  would  play  without 
a  smile  to  a  new  pantomime,  — stuck 
there  all  night,  like  Solomon  cut  in 
black  marble  with  a  white  choker,  as 
.solemn  as  a  tomb,  with  hundreds 
laughing  all  around. 

Once  or  twice  while  we  were  at 
work  I  saw  Mr.  Chaplin  look  at  Bates, 
knowing  we  two  were  chums,  and 
whenever  he  did  it  seems  the  young 
one  bit  his  lips  and  turned  as  red 
as  a  beet-root.  After  the  lights  were 
out  Mr.  Chaplin  congratulated  me 
before  Bates.  "  There,  you  see,  it 
is  not  so  very  hard ;  why,  hang  me 
if  you  did  not  saw  away  as  well  as 
tlie  best !  !  !  "  At  these  words  Bates 
gave  a  sort  of  yell  and  ran  home. 
Mr.  Chaplin  looked  after  him  with 
surprise.  "  There's  some  devil's 
delight  uj)  between  you  two,"  said 
he.     "  I  shall  find  it  out." 

Next  night  in  the  tuning-room  my 
fiddle  was  so  resonant  ir  attracted  at- 
tention, and  one  or  two  asked  leave 
to  try  it.     "  Why  not!  "  said  I. 

During  work  Mr.  Chaplin  had  one 
eye  on  me  and  one  on  Bates,  and 
caught  the  perspiration  running  down 
my  face,  and  him  simpering  for  the 
first  time  in  the  history  of  the  Adel- 
phi. 

"  AA  hat  has  come  over  Jem  Bates  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Chaplin  tome;  "the  lad  is 
all  changed.      You  have   put    some  of 

your  late  gunpowder  into  him  ;  there 
is  something  up  between  you  two." 
After  the  pfaj  he  gol  us  together, 
and  he  looked  Rates  in  the  face,  and 

just  said  to  him   "  Eh  ?" 


At  this  wholesale  interrogatory 
Bates  laid  hold  of  himself  tight. 
"  No,  Mr.  Chaplin,  sir,  I  can't ;  it 
will  kill  me  when  it  does  come  out  of 
me." 

"  When  what  comes  out  ?  You 
young  rascals,  if  you  don't  both  of 
you  tell  me,  I  '11  break  my  fiddle  over 
Bates,  and  Jack  shall  mend  it  free  of 
expense  gratis  for  nothing,  that  is  how 
I  '11  serve  mutineers  ;  come,  out  with 
it." 

"  Tell  him,  John,"  said  Bates,  de- 
murely. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  tell  him  yourself,  if 
you  think  it  will  gratify  him."  I  had 
my  doubts. 

*'  Well,"  said  Bates,  "  it  is  ungrate- 
ful to  keep  you  out  of  it,  sir,  so  —  he  ! 
he  !  —  I  '11  tell  you,  sir  —  this  second 
violin  has  two  bows  in  his  violin- 
case." 

"  Well,  stupid,  what  is  commoner 
than  that  for  a  fiddler  ?  " 

"  But  this  is  not  a  tiddler,"  squeaked 
Bates  ;  "  he  's  only  a  bower.  Oh  ! 
oh!  oh!" 

"  Only  a  bower  1  " 

"  No !  Oh  !  Oh !  I  shall  die  ;  it 
will  kill  me."  I  gave  a  sort  of  ghast- 
ly grin  myself. 

"  You  unconscionable  scoundrels  !" 
shouted  Mr.  Chaplin ;  "  there,  look 
at  this  Bates  ;  he  is  at  it  again  ;  a  fel- 
low that  the  very  clown  could  never 
raise  a  laugh  out  of,  and  now  I  seo 
him  all  night  smirking,  and  grinning, 
and  looking  down  like  a  jackdaw  that 
has  got  his  claw  on  a  thimble.  If 
you  don't  speak  out,  I  '11  knock  yonr 
two  tormenting  skulls  together  till 
they  roll  otV  down  the  gutter  side 
by  side,  chuckling  and  giggling  all 
day  and  all  night."  At  this  direful 
mysterious  threat  Bates  composed 
himself.  "The  power  is  all  out 
of  my  body,  sir,  so  now  I  can  tell 
you.'' 

He  then  in  faint  tones  gave  this  ex- 
planation, which  my  guilty  looks  con- 
tinued. "  ( )ne  of  his  hows  is  rcsincd, 
sir, —  that  one  is  the  tuner.  I  don't 
know  whether  you  have  Observed, 
but  he  tunes  rather  louder  than  any 


318 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


two   of  us.     O    dear,    it    is    cominjr 
again. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  now.  Yes,  I 
have  noticed  that." 

"  The  other  bow,  Mr.  Chaplin,  sir, 
the  other  bow  is  soaped  —  well  soaped, 
sir,  for  orchestral  use.     Ugh !  ugh  !  " 

"  O,  the  varmint !  " 

Bates  continued.  "  You  take  a 
look  at  him,  —  jrou  see  him  fingering 
and  bowing  like  mad,  —  but  as  for 
sound,  you  know  what  a  greasy  bow 
is  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do.  I  don't  wonder 
at  your  laughing — ha!  ha!  ha!  O, 
the  thief,  —  when  I  think  of  his  dili- 
gent face,  and  him  shaking  his  right 
wrist  like  Viotti." 

"Mind  your  pockets,  though;  he 
knows  too  much." 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  speak.  "  I 
am  glad  you  like  the  idea,  sir,"  said 
I,  "for  it  comes  from  you." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  1  " 

"  What  did  you  tell  me  to  do?  " 

"I  didn't  tell  you  to  do  that.  I 
don't  remember  what  I  told  him, 
Bates,  —  not  to  the  letter." 

"  Told  me  to  play  inaudible  !  ! !  " 

"  Well,  I  never,"  said  Mr.  Chaplin. 

"  Those  were  your  words,  sir ;  they 
did  not  fall  to  the  ground,  you  see." 

My  position  in  this  orchestra,  and 
the  situations  that  arose  out  of  it, 
were  meat  and  drink  to  my  two 
friends.  With  the  gentry,  whose  lives 
are  a  succession  of  amusements,  a  joke 
soon  wears  out,  no  doubt ;  but  we 
poor  fellows  can't  let  one  go  cheap. 
How  do  we  know  how  long  it  may 
he  before  Heaven  sends  us  another? 
A  joke  falling  among  us  is  like  a  rat 
in  a  kennel  of  terriers. 

At  intricate  passages  the  first  violin 
used  to  look  at  the  tenor,  and  then  at 
me,  and  wink,  and  they  both  swelled 
with  innocent  enjoyment,  till  at  last 
unknown  powers  of  gayety  budded  in 
Bates.  With  quizzing  his  friend  he 
learned  to  take  a  jest,  so  much  so  that 
one  night,  Mr.  Yates  beiny;  funnier 
than  usual  if  possible,  a  single  horse- 
laugh suddenly  exploded  among  the 
fiddles.     This  Was  Bates  gone  of?  all 


in  a  moment  after  his  trigger  bein« 
pulled  so  many  years  to  no  purpose. 
Mr.  Yates  looked  down  with  gratified 
surprise. 

"  Halloo  !  Brains  got  in  the  or- 
chestra ;  after  that,  anything  !  " 

But  do  you  think  it  was  fun  to  me 
all  this  ?  1  declare  I  suffered  the  tor- 
ture of  the  —  you  know  what.  I  never 
felt  safe  a  moment.  I  had  placed 
myself  next  to  an  old  fiddler  who  was 
deaf,  but  he  somehow  smelt  at  times 
that  I  was  shirking,  and  then  he  used 
to  cry,  "  Pull  out,  pull  out;  yon  don't 
pull  "out." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  1 "  I  used  to 
reply,  and  then  saw  away  like  mad  ; 
when,  so  connected  are  the  senses  of 
sight  and  hearing  apparently,  the  old 
fellow  used  to  smile  and  be  at  peace. 
He  saw  me  pull,  and  so  he  heard  me 
pull  out.  Then  sometimes  friends  of 
the  other  performers  would  be  in  the 
orchestra,  and  peep  over  me,  and  say 
civil  things,  and  I  wish  them  farther, 
civilities  and  all.  But  it  is  a  fact  that 
for  two  months  I  gesticulated  in  that 
orchestra  without  a  soul  finding  out 
that  I  was  not  suiting  the  note  to  the 
action. 

At  last  wo  broke  up,  to  my  great 
relief,  but  I  did  not  leave  the  theatre. 
Mr.  Widget,  Mr.  Yates's  dresser,  got 
me  a  place  behind  the  scenes  at  nine 
shillings  per  week. 

I  used  to  dress  Mr.  Reeve,  and  run 
for  his  brandies  and  waters,  which 
kept  me  on  the  trot,  and  do  odd  jobs. 

But  I  was  now  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance that  colored  all  my  life,  or 
the  cream  of  it.  My  time  was  come 
to  move  in  a  wider  circle  of  men  and 
things,  and  really  to  do  what  so  many 
fancy  they  have  done,  —  to  see  the 
world. 

In  the  month  of  April,  1828,  Mr. 
Yates,  theatrical  manager,  found  his 
nightly  receipts  fall  below  his  nightly 
expenses.  In  this  situation,  a  mana- 
ger falls  upon  one  of  two  things,  — a 
spectacle  or  a  star.  Mr.  Yates  pre- 
ferred the  latter,  and  went  over  to 
Paris  aud  engaged  Mademoiselle 
Djek. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


319 


Mademoiselle  Djek  was  an  elephant 
of  great  size  and  unparalleled  sa- 
gacity. She  had  been  for  some  time 
performing  in  a  play  at  Franconi's, 
and  created  a  great  sensation  in 
Paris. 

Of  her  previous  history  little  is 
known.  But  she  was  first  landed 
from  the  East  in  England,  and  was 
shown  about  merely  as  an  elephant 
by  her  proprietor,  an  Italian  called 
Polito.  The  Frenchmen  first  found 
out  her  talent.  Her  present  owner 
was  a  M.  Huguet,  and  with  him  Mr. 
Yates  treated.  She  joined  the  Adel- 
phi  company  at  a  salary  of  £  40  a 
week  and  her  grub. 

There  was  great  expectation  in  the 
theatre  for  some  days.  The  play  in 
which  she  was  to  perform,  "  The  Ele- 
phant of  th"  Kitiir  of  Siam,"  was  cast 
and  rehearsed  several  times ;  a  wooden 
house  was  budt  for  her  at  the  back  of 
the  stage,  and  one  fine  afternoon, 
sure  enough,  she  arrived  with  all  her 
train,  one  or  two  of  each  nation,  viz., 
her  owner,  M.  Huguet  (French)  ;  her 
principal  keeper,  Tom  Elliot  (Eng- 
lish) ;  her  subordinates,  —  Bernard, 
(French),  and  an  Italian  nicknamed 
Pippin.  She  arrived  at  the  stage 
door  in  Maiden  Lane,  and  soon  after 
the  messenger  was  sent  to  Mr.  Yates's 
house. 

"  Elephant 's  come,  sir." 

"  Well,  let  them  put  her  in  the 
place  built  for  her,  and  I  '11  come  and 
scr  her." 

"  They  can't  do  that,  sir." 

"  Why  not '?  " 

"La!  bless  you,  sir,  she  might 
get  her  foot  into  the  theatre,  but  how 
is  her  body  to  come  through  the  stage 
door  !  Why,  she  is  almost  as  big  as 
the  bouse." 

Down  comes  Mr.  Yates,  and  there 
was  the  elephant  Standing  all  across 
Maiden  Lane,  —  all  traffic  interrupted 
except  what  could  pass  under  her 
belly, —  ami  such  a  crowd, —  my 
eye  ! 

.Mr.     Yates    put    bis    hands    in   his 

pockets  .uid  took  a  quiet  look  at  the 
state  of  affairs. 


"  You  must  make  a  hole  in  the 
wall,"  said  he. 

Pickaxes  went  to  work,  and  made 
a  hole,  or  rather  a  frightful  chasm,  in 
the  theatre,  and  when  it  looked  about 
two  thirds  her  size,  Elliot  said, 
"  Stop  !  "  He  then  gave  her  a  sharp 
order,  and  the  first  specimen  we  saw 
of  her  cleverness  was  her  doubling 
herself  together  and  creeping  in 
through  that  hole,  bending  her  fore 
knees,  and  afterward  rising  and 
dragging  her  hind  legs  horizontally, 
and  she  disappeared  like  an  enor- 
mous mole  burrowing  into  the  thea- 
tre. 

Mademoiselle  Djek's  bills  were 
posted  all  over  the  town,  and  every- 
thing done  to  make  her  take,  and  on 
the  following  Tuesday  the  theatre  was 
pretty  well  filled  by  the  public ;  the 
manager  also  took  care  to  have  a 
strong  party  in  the  pit.  In  short, 
she  was  nursed  as  other  stars  are 
upon  their  debut. 

Night  came ;  all  was  anxiety  be- 
hind the  lights  and  expectation  in 
front. 

The  green  curtain  drew  up,  and 
Mr.  Yates  walked  on  in  black  dress- 
coat  and  white  kid  gloves,  like  a  pri- 
vate gentleman  just  landed  out  of  a 
bandbox  at  the  Queen's  ball.  He 
was  the  boy  to  talk  to  the  public ; 
soft  sawder,  —  dignified  reproach, — 
friendly  intercourse,  —  he  had  them 
all  at  his  fingers'  ends.  This  time  it 
was  the  easy  tone  of  refined  conver- 
sation upon  the  intelligent  creature 
he  was  privileged  to  introduce  to 
them.  I  remember  his  discourse  as 
well  as  if  it  was  yesterday. 

"  The  elephant,"  said  Mr.  Yates, 
'•  is  a  marvel  of  Nature.  We  arc 
now  to  have  the   pleasure    of  showing 

her  to  you  as  taking  her  place  in  art." 

Then  he  praised  the  wi.Mloni  and 
beneficence  of  creation.  "  Among 
the  small  animals,  such  as  eats  and 
men,  there  is  to  be  found  such  a  thing 
as  spite  ;  treachery  ditto,  and  lo\  e  ot 
mischief,  and  even  cruelty  at  odd 
times  ;  but  here  is  a  creature  with  the 
power  to  pull  down  our  bouses  about 


320 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


our  cars  like  Samson,  but  a  heart 
that  will  not  let  her  hurt  a  fly.  Prop- 
erly to  appreciate  her  moral  charac- 
ter, consider  what  a  thing  power  is  ; 
see  how  it  tries  us, — how  often  in 
history  it  has  turned  men  to  demons. 
The  elephant,"  added  he,  "  is  the 
friend  of  man  by  choice,  not  by  neces- 
sity or  instinct  ;  it  is  born  as  wild  as 
a  lion  or  buffalo,  but,  the  moment  an 
opportunity  arrives,  its  kindred  intel- 
ligence allies  it  to  man,  its  only  supe- 
rior or  equal  in  reasoning  power. 
We  are  about,"  said  Mr.  Yates,  "  to 
present  a  play  in  which  an  elephant 
will  act  a  part,  and  yet  act  but  her- 
self, for  the  intelligence  and  affec- 
tionate disposition  she  will  display 
on  these  boards  as  an  actress  are 
merely  her  own  private  and  domestic 
qualities.  Not  every  one  of  us  actors, 
gentlemen,  can  say  as  much." 

Then  there  was  a  laugh,  in  which 
Mr.  Yates  joined.  In  short,  Mr. 
Yates,  who  could  play  upon  the  pub- 
lic ear  better  than  some  fiddles  (I 
name  no  names),  made  his  debutante 
popular  before  ever  she  stepped  upon 
the  scene.  He  then  bowed  with  in- 
tense gratitude  to  the  audience  for 
the  attention  they  had  honored  him 
with,  retired  to  the  prompter's  side, 
and,  as  he  reached  it,  the  act  drop 
flew  up  and  the  play  began.  It  com- 
menced on  two  legs ;  the  elephant 
did  not  come  on  until  the  second 
scene  of  the  act. 

The  drama  was  a  good  specimen 
of  its  kind.  It  was  a  story  of  some 
interest,  and  length,  and  variety,  and 
the  writer  had  been  sharp  enough 
not  to  make  the  elephant  too  common 
in  it.  She  came  on  only  three  or 
four  times,  and  always  at  a  nick  of 
time,  and  to  do  good  business, — as 
theatricals  say,  i.  e.  for  some  impor- 
tant purpose  in  the  story. 

A  king  of  Siam  had  lately  died, 
and  the  elephant  was  seen  taking  her 
part  in  the  funeral  obsequies.  She 
deposited  his  sceptre,  etc.,  in  the 
tomb  of  his  fathers,  and  was  seen  no 
more  in  that  act.  The  rightful  heir 
to  this  throne  was  a  young  prince,  to 


whom  the  elephant  belonged.  A 
usurper  opposed  him,  and  a  battle 
took  place ;  the  rightful  heir  was 
worsted  and  taken  prisoner;  the 
usurper  condemned  him  to  be  thrown 
into  the  sea.  In  the  next  act,  this 
sentence  was  being  executed  :  four 
men  were  discovered  passing  through 
a  wood  carrying  no  end  of  a  box. 
Suddenly  a  terrific  roar  was  heard ; 
the  men  put  down  the  box  rather 
more  carefully  than  they  would  in 
real  life,  and  fled,  and  the  elephant 
walked  on  to  the  scene  alone  like  any 
other  actress.  She  smelt  about  the 
box,  and  presently  tore  it  open  with 
her  probosi  is,  and  there  was  her  mas- 
ter, the  rightful  heir,  but  in  a  sad  ex- 
hausted state.  When  the  good  soul 
sees  this,  what  does  she  do  but  walk 
to  the  other  side,  and  tear  down  the 
bough  of  a  fruit-tree  and  hand  it  to 
the  sufferer?  He  sucked  it,  and  it 
had  the  effect  of  stout  on  him:  it 
made  a  man  of  him,  and  they  marched 
away  together,  the  elephant  trumpet- 
ing to  show  her  satisfaction. 

In  the  next  act  the  rightful  heir's 
friends  were  discovered  behind  the 
bars  of  a  prison  at  a  height  from  the 
ground.  The  order  for  their  execu- 
tion arrived,  and  they  were  down  up- 
on their  luck  terribly.  In  marched 
the  elephant,  tore  out  the  iron  bars, 
and  squeezed  herself  against  the  wall, 
half  squatting  in  the  shape  of  a  tri- 
angle ;  so  then  the  prisoners  glided 
down  her  to  the  ground  slantendicu- 
lar  one  after  another. 

When  the  civil  war  had  lasted  long 
enough  to  sicken  both  sides,  and 
enough  widows  and  orphans  had 
been  made,  the  Siamese  began  to  ask 
themselves,  But  what  is  it  all  about  ? 
The  next  thing  was,  they  said, 
"What  asses  we  have  been  !  Was 
there  no  other  way  of  deciding  be- 
tween two  men  but  bleeding  the  whole 
tribe  ?  "  Then  they  reflected  and 
said,  We  are  asses,  that  is  clear;  but 
we  hear  there  is  one  animal  in  the 
nation  that  is  not  an  ass;  why,  of 
course,  then  she  is  the  one  to  decide 
our  dispute.     Accordingly,   a  grand 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


321 


assembly  was  held,  the  rival  claim- 
ants  were  compelled  to  attend,  and 
the  elephant   was  led  in.     Then  the 
high-priest,  or  some  such  article,  hav- 
ing first  implored  Heaven  to  speak 
through  the  quadruped,  bade  her  de- 
cide according  to  justice.     No  soon- 
er were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth 
than  the  elephant  stretched  out  her 
proboscis,  seized  a  little  crown  that 
glittered  on  the  usurper's  head,  and, 
waving  it  gracefully  in  the  air,  de- 
posited it  gently  and  carefully  on  the 
brows  of  the  rightful  heir.     So  then 
there  was  a  rush  made  on  the  wrong- 
ful heir.     He  was  taken  out  guarded, 
and  warned  off  the    premises ;    the 
rightful  heir  mounted  the  throne,  and 
grinned  and  bowed  all  round,  —  the 
elephant  trumpeted, — Siam  hurrahed, 
—  Djek's  party  in  the  house  echoed 
the  sound,  and  down  came  the  cur- 
tain in  thunders  of  applause.    Though 
the  curtain  was  down,  the  applause 
continued  most  vehemently,  and  after 
a  while  a  cry  arose  at  the  back  of  the 
pit,  "  Elephant !  Elephant !  "      That 
part  of  the  audience  that  had  paid  at 
the  door  laughed  at  this,  but   their 
laughter  turned  to  curiosity  when,  in 
answer  to  the  cry,   the  curtain   was 
raised,  and  the  stage  discovered  empty. 
Curiosity  in   turn   gave   way  to  sur- 
prise, for  the  elephant  walked  on  from 
the   third  grooves   alone,   and    came 
slap  down   to  the  float.     At  this,  the 
astonished   public   literally  roared  at 
her.     Rut  how   can  I  describe  the  ef- 
fect, the  amazement,  when,  in  return 
for    the    compliment,    the  debutante 
slowly  bent  her   knees  and  couriered 
twice   to  the  British  public,  and  then 
retired  backward*  as  the  curtain  once 
more   fell  ?      People   looked    at  one 
another,  and   seemed  to  need  to  read 
in  their  neighbors'  eyes  whether  such 
a  thing  was  real ;  and  then  followed 
that   buzz   which    tells    the    knowing 
One«  behind   the  curtain  that  the  nail 
has  gone  home  ;   that  the  theatre  will 
be  crammed   to  the  ceiling  to-morrow 
night,  and  perhaps  for  eighty  nights 

after. 
Mr.  Yates  fed  Mademoiselle  Djek 
U* 


with  his  own  hand  that  night,  crying, 
"  0  you  duck  !  " 

The  fortunes  of  the  Adelphi  rose 
from  that  hour,  —  full  houses  without 
intermission. 

Mr.  Yates  shortened  his  introduc- 
tory address,  and  used  to  make  it  a 
brief,  neat,  and,  I  think,  elegant  en* 
logy  of  her  gentleness  and  affection* 
ate  disposition  ;  her  talent  "  the  pub« 
lie  are  here  to  judge  for  themselves," 
said  Mr.  Yates,  and  exit  P.  S. 

A  theatre  is  a  little  world,  and 
Djek  soon  became  the  hero  of  ours. 
Everybody  must  have  a  passing  peep 
at  the  star  that  was  keeping  the  the- 
atre open  all  summer,  and  providing 
bread  for  a  score  or  two  of  families 
connected  with  it.  Of  course,  a  mind 
like  mine  was  not  among  the  least 
inquisitive.  Cut  her  head-keeper, 
Tom  Elliot,  a  surly  fellow,  repulsed 
our  attempts  to  scrape  acquaintance. 
"  Mind  your  business,  and  I  '11  mind 
mine,"  was  his  chant.  He  seemed 
to  be  wonderfully  jealous  of  her.  He 
could  not  forbid  Mr.  Yates  to  visit 
her,  as  he  did  us,  but  he  always  in- 
sisted on  being  one  of  the  party  ev(yi 
then.  He  puzzled  us;  but  the  strong- 
est impression  he  gave  us  was  that 
he  was  jealous  of  her,  —  afraid  that 
she  would  get  as  fond  of  some  others 
as  of  him,  and  so  another  man  might 
be  able  to  work  her,  and  his  own 
nose  lose  a  joint,  as  the  saying  is. 
Later  on  we  learned  to  put  a  different 
inteqiretation  on  his  conduct.  Pip- 
pin the  Italian,  and  Bernard  the 
Frenchman,  used  to  serve  her  with 
straw  and  water,  etc.,  but  it  was  quite 
a  different  thing  from  Elliot.  They 
were    like  a  tine    lady's  grooms  and 

running  footmen,  but  Elliot  was  hot 

body-servant,  groom  of  the  bedcham- 
ber, or  what  not.  He  used  always 
to  sleep  in  the  straw  close  to  her. 
Sometimes,  when  he  was  drunk,  he 
would  roll  in  between  her  logs  ;  and 
if  she  had  not  been  more  careful  of 
him  than  any  other  animal  ever  was 
(especially  himself),  she  most  have 
crushed  him  to  death  three  nights  in 
the  week.     Next  to  Elliot,  but  a  long 

U 


322 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


way  below  him,  M.  Huguet  seemed 
her  favorite.  He  used  to  come  into 
her  box,  and  caress  her,  and  feed  her, 
and  make  much  of  her  ;  but  she  nev- 
er went  on  the  stage  without  Elliot 
in  sight ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  all  she 
did  upon  our  stage  was  done  at  a 
word  of  command  given  then  and 
there  at  the  side  by  this  man  and  no 
other,  —  going  down  to  the  float, 
courtesying,  and  all. 

Being  mightily  curious  to  know 
how  he  had  gained  such  influence 
with  her,  I  made  several  attempts  to 
sound  him,  but,  drunk  or  sober,  he 
was  equally  unfathomable  on  this 
point. 

I  then  endeavored  to  slake  my  cu- 
riosity at  No.  2.  I  made  bold  to  ask 
M.  Huguet  how  he  had  won  her  af- 
fections. The  Frenchman  was  as 
communicative  as  the  native  was  re- 
served. He  broke  plenty  of  English 
over  me.  It  came  to  this,  that  the 
strongest  feeling  of  an  elephant  was 
gratitude,  and  that  he  had  worked  on 
this  for  years ;  was  always  kind  to 
her,  and  seldom  approached  her  with- 
out giving  her  lumps  of  sugar,  —  car- 
ried a  pocketful  on  purpose.  This 
tallied  with  what  I  had  heard  and 
read  of  an  elephant ;  still  the  problem 
remained,  Why  is  she  fonder  still  of 
this  Tom  Elliot,  whose  manner  is  not 
ingratiating,  and  who  never  speaks 
to  her  but  in  a  barsh,  severe  voice  1 

She  stood  my  friend,  any  way.  A 
good  many  new  supers  were  engaged 
to  play  with  her,  and  I  was  set  over 
these,  looked  out  their  dresses,  and 
went  on  with  them  and  her  as  a  slave  : 
nine  shillings  a  week  for  this  was 
added  to  my  other  nine  which  I  drew 
for  dressing  an  actor  or  two  of  the 
higher  class. 

The  more  I  was  about  her,  the 
more  I  felt  that  we  were  not  at  the 
bottom  of  this  quadruped,  nor  even 
of  her  bipeds.  There  were  gestures 
and  glances  and  shrugs  always  pass- 
ing to  and  fro  among  them. 

One  day  at  the  rehearsal  of  a  farce 
there  was  no  Mr.  Yates.  Somebody 
inquired  loudly  for  him. 


"  Hush  !  "  says  another;  "  have  n'l 
you  heard  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  You  must  n't  talk  of  it  out  of 
doors." 

"  No  !  " 

"  Half  killed  by  the  elephant  this 
morning." 

It  seems  he  was  feeding  and  coax- 
ing her,  as  he  had  often  clone  before, 
when  all  in  a  moment  she  laid  hold  of 
him  with  her  trunk  and  gave  him  a 
squeeze.  He  lay  in  bed  six  weeks 
with  it,  and  there  was  nobody  to  de- 
liver her  eulogy  at  night.  Elliot  was 
at  the  other  end  of  the  stage  when 
the  accident  happened.  He  heard 
Mr.  Yates  cry  out,  and  ran  in,  and 
the  elephant  let  Mr.  Yates  go  the  mo- 
ment she  saw  him. 

We  questioned  Elliot.  We  might 
as  well  have  cross  examined  the  Mon- 
ument. Then  I  inquired  of  M. 
Huguet  what  this  meant.  That  gen- 
tleman explained  to  me  thatDjck  had 
miscalculated  her  strength  ;  that  she 
wanted  to  caress  so  kind  a  manager, 
who  was  always  feeding  and  court- 
ing her,  and  had  embraced  him  too 
warmly. 

The  play  went  on,  and  the  ele- 
phant's reputation  increased.  Bat 
her  popularity  was  destined  to  receive 
a  shock  as  far  as  we  little  ones  behind 
the  curtain  were  concerned. 

One  day  while  Pippin  was  spread- 
ing her  straw,  she  knocked  him  down 
with  her  trunk,  and,  pressing  her 
tooth  against  him,  bored  two  frightful 
holes  in  his  skull  before  Elliot  could 
interfere.  Pippin  was  carried  to  St. 
George's  Hospital  and  we  began  to 
look  in  one  another's  faces. 

Pippin's  situation  was  in  the  mar- 
ket. 

One  or  two  declined  it.  It  came 
down  to  me.  I  reflected,  and  accept- 
ed it:  another  nine  shillings;  total, 
twenty-seven  shillings. 

That  night  two  supers  turned  tail. 
An  actress  also,  whose  name  1  have 
forgotten,  refused  to  go  on  with  her. 
"  I  was  not  engaged  to  play  with  a 
brute,"  said  this  lady, '-'and  I  won't." 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


323 


Others  went  on  as  usual,  but  were  not 
so  sweet  on  it  as  before.  The  rightful 
heir  lost  all  relish  for  his  part,  and, 
above  all,  when  his  turn  came  to  be 
preserved  from  harm  by  her,  I  used 
to  hear  him  crying  out  of  the  box 
to  Elliot,  "  Arc  you  there  ?  are  you 
sure  you  arc  there  1  "  and,  when  she 
tore  open  his  box,  Garrick  never  act- 
ed better  than  this  one  used  to  now, 
for  you  see  his  cue  was  to  exhibit  fear 
and  exhaustion,  and  he  did  both  to 
the  life,  because  for  the  last  five  min 
utes  he  had  been  thinking,  "O  dear: 
( )  dear !  suppose  she  should  do  the 
foot  business  on  my  box  instead  of  the 
proboscis  business." 

These,  however,  were  vain  fears. 
She  made  no  mistake  before  the  public. 

Nothing  lasts  forever  in  this  world, 
and  the  time  came  that  she  ceased  to 
fill  the  house.  Then  Mr.  Yates  re- 
engaged her  for  the  provinces,  and, 
having  agreed  with  the  country  man- 
agers, sent  her  down  to  Bath  and 
Bristol  first.  He  had  a  good  opinion 
of  me,  and  asked  me  to  go  with  her  and 
watch  his  interests.  I  should  not  cer- 
tainly have  applied  for  the  place,  but 
it  was  nut  easy  to  say  no  to  Mr.  Yates, 
and  I  felt  I  owed  him  some  reparation 
for  the  wrong  I  had  done  that  great 
artist  in  accompanying  his  voice  with 
my  gestures. 

In  short,  we  started,  Djek,  Elliot, 
Bernard,  I,  and  Pippin,  on  foot  (he 
wnsjust  out  of  St.  George's).  Messrs. 
Haguet  and  Yates  rolled  in  their  car- 
riage to  meet  us  at  the  principal 
towns  where  we  played. 

As  we  could  not  afford  to  make 
her  common,  our  walking  was  all 
night-work,  and  introduced  me  to  a 
rouarh  life. 

'lip'  average  of  night  weather  is 
wetter  and  windier  than  day,  and 
many  a  vile  night  we  tramped  through 
when  wise  men  were  abed  :  and  we 
never  knew  tor  certain  where  we 
should  pass  the  night,  lor  it  depended 
on  Djek.     She  was  bo  enormous. that 

half    the    inns    could    not    find    us    a 

place  big  enough   for  her.     Our  first 

evening  stroll  was  to    Bath  ami  Bris- 


tol ;  thence  we  crossed  to  Dublin, 
thence  we  returned  to  Plymouth. 
We  walked  from  Plymouth  to  Liver- 
pool, playing  with  good  success  at  all 
these  places.  At  Liverpool  she  laid 
hold  of  Bernard  and  would  have  set- 
tled his  hash,  but  Elliot  came  between 
them. 

That  same  afternoon  in  walks  a 
young  gentleman  dressed  in  the 
height  of  Parisian  fashion, — glossy 
hat,  satin  tie,  trousers  puckered  at  the 
haunches,  —  spruccr  than  any  poor 
Englishman  will  be  while  the  world 
lasts,  and  who  was  it  but  Mons.  Ber- 
nard come  to  take  leave  1  We  endeav- 
ored to  dissuade  him.  He  smiled  and 
shook  his  head,  treated  us,  nattered  us, 
and  showed  us  his  preparations  for 
France. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  he  saun- 
tered about  us  dressed  like  a  gentle- 
man, with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  ah  ostentatious  neglect  of  his  late 
affectionate  charge.  Before  he  left  he 
invited  me  to  drink  something  at  his 
expense,  and  was  good  enough  to  say  I 
was  what  he  most  regretted  leaving. 

"  Then  why  go  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  mon  pauvre  gar- 
con,"  said  Mons.  Bernard.  "  We  old 
hands  have  all  got  our  orders  to  say 
she  is  a  duck.  Ah  !  you  have  found 
that  out  of  yourself.  Well,  now,  as  I 
bave  done  with  her,  I  will  tell  you  a 
part  of  her  character,  for  I  know  her 
well.  Once  she  injures  you  she  can 
never  forgive  you.  So  long  as  she  has 
never  hurt  you  there's  a  fair  chance 
she  never  will.  I  have  been  about  her 
for  years,  anil  she  never  molested  me 
till  yesterday.  But,  if  she  once  attacks 
a  man,  that  man's  death-warrant  is 
signed.  I  can't  altogether  account  for 
it,  but  trust  my  experience,  it  is  so. 
I  would  have  stayed  with  you  all  my 
life  if  she  had  not  shown  me  my  fete, 
but  not  now.  Merci  !  1  have  a  wife 
and  two  children  in  France.  I  have 
saved  some  money  out  of  her.  I  re- 
turn to  the  bosom  of  my  family  ;  and 
if  Pippin  stays  with  her  after  the  hint 
she  gave  him  in  London,  why,  you 
will  seo  the  death  of  Pippin,  my  lad, 


52i 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


roila  tout,  that  is  if  you  don't  go  first. 
Qu'est  que  9a  te  fait  a  la  fin  ?  tu  es 
garcon  toi  —  barons  !  " 

The  next  day  he  left  us,  and  left  me 
sad  for  one.  The  quiet  determination 
with  which  he  acted  upon  positive  ex- 
perience of  her  was  enough  to  make  a 
man  thoughtful ;  and  then  Bernard 
was  the  flower  of  us  :  he  was  the  drop 
of  mirth  and  gayety  in  our  iron  cup. 
He  was  a  pure,  unadulterated  French- 
man ;  and,  to  be  just,  where  can  you 
find  anything  so  delightful  as  a 
Frenchman  — of  the  rig-lit  sort? 

He  fluttered  home  singing, 

"  Les  doux  yeux  de  ma  brunet — te, 
Tout — e    mignonett — e  —  tout — e  —  geutil- 
lett— e." 

and  left  us  all  in  black. 

God  bless  you,  my  merry  fellow. 
I  hope  you  found  your  children 
healthy,  and  your  brunette  true,  and 
your  friends  alive,  and  that  the  world 
is  just  to  you,  and  smiles  on  you,  as 
you  do  on  it,  and  did  on  us. 

From  Liverpool  wc  walked  to  Glas- 
gow, from  Glasgow  to  Edinburgh,  and 
from  Edinburgh  on  a  cold  starry  mid- 
night we  started  for  Newcastle. 

In  this  interval  of  business  let  me 
paint  you  my  companions  Pippin  and 
Elliot.  The  reader  is  entitled  to  this, 
for  there  must  have  been  something 
out  of  the  common  in  their  looks, 
since  I  was  within  an  ace  of  being 
killed  along  of  the  Italian's  face,  and 
was  imprisoned  four  days  through  the 
Englishman's  mug. 

The  Italian  whom  we  know  by  the 
nickname  of  Pippin  was  a  man  of  im- 
mense stature  and  athletic  mould. 
His  face,  once  seen,  would  never  be 
forgotten.  His  skin,  almost  as  swar- 
thy as  Othello's,  was  set  off  by  daz- 
zling ivory  teeth,  and  lighted  by  two 
glorious  large  eyes,  black  as  jet,  bril- 
liant as  diamonds  ;  the  orbs  of  black 
lightning  gleamed  from  beneath  eye- 
brows that  many  a  dandy  would  have 
bought  for  mustaches  at  a  high  valu- 
ation. A  nose  like  a  reaping-hook 
completed  him.  Perch  him  on  a  tol- 
erable-sized rock,  and  there  you  had 
a  black  eagle. 


As  if  this  was  not  enough,  Pippia 
would  always  wear  a  conical  hat; 
and,  had  he  but  stepped  upon  the 
stage  in  "  Masanielk)  "  or  the  like,  all 
the  other  brigands  would  have  sunk 
down  to  a  rural  police  by  the  side  of 
our  man.  But  now  comes  the  ab- 
surdity. His  inside  was  not  different 
from  his  out ;  it  was  the  exact  oppo- 
site. You  might  turn  over  twenty 
thousand  bullet  heads  and  bolus  eyes 
before  you  could  find  one  man  so 
thoroughly  harmless  as  this  thunder- 
ing brigand.  He  was  just  a  pet,  a 
universal  pet  of  all  the  men  and  wo- 
men that  came  near  him.  He  had  the 
disposition  of  a  dove  and  the  heart  of 
a  hare.  He  was  a  lamb  in  wolfs 
clothing. 

My  next  portrait  is  not  so  pleasing. 

A    MAN    TURNED    BRUTE. 

Some  ten  years  before  this,  a  fine 
stout  young  English  rustic  entered 
the  service  of  Mademoiselle  Djtik. 
He  was  a  model  for  bone  and  muscle, 
and  had  two  cheeks  like  roses.  When 
he  first  went  to  Paris  he  was  looked 
on  as  a  curiosity  there.  People  used 
to  come  to  Djek's  stable  to  see  her, 
and  Elliot,  the  young  English  Samson. 
Just  ten  years  after  this  voung  Elliot 
had  got  to  be  called  "old  Elliot." 
His  face  was  not  only  pale,  it  was  col- 
orless ;  it  was  the  face  of  a  walking 
corpse.  This  came  of  ten  years'  bran- 
dy and  brute.  I  have  often  asked 
people  to  guess  the  man's  age,  and 
they  always  guessed  sixty,  sixty-five, 
or  seventy,  —  oftenest  the  latter. 

He  was  thirty-five,  —  not  a  day 
more. 

This  man's  mind  had  come  down 
along  with  his  body.  He  understood 
nothing  but  elephant ;  he  seldom 
talked,  and  then  nothing  but  ele- 
phant. He  was  an  elephant-man. 
I  will  give  you  an  instance  which  I 
always  thought  curious. 

An  elephant,  you  may  have  ob- 
served, cannot  stand  quite  still.  The 
great  weight  of  its  head  causes  a 
nodding  movement,  which  is  perpet- 
ual when  the  creature  stands  erect. 
Well,  this  Tom  Elliot  when  he  stood 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


325 


np,  used  always  to  have  one  foot  ad- 
vanced, and  his  eyes  half  closed,  and 
his  head  niddle-nodding  like  an  ele- 
phant all  the  time ;  and,  with  it  all, 
such  a  presence  of  brute  and  absence 
of  soul  in  his  mug,  enough  to  <;ivc 
a  thoughtful  man  some  very  queer 
ideas  about  man  and  beast 


CHAPTER  VI. 

My  office  in  this  trip  was  merely 
to  contract  for  the  elephant's  food  at 
the  various  places  ;  but  1  was  getting 
older  and  shrewder,  and  more  design- 
ing than  I  used  to  be,  and  I  was 
i|iiite  keen  enough  to  see  in  this  ele- 
phant the  means  of  bettering  my  for- 
tunes, if  I  could  hut  make  friends  with 
her.  But  how  to  do  this  I  She  was 
like  a  coquette,  strange  admirers 
welcome  ;  but  when  you  had  courted 
her  awhile  she  got  tired  of  you,  and 
then  nothing  short  of  your  demise  sat- 
isfied her  caprice.  Her  heart  seemed 
inaccessible  except  to  this  brute  El- 
liot, and  be,  drunk  or  sober,  guarded 
the  secret  of  his  fascination  by  some 
instinct,  for  reason  he  possessed  in  a 
very  small  degree. 

1  played  the  spy  on  quadruped  and 
biped,  and  I  found  out  the  fact,  but 
the  reason  beat  me.  I  saw  that  she 
was  more  tenderly  careful  of  him  than 
a  mother  of  her  child.  I  saw  him 
roll  down  Ptupid  drunk  under  her 
belly,  and  I  saw  her  lift  first  one  foot 
and  then  the  other,  and  draw  them 
slowly  and  carefully  back,  trembling 
witli  fear  lest  she  might  make  a  mis- 
take and  hurt  him. 

But  why  she  was  a  mother  to  him 
and  a  stepmother  to  the  rest  of  us, 
that  1  could  not  learn. 

One  day,  between  Plymouth  and 
Liverpool,  having  left  Elliot  and  her 
together,  I  happened  to  retain,  and  I 
found  the  elephant  alone  and  in  a 
state  of  excitement,  and  locking  in  I 
observed  some  blood  upoa  the  straw. 

His  turn  has  come  at  last,  was  my 


first  notion  ;  but,  looking  round,  there 
was  Elliot  behind  me. 

"  I  was  afraid  she  had  tried  it  on 
with  you,"  I  said. 

"  AVho  1 " 

"  The  elephant." 

Elliot's  face  was  not  generally  ex- 
pressive, but  the  look  of  silent  scorn 
he  gave  me  at  the  idea  of  the  elephant 
attacking  him  was  worth  seeing. 
The  brute  knew  something  I  did  not 
know,  and  could  not  find  out ;  and 
from  this  one  piece  of  knowledge  he 
looked  down  upon  mc  with  a  sort  of 
contempt  that  set  all  the  Seven  Dials' 
blood  on  fire. 

"  I  will  bottom  this,"  said  I,  "  if  1 
die  for  it." 

My  plan  now  was  to  feed  Djck 
every  day  with  my  own  hand,  but 
never  to  go  near  her  without  Elliot 
at  my  very  side  and  in  front  of  the 
elephant. 

This  was  my  first  step. 

We  were  noAv  drawing  toward 
Newcastle,  and  bad  to  lie  at  Morpeth, 
where  we  arrived  late,  and  found  Mr. 
Yates  and  M.  Huguet,  who  had  come 
out  from  Newcastle  to  meet  us ;  and 
at  this  place  I  determined  on  a  new 
move  which  I  had  long  meditated. 

Elliot,  I  reflected,  always  slept 
with  the  elephant.  None  of  the 
other  men  had  ever  done  this.  Now 
might  there  not  he  some  magic  in 
this  unbroken  familiarity  between  the 
two  animals  ! 

Accordingly,  at  Morpeth,  I  pre« 
tended  there  was  no  bed  vacant  in 
the  inn,  and  asked  Elliot  to  let  me  lie 
beside  him  :  he  grunted  an  ungracious 
assent. 

Not  to  overdo  it  at  first,  I  got 
Elliot  between  mc  and  Djck,  so  (hat 
if  she  was  offended  at  my  intrusion 
she  mast  pass  over  her  darling  to  re- 
sent it.  We  had  tramped  a  good 
many  miles,  and  were  soon  fast 
asleep. 

About  two  in  the  morning  I  was 
awoke  by  a  shout  and  a  crunching, 
and  felt  myself  dropping  into  the 
straw  out  of  the  elephant's  month. 
She  had  strctehed  her  proboscis  over 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES 


him,  —  had  taken  me  up  so  delicately 
that  I  felt  nothing,  and  when  Elliot 
shouted  I  was  in  her  mouth.  At  his 
voice,  that  rung  in  my  ears  like  the 
last  trumpet,  she  dropped  me  like  a 
hot  potato.  I  rolled  out  of  the  straw, 
giving  tongue  a  good  one,  and  ran 
out  of  the  shed.  I  had  no  sooner  got 
to  the  inn  than  I  felt  a  sickening  pain 
in  my  shoulder  and  fainted  away. 

Her  huge  tooth  had  gone  into  my 
shoulder  like  a  wedge.  It  was  my- 
self I  had  heard  being  crunched. 

They  did  what  they  could  for  me, 
and  I  soon  came  to.  When  I  re- 
covered my  senses  I  was  seized  with 
vomiting  ;  but  at  last  all  violent 
symptoms  abated,  and  I  began  to 
suffer  great  pain  in  the  injured  part, 
and  did  suffer  for  six  weeks. 

Ami  so  I  scraped  clear.  Somehow 
or  other,  Elliot  was  not  drunk,  or 
nothing  could  have  saved  me.  For  a 
second  wonder,  he,  who  was  a  heavy 
sleeper,  woke  at  the  very  slight  noise 
she  made  eating  me  :  a  moment  later, 
and  nothing  could  have  saved  me.  I 
use  too  many  words, — suppose  she 
had  eaten  me,  —  what  then  ? 

They  told  Mr.  Yates  at  breakfast, 
and  he  sent  for  me,  and  advised  me 
to  lie  quiet  at  Morpeth  till  the  fever 
of  the  wound  should  be  off  me;  but  I 
refused.  She  was  to  start  at  ten,  and 
I  told  him  I  should  start  with  her. 

Running  from  grim  death  like  that, 
I  had  left  my  shoes  behind  in  the 
shed,  and  M.  Huguet  sent  his  servant 
Baptiste,  an  Italian,  for  them. 

Mr.  Yates  then  asked  me  for  all  the 
particulars,  and,  while  I  was  telling 
him  and  M.  Huguet,  we  heard  a  com- 
motion in  the  street,  and  saw  people 
running,  and  presently  one  of  the 
waiters  ran  in  and  cried  :  — 

"  The  elephant  has  killed  a  man, 
or  near  it." 

Mr.  Yates  laughed  and  said  :  — 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that ;  for  here 
is  the  man." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  waiter,  "  it  is 
not  him  ;  it  is  one  of  the  foreigners." 

Mr.  Yates  started  up  all  trembling. 
He  ran  to  the  stable.     I  followed  him 


as  I  was,  and  there  we  saw  a  sight  to 
make  our  blood  run  cold.  On  the 
corn-bin  lay  poor  Baptiste  crushed 
into  a  mummy.  How  it  happened 
there  was  no  means  of  knowing  ;  but, 
no  doubt,  while  he  was  groping  in 
the  straw  for  my  wretched  shoes,  she 
struck  him  with  her  trunk,  perhaps 
more  than  once ;  his  breast-bones 
were  broken  to  chips,  and  every  time 
he  breathed,  which  by  God's  mercy 
was  not  many  minutes,  the  man's 
whole  chest-frame  puffed  out  like  a 
bladder  with  the  action  of  his  lungs: 
it  was  too  horrible  to  look  at. 

Elliot  had  run  at  Baptiste's  cry, 
but  too  late  to  save  his  lite  this  time. 
He  had  drawn  the  man  out  of  the 
straw  as  she  was  about  to  pound  him 
to  a  jelly,  and  there  the  poor  soul  lay 
on  the  corn  bin,  and  by  his  side  lay 
the  things  he  had  died  for,  —  two  old 
shoes.  Elliot  had  found  them  in  the 
straw,  and  put  them  thereof  all  places 
in  the  world. 

By  this  time  all  Morpeth  was  out. 
They  besieged  the  doors  and  vowed 
death  to  the  elephant.  M.  Huguet 
became  greatly  alarmed.  He  could 
spare  Baptiste,  but  he  could  not  spare 
Djek.  He  got  Mr.  Yates  to  pacify 
the  people.  "  Tell  them  something," 
said  he. 

"  What  on  earth  can  I  say  for  her 
over  that  man's  bleeding  body  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Yates.  "  Curse  her  !  would  to 
God  I  had  never  seen  her  !  " 

"  Tell   thein   he   used   her  cruel," 
said  M.    Huguet. 
her  off  with  that  before  now 

Well,  my  sickness  came  on  again, 
partly,  no  doubt,  by  the  sight  and  the 
remorse,  and  I  was  got  to  bed,  and 
lay  there  some  days  ;  so  I  did  not  see 
all  that  passed,  but  I  heard  some,  and 
1  know  the  rest  by  instinct  now. 

Half  an  hour  after  breakfast-time 
Baptiste  died.  On  this  the  elephant 
was  detained  by  the  authorities,  and  a 
coroner's  inquest  was  summoned,  and 
sat  in  the  shambles  on  the  victim, 
with  the  butcheress  looking  on  at  the 
proceedings. 

Pippin  told  me  she  took  off  a  jury- 


"  I  have   brought 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


327 


m?n's  hat  during  the  investigation, 
■waved  it  triumphantly  in  the  air,  and 
plaeed  it  cleverly  on  her  favorite's 
head,  old  Tom. 

At  this  inquest  two  or  three  persons 
deposed  on  oath  that  the  deceased  had 
ill  used  her  more  than  once  in 
France ;  in  particular,  that  he  had 
run  a  pitchfork  into  her  two  years 
ago;  that  he  had  been  remonstrated 
with,  but  in  vain  ;  unfortunately,  she 
had  recognized  him  at  once,  and 
killed  him  out  of  revenge  for  past 
cruelty,  or  to  save  herself  from  fresh 
outrages. 

This  cooled  the  ardor  against  her. 
Some  even  took  part  with  her  against 
the  man. 

"  Run  a  pitchfork  into  an  elephant ! 
O,  for  shame  !  no  wonder  she  killed 
him  at  last.  How  good  of  her  not 
tii  kill  him  then  and  there,  — what  for- 
bearance,—  forgave  it  for  two  years, 
ye  see." 

There  is  a  fixed  opinion  among  men 
that  an  elephant  is  a  good  kind  crea- 
ture. The  opinion  is  fed  by  the  pro- 
prietors of  elephants,  who  must  nurse 
the  notion  or  lose  their  customers,  and 
so  a  set  talc  is  always  ready  to  clear 
the  guilty  and  criminate  the  sufferer ; 
and  this  tale  is  greedily  swallowed  by 
the  public.  You  will  hear  and  read 
many  such  tales  in  the  papers  before 
you  die.     Every  such  tale  is  a  lie. 

How  curiously  things  happen ! 
Last  year,  i.  e.  more  than  twenty 
years  after  this  event,  my  little  jrirl 
went  for  a  pound  of  batter  to  Newport 
Street.  She  brought  it  wrapped  up 
in  a  scrap  uf  a  very  old  newspaper; 
in  unrolling  it,  my  eye,  by  mere  Acci- 
dent, fell  upon  these  words  :  "An  in- 
quest." 1  had  no  sooner  read  the 
paragraph  than  1  put  the  scrap  of  pa- 

pev  away  in  m\  desk  :  it  lies  before 
me  now,  and  I  am  copying  it. 

"  An  inquest  was  held  at  the  Phoe- 
nix  Inn,  Morpeth,  on  the  27th  ultimo, 
on   view   of   the    body    of   an     Italian 

named  Baptiste  Bernard,  who  was  one 
of  the  attendants  on  the  female  ele- 
phant which  lately  performed  at  tin' 
Adelphi.     It  appeared  from  the  evi- 


dence that  the  man  had  stabbed  the 
elephant  in  the  trunk  with  a  pitchfork 
about  two  years  ago  while  in  a  state 
of  intoxication,  and  that  on  the  Tues- 
day previous  to  the  inquest  the  animal 
caught  hold  of  him  with  her  trunk 
and  did  him  so  much  injury  that  he 
died  in  a  few  hours.  Verdict,  died 
from  the  wounds  and  bruises  received 
from  the  trunk  of  an  elephant.  Deo- 
dand,  5s." 

Well,  this  has  gone  all  abroad,  for 
print  travels  like  wind  ;  and  it  is  not 
fair  to  the  friends  and  the  memory 
of  this  Baptiste  Bernard  to  print  that 
he  died  by  his  own  cruelty,  or  fault, 
or  folly,  so  take  my  deposition,  and 
carry  it  to  Milan,  his  native  city. 

I  declare  upon  oath  that  the  above 
is  a  lie  ;  that  the  man  was  never  an 
attendant  upon  the  female  elephant ; 
he  was  an  attendant  on  the  female 
Hague t ;  for  he  was  that  lady's 
footman.  His  first  introduction  to 
Mademoiselle  Djek  was  her  killing 
him,  and  he  died,  not  by  any  fault 
of  his  own,  but  by  the  will  of  God 
and  through  ignorance  of  the  real 
nature  of  the  fuU-grown  elephant,  the 
cunninfrest,  most  treacherous  and 
bloodthirsty  beast  that  ever  played 
the  butcher  among  mankind. 

What  men  speak  dissolves  in  the 
air,  what  they  print  stands  fast  and 
will  look  them  in  the  face  to  all  eter- 
nity. I  print  the  truth  about  this 
man's  death  ;  so  help  me  God. 

Business  is  business.  As  soon  as 
we  had  jrot  the  inquest  over  and 
stamped  the  lie  current,  hid  the  truth 
and  buried  the  man,  we  marched 
south  and  played  our  little  play  at 
Newcastle. 

Deodand  for  a  human  soul  sent  by 
murder  to  its  account,  five  bob. 

After  Newcastle  we  walked  to  York, 
and  thence  to  Manchester.  I  crept 
along  thoroughly  crestfallen.  Months 
and  months  1  had  watched,  and  spied, 

and  tried  to  pluck  out  the  heart  of 
this  Tom  Elliot's  mystery  ;  1  had 
failed.        Months    and    months  I    had 

tried    to  gain    some    influence  over 

Djek;  1  had  failed.     But  for  Elliot, 


328 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


it  was  clear  I  should  not  live  a  single 
day  within  reach  of  her  trunk ;  this 
brute  was  my  superior.  I  was  com- 
pelled to  look,  up  to  him,  and  I  did 
look  up  to  him. 

As  I  tramped  sulkily  along,  my 
smarting  shoulder  reminded  me  that 
in  elephant,  as  in  everything  else  I 
had  tried,  I  was  Jack,  not  master. 

The  proprietors  had  their  cause 
of  discontent  too.  We  had  silenced 
the  law,  but  we  could  not  silence 
opinion.  Somehow  suspicion  hung 
about  her  in  the  very  air  wherever 
she  went.  She  never  throve  in  the 
English  provinces  after  the  Morpeth 
job,  and,  finding  this,  Mr.  Yates 
said  :  "  O,  hang  her,  she  has  lost  her 
character  here;  send  her  to  Amer- 
ica." So  he  and  M.  Huguet  joined 
partnership  and  took  this  new  spec- 
ulation on  their  shoulders.  America 
was  even  in  that  day  a  great  card 
if  you  went  with  an  English  or 
French  reputation. 

I  had.  been  thinking  of  leaving 
her  and  her  old  Tom  in  despair ; 
but,  now  that  other  dangers  and  in- 
conveniences were  to  be  endured  be- 
sides her  and  her  trunk,  by  some 
strange  freak  of  human  nature,  or 
by  fate,  I  began  to  cling  to  her  like 
a  limpet  to  a  rock  the  more  you  pull 
at  him. 

Mr.  Yates  dissuaded  me.  "  Have 
nothing  to  do  with  her,  Jack ;  she 
will  serve  you  like  all  the  rest. 
Stay  at  home,  and  I  '11  find  something 
for  you  in  the  theatre." 

I  thought  a  great  deal  of  Mr. 
Yates  for  this,  for  he  was  speaking 
against  his  own  interest.  I  was  a 
faithful  servant  to  him,  and  he  need- 
ed one  about  her.  Many  a  five- 
pound  note  I  had  saved  him  al- 
ready, and  well  he  deserved  it  at  my 
hands. 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  be  of 
use,  and  I  can't  bear  to  he  nonplushed 
by  two  brutes  like  Elliot  and  her.  I 
have  begun  to  study  her,  and  I  must 
go  on  to  the  word  '  finis  '  !  " 

Messrs.  Yates  and  Huguet  insured 
the  elephant  lor  £  2U,0U0,  and  sent  us 


all  to  sea  together  in  the  middle  of 
November,  a  pretty  month  to  cross 
the  Atlantic  in. 

This  was  what  betters  call  a  hedge, 
and  not  a  bad  one. 

Our  party  was  Queen  Djek ;  Mr. 
Stevenson,  her  financier;  Mr.  Gallott, 
her  stage-manager  and  wrongful  heir ; 
Elliot,  her  keeper,  her  lord,  her  king ; 
Pippin,  her  slave,  always  trembling 
for  his  head ;  myself,  her  commis- 
sariat ;  and  one  George  Hindc,  from 
Wombwell's,  her  man-of-all-work. 

She  had  a  stout  cabin  built  upon 
deck  for  her.  It  cost  £  40  to  make  ; 
what  she  paid  for  the  accommodation 
Pleaven  knows,  but  I  should  think  a 
good  round  sum,  for  it  was  the  curse 
of  the  sailors  and  passengers,  and 
added  fresh  terrors  to  navigation. 
The  steersman  could  not  see  the 
ship's  head  until  the  sea  took  the 
mariners'  part  and  knocked  it  into 
toothpicks. 

Captain  Scbor  had  such  a  passage 
with  us  as  he  had  never  encountered 
before.  He  told  us  so,  —  and  no  won- 
der ;  he  never  had  such  a  wholesale 
murderess  on  board  before,  —  contrary 
winds  forever,  and  stiff"  gales  too. 
At  last  it  blew  great  guns  ;  and  one 
night,  as  the  sun  went  down  crimson 
in  the  Gulf  of  Florida,  the  sea  run- 
ning mountains  high,  I  saw  Captain 
Sebor  himself  was  fidgety.  He  had 
cause.  That  night  a  tempest  came 
on  ;  the  "  Ontario  "  rolled  fearfully 
and  groaned  like  a  dying  man ;  about 
two  in  the  morning  a  sea  struck  her, 
smashed  Djek's  cabin  to  atoms,  and 
left  her  exposed  and  reeling ;  another 
such  would  now  have  swept  her  over- 
board, but  her  wits  never  left  her  for 
a  moment.  She  threw  herself  down 
flatter  than  any  man  could  have  con- 
ceived possible ;  out  went  all  her  four 
legs,  and  she  glued  her  belly  to  the 
deck  ;  the  sailors  passed  a  chain  from 
the  weather  to  the  lee  bulwarks,  and 
she  seized  it  with  her  proboscis,  and 
held  on  like  grim  death.  Poor  thing, 
her  coat  never  got  not  to  say  dry  ;  she 
was  like  a  great  water-rat  all  the  rest 
of  the  voyage. 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


329 


The  passage  was  twelve  weeks  of 
foul  weather.  The  elephant  begun 
to  be  suspected  of  being  the  cause  of 
this,  and  the  sailors  often  looked 
askant  at  her,  and  said  we  should 
yiever  see  port  till  she  walked  the 
plank  into  the  Atlantic.  If  her  un- 
derwriters saved  their  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds,  it  was  touch  and  go 
more  than  once  or  twice.  Moreover, 
she  ate  so  little  all  the  voyage  that 
it  was  a  wonder  to  Elliot  and  me  how 
she  came  not  to  die  of  sickness  and 
hunger.  I  suppose  she  survived  it 
all  because  she  had  more  mischief  to 
do. 

As  the  pretty  little  witches  sing 
in  Mr.  Locke's  opera  of  "  Macbeth," 

She  must,  she;  must,  she  must,  she 
must,  she  must  shed  —  much  — 
more  —  blood. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Our  preposterous  long  voyage  de- 
ranged all  the  calculations  that  had 
been  made  for  us  in  England,  and 
we  reached  New  York  just  at  the 
wrong  time.  We  found  Master  Burke 
playing  at  the  Park  Theatre,  and  we 
were  forced  to  treat  with  an  inferior 
house,  the  Bowery  Theatre.  We 
played  there  with  but  small  success 
compared  with  what  we  had  been 
used  to  in  Europe.  Master  Burke 
filled  the  house, —  we  did  not  (ill  ours, 
—  so  that  at  last  she  was  actually 
eclipsed  Ivy  a  human  actor  ;  to  be  sure 
it  was  a  boy,  not  a  man,  and  child's 
play  is  .sometime--  preferred  by  the 
theatre-going  world  even  to  horse- 
play. 

The  statesmen  were  cold  to  us ; 
they  bad  not  at.  this  time  learned  to 
form  an  opinion  of  their  own  at 
Bight  on  such  matters,  ami  we  did  not 
bring  them  an  overpowering  Euro- 
pean verdict  to  which  they  bad  noth- 
ing to  do  but  sign  their  names. 
There  was  m>  groove  cut  for  the 
mind  to  run  in,  ami  while  they  hes- 
itated the  Speculation  halted.  I 
think  she  would  succeed  there  now  ;  l 


but  at  this  time  they  were  not  ripe  for 
an  elephant. 

We  left  New  York,  and  away  to 
Philadelphia  on  foot  and  steamboat. 

There  is  a  place  on  the  Delaware 
where  the  boat  draws  up  to  a  small 
pier.  Down  this  we  marched,  and 
about  ten  yards  from  the  end  the 
floor  gave  way  under  her  weight,  and 
Djek  and  her  train  fell  into  the  sea. 
I  was  awoke  from  a  revery,  and  found 
myself  sitting  right  at  top  of  her, 
with  my  knees  in  Chesapeake  Bay. 
Elliot  had  a  rough  Benjamin  on,  and 
as  he  was  coming  thundering  down 
with  the  rest  of  the  rubbish,  alive  and 
dead,  it  caught  in  a  nail,  and  he  hung 
over  the  bay  by  the  shoulder  like  an 
Indian  fakir,  cursing  and  swearing 
for  all  the  world  like  a  dog  barking. 
I  never  saw  such  a  posture,  —  and  O, 
the  language ! 

I  swam  out,  but  Djek  was  caught 
in  a  trap  between  the  two  sets  of  piles. 
The  water  was  about  two  feet  over 
her  head,  so  that  every  now  and  then 
she  disappeared,  and  then  striking  the 
bottom  she  came  up  again,  plunging, 
and  rolling,  and  making  waves  like  a 
steamboat.  Her  trunk  she  kept  ver- 
tical, like  the  hose  of  a  diving-bell, 
and  0,  the  noises  that  came  up  from 
the  bottom  of  the  sea  through  that 
flesh-pipe  !  For  about  four  hours  she 
went  up  and  down  the  gamut  of  "  O 
Lord,  what  shall  I  do  '  "  more  than  a 
thousand  times,  I  think.  We  brought 
ropes  to  her  aid,  and  boats  and  men, 
and  tried  all  we  knew  to  move  her, 
but  in  vain  ;  and  when  we  had  ex- 
hausted our  sagacity  she  drew  upon 
a  better  bank,  —  her  own.  Talk  of 
brutes  not  being  able  to  reason, — 
gammon.  Djek  could  reason  like 
Solomon  ;  for  each  fresh  difficulty 
she  found  a  fresh  resource.  On  this 
occasion  she  did  what   1  never  saw  her 

do  before  or  since:  she  took  her  enor- 
mous skull,  and  used  it  as  a  battering- 
ram  against  the  piles  ;  two  of  tliem 
resisted  —  no  wonder  —  they  were 
about  eight  inches  in  diameter  ;  the 
third  snapped  like  glass,  and  sho 
plunged    through    and    waddled   on 


330 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


shore.     I  met  her  with  a  bucket  of 
brandy  and  hot  water  —  stiff. 

Ladies,  who  are  said  to  sip  this 
compound  in  your  boudoirs  while 
your  husbands  are  smoking  at  the 
clubs,  but  I  don't  believe  it  of  you, 
learn  how  this  lady  disposed  of  her 
wooden  tumbler  full.  She  thrust  her 
proboscis  into  it.  Whis — s — s — s — p  ! 
now  it  is  all  in  her  trunk.  Whis — s 
— s — sh !  now  it  is  all  in  her  abdo- 
men :  one  breath  drawn  and  exhaled 
sent  it  from  the  bucket  home.  This 
done,  her  eye  twinkled,  and  she  trum- 
peted to  the  tune  of  "  All  is  well  that 
ends  well." 

I  should  weary  the  reader  were  I 
to  relate  at  length  all  the  small  inci- 
dents that  befell  us  in  the  United 
States. 

The  general  result  was  failure,  loss 
of  money,  our  salaries  not  paid  up, 
and  fearful  embarrassments  staring 
us  in  the  face.  AVe  scraped  through 
without  pawning  the  elephant,  but 
we  were  often  on  the  verge  of  it.  All 
this  did  not  choke  my  ambition. 
Warned  by  the  past,  I  never  ventured 
near  her  (unless  Elliot  was  there)  for 
twelve  months  after  our  landing  ;  but 
I  was  always  watching  Elliot  and  her 
to  find  the  secret  of  his  influence. 

A  fearful  annoyance  to  the  leaders 
of  the  speculation  was  the  drunken- 
ness of  Old  Tom  and  George  Hinde : 
these  two  encouraged  one  another  and 
defied  us,  and  of  course  they  were 
our  masters,  because  no  one  but  El- 
liot could  move  the  elephant  from 
place  to  place,  or  work  her  on  the 
stage. 

One  night  Elliot  was  so  drunk  that 
he  fell  down  senseless  at  the  door  of 
her  shed  on  his  way  to  repose.  I  was 
not  near,  but  Mr.  Gallott  it  seems 
was,  and  he  told  us  she  put  out  her 
proboscis,  drew  him  tenderly  in,  laid 
him  on  the  straw,  and  flung  some 
straw  over  him  or  partly  over  him. 
Mr.  Gallott  is  alive,  and  a  public 
character  ;  you  can  ask  him  whether 
this  is  true  :  I  tell  this  one  thing  on 
hearsay. 

Not  long  after  this,  in  one  of  the 


American  towns,  I  forget  which, 
passing  by  Djek's  shed,  I  heard  a 
tremendous  row.  I  was  about  to  call 
Elliot,  thinking  it  was  the  old  story, 
somebody  getting  butchered ;  but,  I 
don't  know  how  it  was,  something 
stopped  me,  and  I  looked  cautiously 
in  instead,  and  saw  Tom  Elliot  walk- 
ing into  her  with  a  pitchfork,  she 
trembling  like  a  school-boy  with  her 
head  in  a  corner,  and  the  blood 
streaming  from  her  sides.  As  soon 
as  he  caught  sight  of  me  he  left  off 
and  muttered  unintelligibly.  1  said 
nothing.     I  thought  the  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

We  had  to  go  by  water  to  a  place 
called  City  Point,  and  thence  to  Pitts? 
ville.  I  made  a  mistake  as  to  the 
hour  the  boat  started,  and  Djek  and 
Co.  went  on  board  without  me. 

Well,  you  will  say  I  could  follow 
by  the  next  boat.  But  how  about 
the  tin  to  pay  the  passage?  My 
pocket  was  dry,  and  the  treasurer 
gone  on.  But  I  had  a  good  set  of 
blacking-brushes ;  so  solcl  them,  and 
followed  on  with  the  proceeds  —  got 
to  City  Point.  Elephant  gone  on  to 
Pittsville ;  that  I  expected.  Twenty 
miles  or  so  I  had  to  tramp  on  an 
empty  stomach.  And  now  does  n't 
the  Devil  send  me  a  fellow  who  shows 
me  a  short  cut  through  a  wood  to' 
Pittsville :  into  the  wood  I  go.  I 
thought  it  was  to  be  like  an  English 
wood,  —  out  of  the  sun  into  a  pleasant 
shade,  and,  by  then  you  are  cool, 
into  the  world  again.  Instead  of  that, 
"the  deeper,  the  deeper  you  are  in 
it,"  as  the  song  of  the  bottle  says,  the 
farther  you  were  from  getting  out  of  it. 
Presently  two  roads  instead  of  one,  and 
then  1  knew  I  was  done.  I  took  one 
road :  it  twisted  like  a  serpent.  I 
had  not  been  half  an  hour  on  it  be- 
fore I  lost  all  the  points  of  the  compass. 
Says  I,  I  don't  know  whether  I  ever 
shall  see  daylight  again  ;  but  if  I  do, 
City  Point  will  be  the  first  thing  I 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


331 


Bhall  see.  You  mark  my  words, 
said  I, 

So  here  was  I  lost  in  what  they 
call  a  wood  out  there,  but  we  should 
call  a  forest  at  home.  And  now, 
being  in  the  heart  of  it,  I  got  among 
the  devil  ishest  noises,  and  nothing  to 
be  seen  to  account  for  them  ;  little 
feet  suddenly  pattering  and  scurrying 
along  the  ground,  wings  Happing  out 
of  trees ;  but  what  struck  most  awe 
into  a  chap  from  the  Seven  Dials 
was  the  rattle,  —  the  everlasting  rat- 
tle, and  nothing  to  show.  Often  I 
have  puzzled  myself  what  this  rattle 
could  be.  It  was  like  a  thousand 
rattlesnakes,  and  did  n't  I  wish  I  was 
in  the  Seven  Dials,  though  some  get 
lost  in  them  for  that  matter.  After 
ail,  I  think  it  was  only  insects,  but 
insects  by  billions ;  you  never  heard 
anything  like  it  in  an  English  wood. 

Just  as  I  was  losing  heart  in  this 
enchanted  wood,  I  heard  an  earthly 
pound,  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  foot.  It 
was  music. 

But  the  leaves  were  so  thick  I 
could  not  see  where  the  horse  was  ; 
he  seemed  to  get  farther  off,  and  then 
nearer.  At  last  the  sound  came  so 
close  I  made  a  run,  burst  through  a 
lot  of  green  leaves,  and  came  out 
plump  on  a  man  riding  a  gray  cob. 
He  up  with  the  but-end  of  his  whip 
to  fell  me,  but  seeing  I  was  respecta- 
ble, "  Halloo !  stranger,"  sayrs  he, 
"  jrucss  you  sort  o'  startled  me." 
"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  says  I,  "but  I 
have  lost  my  way."  "  I  see  you  are 
a  stranger,    said  he. 

So  then  hi'  asked  me  where  I  was 
bound  for,  and  1  told  him  Pittsville. 

I  won't  insult  the  reader  by  telling 
him  what  he  said  about  the  course  I 

had  been  taking  through  the  wood.  I 
might  as  well  tell  him  his  A  U  C,  or 
which  side  his  bread  and   butter  falls 

in  the  dust  <>n.    Then  he  asked  me 

who  I  was.  So  I  told  him  I  was  one 
of  the  elephant's  domestics,  least- 
ways 1  did  not  word  it  so  candid  : 
"I  was  in  charge  of  the  elephant, 

and  had  taken  a  short  cut." 

Now   he    had   heard  of  Djek,  and 


seen  her  bills  up,  so  he  knew  it  was 
all  right.  "  How  am  I  to  find  my 
way  out,  sir  1  "  said  I.  "  Find  your 
way  out  1 "  said  he.  "  You  will  never 
find  your  way  out."  Good  news, 
that. 

He  thought  a  bit ;  then  he  said : 
"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to 
come  home  with  me,  and  to-mor- 
row I  will  send  you  on." 

I  could  have  hugged  him. 

"  You  had  better  walk  behind  me," 
says  he;  "my  pony  bites."  So  I 
tramped  astern ;  and  on  we  went, 
patter,  patter,  patter  through  the 
wood.  At  first  I  felt  as  jolly  as  a 
sandboy  marching  behind  the  pony ; 
but  when  we  had  pattered  best  part 
of  an  hour,  I  began  to  have  my  mis- 
givings. In  all  the  enchanted  woods 
ever  I  had  read  of,  there  was  a  small 
trifle  of  a  wizard  or  ogre  that  took 
you  home  and  settled  your  hash.  Fee 
faw  fum,  I  smell  the  blood  of  an  Eng- 
lishmun,  etc. 

And  still  on  we  pattered,  and  the  sun 
began  to  decline,  and  the  wood  to 
darken,  and  still  we  pattered  on.  I 
was  just  thinking  of  turning  tail  and 
slipping  back  among  the  panthers,  and 
mosquitoes,  and  rattlesnakes,  when,  (> 
be  joyful,  we  burst  on  a  clearing,  and 
there  was  a  nice  house  in  the  middle 
of  it,  and  out  came  the  dogs  jumping 
to  welcome  us,  and  niggers  no  end 
with  white  eyeballs  and  grinders  like 
snow. 

They  pulled  him  off  his  horse,  and 
in  we  went.  There  was  his  good 
lady,  and  his  daughter,  —  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  stub  a  dinner.  We  sat 
down,  and  I  maintained  a  modest 
taciturnity  for  some  minutes  :  "  The 
silent  hog  eats  the  most  acorns." 
After  dinner  he  shows  mo  all  manner 
of  ways  of  mixing  the  grog,  and  I 
show  him  one  way  of  drinking  it, — 
when  yon  can  get  it.  Then  he  innst, 
hear  about  the  elephant.  So  I  tell 
him  the  jade's  history,  hut  bind  him 
in  secrecy. 

Then  the  young  lady  puts  in. 
"  So  you  are  really  an  Englishman  t  '* 
and  Sue  looks  me  all  over. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


"  That  you  may  take  your  oatli  of, 
jniss/'  says  I. 

"  Oh  ! "  says  she,  and  smiles.  I 
did  not  take  it  up  at  first,  hut  I  see 
what  it  was  now.  Me  standing  five 
feet  four,  I  did  not  come  up  to  her  no- 
tion of  the  Father  of  all  Americans. 
"  Does  this  great  people  spring  from 
such  a  iittle  stock  as  we  have  here  1 " 
thinks  my  young  lady.  I  should 
have  up  and  told  her  the  pluck  makes 
the  man,  and  not  the  inches ;  but  I 
Jost  that  chance.  Then,  being  pressed 
with  questions,  I  told  them  all  my 
Adventures,  and  they  hung  on  my 
words.  It  was  a  new  leaf  to  them,  I 
could  see  that. 

The  young  lady's  eyes  glittered 
like  two  purple  stars  at  a  stranger 
with  the  gift  of  the  gab  that  had  seen 
jo  much  life  as  I  had,  and  midnight 
tame  in  on  time.  Then  I  was  ushered 
to  bed.  Now  up  to  that  time  I  had 
always  gone  to  roost  without  pomp 
or  ceremony  ;  sometimes  with  a  mould 
candle,  but  oftener  a  farthing  dip, 
which  I  have  seen  it  dart  its  beams 
out  of  a  bottle  instead  of  a  flat  candle- 
stick. 

This  time  a  whole  cavalcade  of  us 
went  up  the  stairs  :  one  blackie 
marched  in  my  van  with  two  lights, 
two  blackies  brought  up  my  rear. 
They  showed  me  into  a  beautiful 
room,  and  stood  in  the  half-light  with 
eyes  and  teeth  like  red-hot  silver, 
glittering  and  diabolical.  I  thought, 
of  course,  they  would  go  away  now. 
Not  they.  Presently  one  imp  of  dark- 
ness brings  me  a  chair. 

I  sit  down,  and  wonder.  Other 
two  lay  hold  of  my  boots  and  whip 
them  off.  This  done,  they  buzz  about 
me  like  black  and  white  fiends,  fidget- 
ing, till  I  longed  to  punch  their  heads. 
They  pull  7ny  coat  off  and  my  trou- 
sers ;  then  they  hoist  me  into  bed : 
this  done,  first  one  makes  a  run  and 
tucks  me  in,  and  grins  over  me  dia- 
bolical; then  another  comes  like  a 
battering-ram,  and  tucks  me  in  tight- 
er. Fiend  3  looks  at  the  work,  and 
puts  the  artful  touches  at  the  corners, 
and  behold  me  wedged,  and  then  the 


beneficent  fiends  mizzled  with  a 
hearty  grin  that  seemed  to  turn  them 
all  ivory.  I  could  not  believe  my 
senses  :  I  had  never  been  tucked  in 
since  my  mother's  time. 

In  the  morning,  struggled  out,  and 
came  down  to  breakfast.  Took  leave 
of  the  good  Samaritan,  who  appoint- 
ed two  of  my  niggers  to  see  me  out 
of  the  wood ;  made  my  bow  to  the 
ladies,  and  away  with  a  grateful  heart. 
The  niggers  conducted  me  clear  of  the 
wood  and  set  me  on  the  broad  road. 
Then  came  one  of  the  pills  a  poor 
fellow  has  to  stomach.  I  had  made 
friends  with  the  poor  darkies,  and 
now  I  had  not  even  a  few  pence  to 
give  them,  and  such  a  little  would 
have  gone  so  far  with  them  !  I  have 
often  felt  the  bitterness  of  poverty, 
but  never  I  do  think  as  when  I  parted 
with  my  poor  niggers  at  the  edge  of 
the  wood,  and  was  forced  to  see  them 
go  slowly  home  without  a  farthing. 

I  wish  these  few  words  could  travel 
across  the  water,  and  my  good  host 
might  read  them,  and  see  I  have  not 
forgotten  him  all  these  years.  But, 
dear  heart !  you  may  be  sure  he  is 
not  upon  the  earth  now.  It  is  years 
ago,  and  a  man  that  had  the  heart  to 
harbor  a  stranger  and  a  wanderer, 
why,  he  would  be  one  of  the  first  to 
go. 

We  steamed  and  tramped  up  and 
down  the  United  States  of  America. 
On  our  return  to  Norfolk  she  broke 
loose  at  midnight,  slipped  into  the 
town,  took  up  the  trees  on  the  Bou- 
levard and  strewed  them  flat,  went 
into  the  market,  hroke  into  a  vegeta- 
ble shop,  munched  the  entire  stock, 
next  to  a  coachmaker's,  took  off*  a 
carriage  -  wheel,  opened  the  door, 
stripped  the  cushions,  and  we  found 
her  eating  the  stuffing. 

One  day  at  noon  we  found  our- 
selves fourteen  miles  from  the  town, 
I  forget  its  name,  we  had  to  play  in 
that  very  night.  Mr.  Gallott  had 
gone  on  to  reheatse,  etc.,  and  it  be- 
hooved us  to  be  marching  after  him. 
At  this  juncture,  old  Tom,  being 
rather  drunk,  feels  a  strong  desire  to 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 


333 


be  quite  drunk,  and  refuses  to  stir 
from  his  brandy  and  water.  Our  ex- 
chequer was  in  no  condition  to  he  tri- 
fled with  thus :  if  Elliot  &  Co.  be- 
came helpless  for  an  hour  or  two,  we 
should  arrive  too  late  for  the  night's 
performance,  and  Djck  eating  her 
nead  off"  all  the  while.  1  coaxed  and 
threatened  our  two  brandy  sponges, 
but  in  vain  ;  they  stuck  and  sucked. 
I  was  in  despair,  and,  being  in  de- 
spair, came  to  a  desperate  resolution  : 
I  determined  to  try  and  master  her 
myself  then  and  there,  and  to  defy 
these  drunkards. 

I  told  Pippin  my  project.  He 
started  back  aghast.  He  viewed  me 
in  the  light  of  a  madman.  "  Are 
you  tired  of  your  life  ?  "  said  he. 
But  I  was  inflexible.  Seven  Dials 
pluck  was  up.  I  was  enraged  with 
my  drunkards,  and  I  was  tired  of 
waiting  so  many  years  the  slave  of  a 
quadruped  whose  master  was  a  brute. 

Elephants  are  driven  with  a  rod  of 
steel  sharpened  at  the  end ;  about  a 
foot  from  the  end  of  this  weapon  is  a 
large  hook ;  by  sticking  this  hook 
into  an  elephant's  ear,  and  pulling  it, 
you  make  her  sensible  which  way 
you  want  her  to  go,  and  persuade  her 
to  comply. 

Armed  with  this  tool,  I  walked  up 
to  Djek's  shed,  and,  in  the  most 
harsh  and  brutal  voice  I  could  com- 
mand, bade  her  come  out.  She 
moved  in  the  shed,  but  hesitated.  I 
repeated  the  command  still  more  re- 
pulsively, and  out  she  came  toward 
me  very  slowly. 

With  luasts  such  as  "lions,  tigers, 
and  elephants,  great  promptitude  is 
the  thing.  Think  fur  them!  don't 
give  them  time  to  think,  or  their 
thought*  may  he  evil.    I  had  learned 

this  much,  so  I  introduced  myself  by 
driving  tlic  steel  into  Djek's  ribs,  and 
then  hooking  her  ear,  while  Pippin 
looked  down  from  a  first-story  win- 
dow. If  Djck  had  knowti  how  my 
heart  was  beating  she  would  have 
killed  me  then  and  there  ;  but,  ob- 
serving no  hesitation  on  my  part,  she 
took  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  and 


walked  with  me  like  a  lamb.  I 
found  myself  alone  with  her  on  the 
road,  and  fourteen  miles  of  it  before 
us.  It  was  a  serious  situation,  but  I 
was  ripe  for  it  now.  All  the  old  wo- 
men's stories  and  traditions  about  an 
elephant's  character  had  been  driven 
out  of  me  by  experience  and  washed 
out  with  blood.  I  had  fathomed  El- 
liot's art.  I  had  got  what  the  French 
call  the  riddle-key  of  Mademoiselle 
Djck,  and  that  key  was  "  steel  "  ! 

On  we  marched,  the  best  of  friends. 
There  were  a  number  of  little  hills 
on  the  road,  and  as  we  mounted  one, 
a  figure  used  to  appear  behind  us  on 
the  crest  of  the  last  between  us  and 
the  sky  :  this  was  the  gallant  Pippin, 
solicitous  for  his  friend's  fate,  but  de- 
sirous of  not  partaking  it  if  adverse. 
And  still  the  worthy  Djck  and  I 
marched  on  the  best  of  friends. 
About  a  mile  out  of  the  town,  she 
put  out  her  trunk  and  tried  to  curl  it 
round  me  in  a  caressing  way.  I  met 
this  overture  by  driving  the  steel  into 
her  till  the  Llood  squirted  out  of  her. 
If  I  had  not,  the  siren  would  have 
killed  me  in  the  course  of  the  next 
five  minutes.  Whenever  she  relaxed 
her  speed  I  drove  the  steel  into  her. 
When  the  afternoon  sun  smiled  glo- 
riously on  us,  and  the  poor  thing  felt 
nature  stir  in  her  heart,  and  began  to 
frisk  in  her  awful  clumsy  way, 
pounding  the  great  globe,  I  drove 
the  steel  into  her ;  if  I  had  not,  I 
should  not  be  here  to  relate  this 
sprightly  narrative. 

Meantime,  at ,  her  stage-man- 
ager and  financier  wen  in  great  dis- 
tress and  anxiety;  tour  o'clock,  and 
no  elephant.  At  last  they  get  so 
(Tightened,  they  came  out  to  meet  us, 
and  presently,  to  their  amazement 
and  delight,  Djek  strode  op  with  her 
new  general.   Their  ecstasy  was  great 

to  think  that  the  whole  business  was 
no  longer  at  a  drunkard's  mercy. 
"  But  how  did   you   manage  1     How 

ever  did  ye  win  her  heart  !  "  "  With 
tlii>,"    said   1,  and    showed    them  the 

bloody  steel. 

We  had  not  been  in  the  town  half 


334 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


an  hour  before  Tom  and  George 
came  in.  They  were  not  so  drunk 
but  what  they  trembled  for  their  situ- 
ations after  my  exploit,  and  rolled 
and  zigzagged  after  us  as  fast  as  they 
could. 

By  these  means  I  rose  from  mad- 
emoiselle's slave  to  be  her  friend  and 
companion. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

This  feat  kept  my  two  drunkards 
in  better  order,  and  revived  my  own 
dormant  ambition.  I  used  now  to 
visit  her  by  myself,  steel  in  hand,  to 
feed  lier,  etc.,  and  scrape  acquaint- 
ance with  her  by  every  means,  —  steel 
in  hand.  One  day  I  was  feeding  her, 
when  suddenly  I  thought  a  house  had 
fallen  on  me.  I  felt  myself  crashing 
against  the  door,  and  there  I  was  ly- 
ing upon  it  in  the  passage  with  all  tlie 
breath  driven  clean  out  of  my  body. 
Pippin  came  and  lifted  me  up  and 
carried  me  into  the  air.  I  thought  I 
should  have  died  before  breath  could 
get  into  my  lungs  again.  She  had 
done  this  with  a  push  from  the  thick 
end  of  her  proboscis.  After  a  while  I 
came  to.  I  had  no  sooner  recovered 
my  breath  than  I  ran  into  the  stable, 
and  came  back  with  a  pitchfork.  Pip- 
pin saw  my  intention  and  implored  me, 
for  Heaven's  sake,  not  to.  I  would 
not  listen  to  him :  he  flung  his  arms 
round  me.  I  threatened  to  turn 
the  fork  on  him  if  he  did  not  let  me 

"  Havk!"  said  he;  and  sure  enough, 
there  she  was  snorting  and  getting  up 
her  rage.  "  I  know  all  about  that," 
said  I ;  "  my  death-warrant  is  drawn 
up,  and  if  I  don't  strike  it  will  be 
signed.  This  is  how  she  has  felt  her 
way  with  all  of  them  before  she  has 
killed  them.  I  have  but  one  chance 
of  life,"  said  I,  "  and  I  won't  throw  it 
away  without  a  struggle."  I  opened 
the  door,  and,  with  a  mind  full  of  mis- 
givings, I  walked  quickly  up  to  her. 
I  did  not  hesitate  to  raise  the  question 
which  of  us  two  was  to  suffer,  I  knew 


that  would  not  do.  I  sprang  upon 
her  like  a  tiger,  and  drove  the  pitch- 
fork into  her  trunk.  She  gave  a  jell 
of  dismay  and  turned  a  little  from  me  ; 
I  drove  the  fork  into  her  ear. 

Then  came  out  her  real  character. 

She  wheeled  round,  ran  her  head 
into  a  corner,  stuck  out  her  great  but- 
tocks, and  trembled  all  over  like  a 
leaf.  I  stabbed  her  with  all  my  force 
for  half  an  hour  till  the  blood  poured 
out  of  every  square  foot  of  her  huge 
body,  and,  during  the  operation,  she 
would  have  crept  into  a  nutshell  if  she 
could.  I  tilled  her  as  full  of  holes  as 
a  cloved  orange. 

The  blood  that  trickled  out  of  her 
saved  mine  ;  and,  for  the  first  time,  I 
walked  out  of  her  shambles  her  mas- 
ter. 

One  year  and  six  months  after  we 
had  lauded  at  New  York  to  conquer 
another  hemisphere,  we  turned  tail 
and  sailed  for  England  again.  We 
had  a  prosperous  voyage,  with  the 
exception  of  one  accident.  George 
Hinde,  from  incessant  brandy,  had 
delirium  tremens,  and  one  night,  in  a 
fit  of  it,  he  had  just  sense  enough  to 
see  that  he  was  hardly  to  be  trusted 
with  the  care  of  himself.  "  John," 
said  he  to  me,  "  tie  me  to  this  mast 
hand  and  foot."  I  demurred  ;  but  he 
begged  me  for  Heaven's  sake,  so  I 
bound  him  hand  and  foot  as  per  order. 
This  done,  some  one  called  me  down 
below,  and  while  I  was  there  it  seems 
George  got  very  uncomfortable;  and 
began  to  halloo  and  complain.  Up 
comes  the  captain,  —  sees  a  man 
lashed  to'  the  mast.  "  What  game  is 
this  1 "  says  he.  "  It  is  that  little 
blackguard  John,"  says  Hinde;  "he 
caught  me  sleeping  against  the  mast, 
and  took  a  mean  advantage ;  do  loose 
me,  captain  !  "  The  captain  made 
sure  it  was  a  sea-jest,  and  loosed  him 
with  his  own  hands.  "  Thank  you, 
captain,"  says  George,  "you  are  a 
good  fellow.  God  bless  you  all  !  " 
and  with  these  words  he  ran  aft  and 
jumped  into  the  sea.  A  Yankee 
sailor  made  a  grab  at  him  and  just 
touched  his  coat,  but  it  was   too  late 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


on  - 


to  save  him,  and  we  were  going  before 
the  wind  ten  knots  an  hour.  Thus 
George  Hinde  fell  by  brandy ;  his 
kindred  spirit,  old  Tom,  seemed 
ready  to  follow,  without  the  help  of 
water,  salt  or  fresh.  This  man's  face 
was  now  a  uniform  color,  white,  with 
a  scarce  perceptible  bluish-yellowish 
tinge.     He  was  a  moving  corpse. 

Drink  forever !  it  makes  men 
thieves,  murderers,  asses,  and  pau- 
pers ;  but  what  about  that  ?  so  long  as 
it  sends  them  to  an  early  grave  with 
"beast"  for  their  friends  to  write 
over  their  tombstones,  unless  they 
have  a  mind  to  tell  lies  in  a  church- 
yard, and  that  is  a  common  trick. 

We  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Thames. 

Some  boats  boarded  us  with  fresh 
provisions  and  delicacies  ;  among  the 
rest,  one  I  had  not  tasted  for  many  a 
day :  it  is  called  soft-tommy  at  sea, 
and  on  land  bread.  The  merchant 
stood  on  tiptoe  and  handed  a  lonf  to- 
ward me,  and  I  leaned  over  the  bul- 
warks and  stretched  down  to  him 
with  a  shilling  in  my  hand.  But,  as 
ill  luck  would  have  it,  the  shilling 
slipped  from  my  finders  and  fell.  If 
it  bad  been  some  men's  it  would  have 
fallen  into  the  boat,  others'  into  the 
si  a,  slap  ;  but  it  was  mine,  and  so  it 
fell  on  the  boat's  very  rim,  and  then 
danced  to  its  own  music  into  the  wa- 
ter. I  looked  after  it  in  silence ;  a 
young  lady  with  whom  I  had  made 
some  little  acquaintance  during  the 
voyage  happened  to  be  at  my  elbow, 
and  she  laughed  most  merrily  as  the 
Shilling  went  down.  I  remember  be- 
ing   astonished     thai    she    laughed. 

The  man  Still  held  OUt  (be  bread,  but 
1  shook  my  bead.  "  I  must  go  with- 
out now,"  said  I ;  the  young  lady 
was  quite  surprised.  "  Why,  it  is 
worth  a  guinea,"  cried  she.  "Yes, 
miss,"  said  I,  sheepishly,  "but  we 
can't  always  have  what  we  like,  you 
see;  I  ought  to  have  held  my  shilling 
tighter." 

"  Your  shilling,"  cries  she  "Oh  !" 
and  she  dashed  her  hand  into  her 
pocket  and  took  out  her  purse,  and  1 


could  see  her  beautiful  white  fingers 
tremble  with  eagerness  as  they  dived 
among  the  coin.  She  soon  bought 
the  loaf,  and,  as  she  handed  it  to  me, 
1  happened  to  look  in  her  face,  and 
her  cheek  was  red  and  her  eyes  quite 
brimming.  Her  quick  woman's 
heart  had  told  her  the  truth,  that  it 
was  a  well-dressed  and  tolerably  well- 
behaved  man's  last  shilling,  and  he 
returning  after  jrears  of  travel  to  his 
native  land. 

I  am  sure,  until  the  young  lady  felt 
for  me,  I  thought  nothing  of  it;  I 
had  been  at  my  last  shilling  more 
than  once.  But  when  I  saw  she 
thought  it  hard,  I  began  to  think  it 
was  hard,  and  I  remember  the  water 
came  into  iny  own  eyes.  Heaven 
bless  her,  and  may  she  never  want  a 
shilling  in  her  pocket,  nor  a  kind 
heart  near  her  to  show  her  the  world 
is  not  all  made  of  stone. 

We  had  no  money  to  pay  our 
passage,  and  we  found  Mr.  Yates 
somewhat  embarrassed.  We  had  c<  >st 
him  a  thousand  or  two,  and  no  re- 
turn ;  so,  while  he  wrote  to  Mons. 
Huguct,  that  cametopassin  England 
which  we  had  always  just  contrived 
to  stave  oft' abroad. 

The  elephant  was  pawned. 

And  now  I  became  of  use  to  the 
proprietors.  I  arranged  with  the 
mortgagees,  and  they  made  the  spout 
a  show-place.  I  used  to  exhibit  her 
and  her  tricks,  and  with  the  proceeds 
1  fed  her  and  Elliot  and  myself. 

We  bad  been  three  weeks  in  pledge, 
when,  one  fine  morning,  as  I  was 
showing  oil'  seated  on  the  elephant's 
back,  1  beard  a  French  exclamation 
of  surprise  and  joy ;  I  looked  down, 

and  there  was  M.  Huguct.  I  came 
down  to  him,  and  he,  whose  quick 
eye  saw  a  way  through  me  out  of 
drunken  Elliot,  gave  a  loose  to  his 
feelings,  and  embraced    me  a  la  Kran- 

paise,  "  which  made  the  common  peo- 
ple very  much  to  admire,"  as  tl:e 
Ming  has  it  ;   also  a  polite  bowl  of  dc- 

rision  greeted  our  Continental  affec- 
tion.     M-  Huguet   put  his   band  into 

bis  pocket,  and  we  got  out  of  limbo. 


336 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


anil  were  let  loose  upon  suffering  hu- 
manity once  more. 

They  talk  as  if  English  gold  did 
everything ;  but  it  was  French  gold 
bought  us  off,  I  know  that,  for  I  saw 
it  come  out  of  his  pocket. 

As  soon  as  we  were  redeemed,  we 
took  an  engagement  at  Astley's,  and, 
during  this  engagement,  cadaverous 
Tom,  finding  we  could  master  her, 
used  to  attend  less  and  less  to  her 
and  more  and  more  to  brandy. 

A  certain  baker,  who  brought  her 
loaves  every  morning  for  breakfast, 
used  to  ask  me  to  let  him  feed  her 
himself.  He  admired  her,  and  took 
this  way  of  making  her  fond  of  him. 
One  day  I  had  left  these  two  friends 
and  their  loaves  together  for  a  min- 
ute, when  I  heard  a  fearful  cry.  I 
knew  the  sound  too  well  by  this  time, 
ami,  as  I  ran  back,  I  had  the  sense 
to  halloo  at  her  :  this  saved  the 
man's  life.  At  the  sound  of  my 
voice  she  dropped  him  from  a  height 
of  about  twelve  feet,  and  he  rolled 
away  like  a  ball  of  worsted.  I  dashed 
in,  up  with  the  pitchfork,  and  into 
her  like  lightning,  and,  while  the 
blood  was  squirting  out  of  her  from  a 
hundred  little  prong-holes,  the  poor 
baker  limped  away. 

Any  gentleman  or  lady  who  wish- 
es to  know  how  a  man  feels  when 
seized  by  an  elephant,  preparatory  to 
being  srpielchcd,  can  consult  this  per- 
son ;  he  is  a  respectable  tradesman ; 
his  name  is  Johns ;  he  lives  near  Ast- 
ley's Theatre,  or  used  to,  and  for  ob- 
vious reasons  can  tell  you  this  one 
anecdote  out  of  many  such  better 
than  I  can  ;  that  is  if  he  has  not  for- 
gotten it,  and  1  dare  say  he  has  n't  — 
ask  him  ! 

After  Astley's,  Drury  Lane  engaged 
us  to  play  second  to  the  Lions  of  My- 
sore ;  rather  a  down-come ;  but  we 
went.  In  this  theatre  we  behaved 
wonderfully.  Notwithstanding  the 
number  of  people  continually  buzz- 
ing about  us,  we  kept  our  temper, 
and  did  not  smash  a  single  one  of 
these  human  gnats,  so  trying  to  our 
little   female    irritability   and   feeble 


nerves.  The  only  thing  we  did 
wrong  was,  we  broke  through  a  gran- 
ite mountain  and  fell  down  on  to  the 
plains,  and  hurt  our  knee,  and  broke 
one  super,  —  only  one. 

The  Lions  of  Mysore  went  a  star- 
ring to  Liverpool,  and  we  accompa- 
nied them.  While  we  were  there  the 
cholera  broke  out  in  England,  and  M. 
Huguet  summoned  us  hastily  to 
France.  We  brushed  our  hats,  put 
on  our  gloves,  and  walked  at  one 
stretch  from  Liverpool  to  Dover. 
There  we  embarked  for  Boulogne  : 
Djek,  cadaverous  Tom,  wolf-skin- 
lainb  Pippin,  and  myself.  I  was 
now  in  Huguet's  service  at  fifty 
francs  a  week  as  coadjutor  and  suc- 
cessor of  cadaverous  Tom,  whose  de- 
mise was  hourly  expected  even  by  us 
who  were  hardened  by  use  to  his  ap- 
pearance, which  was  that  of  the  ghost 
of  delirium  tremens.  We  arrived  off 
Boulogne  Pier ;  but  there  we  were 
boarded  by  men  in  uniforms  and 
mustaches,  and  questions  put  about 
the  cholera,  which  disease  the  civic 
authorities  of  Boulogne  were  deter- 
mined to  keep  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel.  The  captain's  answer 
proving  satisfactory,  we  were  allowed 
to  run  into  the  port. 

In  landing  anywhere  Djek  and  her 
attendants  had  always  to  wait  till 
the  other  passengers  had  got  clear, 
and  we  did  so  on  this  occasion.  At 
length  our  turn  came ;  but  we  had  no 
sooner  crossed  the  gangway  and 
touched  French  ground  than  a  move- 
ment took  place  on  the  quay,  and  a 
lot  of  bayonets  bristled  in  our  faces, 
and  "  Ilalte  la  !  "  was  the  word.  We 
begged  an  explanation ;  in  answer, 
an  oilicer  glared  with  eyes  like  sau- 
cers, and  pointed  with  his  >finger  at 
Elliot.  The  truth  flashed  on  us. 
The  Frenchmen  were  afraid  of 
cholera  coining  over  from  England, 
and  here  was  a  man  who  looked 
plague,  cholera,  or  death  himself  in 
person.  We  remonstrated  through 
an  interpreter,  but  Tom's  face  was 
not  to  be  refuted  by  words.  Some 
were  for  sending  us  back  home  to  so 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES* 


337 


diseased  a  country  as  this  article 
must  have  come  out  of;  but  milder 
measures  prevailed.  They  set  apart 
for  our  use  a  little  corner  of  the  quay, 
and  there  they  roped  us  in  and  senti- 
nelled us.  And  so  for  four  days,  in 
the  polished  kingdom  of  France,  we 
dwelt  in  a  hut  ruder  far  than  any  on 
the  banks  of  the  Ohio.  Drink  for- 
ever !  At  last,  as  Tom  Coffin  got 
neither  a  worse  nor  a  better  color, 
they  listened  to  reason,  and  let  us 
loose  upon  the  nation  at  large,  and 
away  we  tramped  for  Paris. 

Times  were  changed  with  us  in  one 
respect :  we  no  longer  marched  to 
certain  victory  ;  our  long  ill-success 
in  America  had  lessened  our  arro- 
gance, and  we  crept  along  toward 
Paris.  But,  luckily  for  us,  we  had 
now  a  presiding  head,  and  a  good 
otic.  The  soul  of  business  is  puffing, 
and  no  man  puffed  better  than  our 
chief,  M.  Huguet.  Half-way  between 
Boulogne  and  Paris  we  were  met  by 
a  cavalier  earning  our  instructions 
how  we  were  to  enter  Paris ;  and, 
arrived  at  St.  Denis,  instead  of  going 
straight  on,  we  skirted  the  town,  and 
made  our  formal  entry  by  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne  and  the  Arch  of  Tri- 
umph. Huguet  had  come  to  terms 
with  Franconi,  and,  to  give  Djek's 
engagement  more  importance,  F'ran- 
coui's  whole  troop  were  ordered  out  to 
meet   us   and    escort  us   in.      They 

taraded  up  and  down  the  Champs 
;i\se'es  first,  to  excite  attention  and 
inquiry,  and  when  the  public  were 
fairly  agog  our  cavalcade  formed 
OUtSlde  the  harrier,  anil  came  glitter- 
ing and  prancing  through  the.  arch. 
An  elephant   has   In t  tips   and   downs 

like  th«'  rest.  Djek,  the  despised  of 
Kentucky  and  Virginia,  hurst  on 
Paris  the  centre  of  a  shining  throng. 
Pranconi's  bright  amazons  and  ex- 
t[ ti i - i t<-  cavaliers  rode  to  and  fro  our 
line,    carrying    sham     messages    with 

earnest  fans ;  Djek  was  bedecked  with 
ribbons,  and  seemed  to  tread  more 
majestically,  and  our  own  hearts  heat 
higher,  as  amid  grace,  and  beauty, 
and  pomp,  .sun  shining  —  hats  waving 
15 


—  feathers   bending  —  mob   cheering 

—  trumpets  crowing —  and  flints  strik- 
ing fire,  we  strode  proudly  into  the 
great  city,  the  capital  of  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  X. 

These  were  bright  days  to  me.  I 
was  set  over  old  Tom,  —  fancy  that ; 
and  my  salary  doubled  his.  I  had 
fifty  francs  a  week,  and  cleared  as 
much  more  by  showing  her  privately 
in  her  stable. 

Money  melts  in  London,  —  it  evap- 
orates in  Paris.  Pippin  was  a  great 
favorite  both  with  men  and  women 
behind  the  scenes  at  JYanconi's.  He 
introduced  me  to  charming  compan- 
ions of  both  sexes ;  gayety  reigned, 
and  tin  and  morals  "  made  them- 
selves air,  into  which  they  vanished." 
Shakespeare. 

Toward  the  close  of  her  engage- 
ment Djek  made  one  of  her  mistakes  ; 
she  up  with  her  rightful  heir  and 
broke  his  ribs  against  the  side  scenes. 

We  nearly  had  to  stop  her  per- 
formances ;  we  could  not  mend  our 
rightful  heir  by  next  night,  and  sub- 
stitutes did  not  pour  in.  "I  won't 
go  on  with  her,"  "I  won't  play  with 
her,"  was  aery  that  even  the  humblest 
and  neediest  began  to  raise.  I  am  hap- 
py to  say  that  she  was  not  under  my 
supcrintendenee  when  this  rightful 
heir  came  to  grief. 

And  now  the  cholera  came  to  Paris, 
and  theatricals  of  all  sorts  declined, 
for  there  was  a  real  tragedy  playing 
in  every  street.  The  deaths  were 
very  numerous,  and  awfully  sudden  ; 
people  wen'  struck  down  in  the  streets 
as  if  by  lightning  ;  gloom  and  terror 
hung  over  all. 

When  this  terrible  disease  is  better 
known  it  will  be  found  to  be  of  the  na- 
ture of  strong  poison,  and  its  cure,  if 
any,  will  be  strychnine,  belladonna, 
or,  likelier  still,  some  quick  and  deadly 
mineral  poison  that  kills  the  healthy 
with  cramps  and  discoloration. 

Ill  its  rapid  form  cholera  is  not  to 
V 


338 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


be  told  from  quick  poison,  and  hence 
sprung  up  among  the  lower  order  in 
Paris  a  notion  that  wholesale  poison- 
ing was  on  foot. 

Pippin  and  I  were  standing  at  the 
door  of  a  wine-shop,  waiting  for  our 
change.  His  wild  appearance  attract- 
ed first  one  and  then  another.  Little 
knots  of  people  collected  and  eyed  us ; 
then  they  began  to  talk  aud  murmur, 
and  cast  suspicious  glances.  "  Come 
away,"  said  Pippin,  rather  hastily. 
We  walked  off;  they  walked  after  us, 
increasing  like  a  snowball,  and  they 
murmured  louder  and  louder.  I  asked 
Pippin  what  the  fools  were  gabbling 
about.  He  told  me  they  suspected  us 
of  being  the  poisoners.  At  this  I 
turned  round,  and,  being  five  feet 
four,  and  English,  was  for  punching 
some  of  their  heads  ;  but  the  athletic, 
pacific  Italian  would  not  hear  of  it, 
much  less  co-operate  ;  and  now  they 
surrounded  us  just  at  the  corner  of 
one  of  the  bridges,  lashing  themselves 
into  a  fury,  and  looking  first  at  us, 
and  then  at  the  river  below.  Pip- 
pin was  as  white  as  death,  and  I 
thought  it  was  all  up  myself,  when  by 
good  luck  a  troop  of  mounted  gen- 
darmes issued  from  the  palace.  Pip- 
pin hailed  them  ;  they  came  up,  and, 
after  hearing  both  sides,  took  us  under 
their  protection,  and  oft'  we  marched 
between  two  files  of  cavalry,  followed 
by  the  curses  of  a  superficial  populace. 
Extremes  don't  do.  Pippin  was  the 
color  of  ink,  Elliot  of  paper ;  both 
their  mugs  fell  under  suspicion,  and 
nearly  brought  us  to  grief. 

Eranconi  closed,  and  Djek,  Huguet, 
and  Co.  started  on  a  provincial  tour. 

They  associated  themselves  on  this 
occasion  with  Michclet,  who  had  some 
small  wild  animals,  such  as  lions,  ti- 
gers, and  leopards. 

Our  first  move  was  to  Versailles. 
Here  wc  built  a  show- place  and  exhib- 
ited Djek,  not  as  an  actress,  but  as  a 
private  elephant,  in  which  capacity 
she  did  the  usual  elephant  business, 
besides  a  trick  or  two  that  most  of 
them  have  not  brains  enough  for, 
whereof  anon. 


Michelet  was  the  predecessor  of 
Van  Amburgh  and  Carter,  and  did 
everything  they  do  a  dozen  years  be- 
fore they  were  ever  heard  of;  used  to 
go  into  the  lions'  den,  pull  them  about, 
and  put  his  head  down  their  throats, 
and  their  paws  round  his  neck,  etc., 
etc. 

I  observed  this  man,  and  learned 
something  from  him.  Besides  that 
general  quickness  and  decision  which 
is  necessary  with  wild  animals,  I  no- 
ticed that  he  was  always  on  the  look- 
out for  mischief,  and  always  punished 
it  before  it  came.  Another  point,  he  al- 
ways attacked  the  offending  part,  and 
so  met  the  evil  in  front ;  for  instance, 
if  one  of  his  darlings  curled  a  lip  and 
showed  a  tooth,  he  hit  him  over  the 
mouth  that  moment  and  nowhere  else ; 
if  one  elongated  a  claw,  he  hit  him 
over  the  foot  like  lightning.  He  read 
the  whole  crew  as  I  had  learned  to 
read  Djek,  and  conquered  their  malice 
by  means  of  that  marvellous  cowardice 
which  they  all  show  if  they  cau  see 
no  signs  of  it  in  you. 

There  are  no  two  ways  with  wild 
beasts.  If  there  is  a  single  white  spot 
in  your  heart,  leave  them,  for  your 
life  will  be  in  danger  every  mo- 
ment. If  you  can  despise  them,  and 
keep  the  rod  always  in  sight,  they  are 
your  humble  servants ;  nobody  more 
so. 

Our  exhibition,  successful  at  first, 
began  to  flag  ;  so  that  the  fertile  brain 
of  M.  Huguet  had  to  work.  He  pro- 
posed to  his  partner  to  stand  a  tiger, 
and  he  would  stand  a  bull,  and  "  we 
will  have  a  joint-stock  fight  like  the 
King  of  Oiide."  Michelet  had  his 
misgivings,  but  Huguet  overruled 
him.  That  ingenious  gentleman  then 
printed  bills  advertising  for  a  certain 
day  a  fight  between  a  real  Bengal  ti- 
ger and  a  ferocious  bull  that  had  just 
gored  a  man  to  death.  This  done,  he 
sent  me  round  the  villages  to  find  and 
hire  a  bull.  "  Mind  you  get  a  mild 
one,  or  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  a  hole 
in  the  tiger's  leather."  I  found  one 
which  the  owner  consented  to  risk  for 
so  much  money  down,  and  the  dam- 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 


339 


age  he  should  sustain  from  tiger  to  be 
valued  independently  by  two  farmers 
after  the  battle. 

The  morning  of  the  fight  Pippin 
and  I  went  for  our  bull,  and  took 
him  out  of  the  yard  towards  Versailles  ; 
but  when  we  had  gone  about  two 
hundred  yards,  he  became  uneasy, 
looked  round,  snitfed  about,  and  final- 
ly turned  round  spite  of  all  our  efforts, 
and  paced  home  again.  We  remon- 
strated with  the  proprietor.  "  O," 
said  he,  "  I  forgot ;  he  won't  start 
without  the  wench."  80  the  wench 
in  question  was  sent  for  (his  com- 
panion upon  amatory  excursions). 
She  went  with  us,  and  launched  us 
toward  Versailles.  This  done,  she 
returned  home,  and  we  marched  on  ; 
but  before  we  had  gone  a  furlong 
Taurus  showed  symptoms  of  uneasi- 
ness ;  these  increased,  and  at  last  he 
turned  round  and  walked  tranquilly 
home.  We  hung  upon  him,  thrashed 
him,  and  bullied  him,  all  to  no  pur- 
pose. His  countenance  was  placid, 
but  his  soul  resolved,  and  —  he  walked 
home,  slowly,  but  inevitably  ;  so  then, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  let  him 
have  the  wench  all  the  way  to  the 
tiger,  and  she  would  not  go  to  Ver- 
sailles till  she  had  put  on  some  new 
finery,  —  short  waist,  coal-scuttle  bon- 
net, etc.  More  time  lost  with  that  ; 
and,  when  we  did  arrive  in  the  arena, 
the  spectators  were  tired  of  waiting. 
The  hull  stood  in  the  middle,  con- 
fused and  stupid.  The  tiger  was  in 
his  cage  in  a  corner  ;  we  gave  him 
time  to  observe  his  prey,  and  then  we 
opened  the  door  of  his  cage, 

A  shiver  ran  through  the  audience 
(they  were  all  Bested  in  boxes  looking 
down  on  the  area). 

A  moment  more,  and  the  furious 
animal  would  spring  upon  his  victim, 
and  his  fangs  and  claws  sink  deep 
into  its  neck,  etc.,  etc.  Vide  books 
of  travels. 

One  moment  succeeded  to  another, 
and  nothing  occurred.  The  ferocious 
animal  lav  quiet  in  his  cage,  and 
showed  no  si^'ii  ;  so  then  we  poked 
the    ferocious    animal.       He    snarled, 


hut  would  not  venture  out.  When 
this  had  lasted  a  long  time,  the  spec- 
tators began  to  doubt  his  ferocity,  and 
to  goose  the  ferocious  animal.  So  I 
got  a  red-hot  iron  and  nagged  him 
behind.  He  gave  a  yell  of  dismay, 
and  went  into  the  arena  like  a  shot. 
He  took  no  notice  of  the  bull.  All 
he  thought  of  was  escape  from  the 
horrors  that  surrounded  him.  Winged 
by  terror,  he  gave  a  tremendous 
spring,  and  landed  his  fore  paws  on 
the  boxes,  stuck  fast,  and  glared  in 
at  the  spectators.  They  rushed  out 
yelling.  He  dug  his  hind  claws  into 
the  wood-work,  and  by  slow  and  pain- 
ful degrees  clambered  into  the  boxes. 
When  he  got  in,  the  young  and  act- 
ive were  gone  home,  and  he  ran  down 
the  stairs  among  the  old  people  that 
could  not  get  clear  so  quick  as  the 
rest.  He  was  so  frightened  at  the  peo- 
ple that  he  skulked  and  hid  himself 
in  a  cornfield,  and  the  people  were  so 
frightened  at  him  that  they  ran  home 
and  locked  their  street  doors.  So  one 
coward  made  many. 

They  thought  the  poor  wretch  had 
attacked  them,  and  the  journal  next 
day  maintained  this  view  of  the  trans- 
action, and  the  town  to  this  day  be- 
lieves it.  We  netted  our  striped  cow- 
ard with  four  shutters,  and  kicked 
him  into  his  cage. 

The  bull  went  home  with  "  the 
wench,"  and  to  this  day  his  thick 
skull  has  never  comprehended  what 
the  deuce  he  went  to  Versailles  for. 

This  was  how  we  competed  with 
Oriental  monarchs. 

We  marched  southward,  through 
Orleans,  Tours,  etc.,  to  Bordeaux,  and 
were  pretty  well  received  in  all  these 
places  except  at  one  small  place  whose 
name  I  forget.  Here  they  hissed  her 
out  of  the  town  at  sight.  It  turned 
out  she  had  been  there  before  and 
pulverized  a  brushniaker,  a  popular 
man  among  them. 

Soon  after  Bordeaux  she  had  words 
with  the  lions.  They,  in  their  infer- 
nal conceit,  thought  themselves  more 
attractive  than  J)jek.  It  is  vice  ven- 
act,  and  by  a  long  chalk,  said  Djek 


340 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


and  Co.  The  parties  growled  a  bit, 
then  parted  to  meet  no  more  in  this 
world. 

From  Bordeaux  we  returned  by 
another  route  to  Paris  ;  for  we  were 
only  starring  it  in  the  interval  of  our 
engagement  as  an  actress  with  Fran- 
coni.     We  started  one  morning  from 

with  light  hearts,  our  faces  turned 

toward  the  gay  city,  Elliot,  Pippin, 
and  I.  Elliot  and  I  walked  by  the  side 
of  the  elephant,  Pippin  walking  some 
forty  yards  in  the  rear.  He  never  trust- 
ed himself  nearer  to  her  on  a  march. 

We  were  plodding  along  in  this 
order,  when,  all  in  a  moment,  without 
reason  or  warning  of  any  sort,  she 
spun  round  between  us  on  one  heel 
like  a  thing  turning  on  a  pivot,  and 
strode  back  like  lightning  at  Pippin. 
He  screamed  and  ran  ;  but,  before  he 
could  take  a  dozen  steps,  she  was 
upon  him,  and  struck  him  down  with 
her  trunk  and  trampled  upon  him  ; 
she  then  wheeled  round  and  trudged 
back  as  if  she  had  merely  stopped  to 
brush  off  a  fly  or  pick  up  a  stone. 
After  the  first  moment  of  stupefaction, 
both  Elliot  and  I  had  run  after  her 
with  all  the  speed  we  had ;  but  so 
rapid  was  her  movement,  and  so  in- 
stantaneous the  work  of  death,  that 
we  only  met  her  on  her  return  from 
her  victim.  I  will  not  shock  the  read- 
er by  describing  the  state  in  which  we 
found  our  poor  comrade;  but  he  was 
crushed  to  death.  He  never  spoke, 
and  I  believe  and  trust  he  never  felt 
anything  for  the  few  minutes  that 
breath  lingered  in  his  body.  We 
kneeled  down  and  raised  him,  and 
spoke  to  him,  but  he  could  not  hear 
us.  When  Djek  got  her  will  of  ow 
of  us,  all  our  hope  used  to  be  to  see  the 
man  die  ;  and  so  it  was  withpoordcar 
Pippin  ;  mangled,  and  life  impossible, 
we  kneeled  down  and  prayed  to  God 
for  his  death  ;  and,  by  Heaven's  mer- 
cy, I  think  in  about  four  minutes  from 
the  time  he  got  his  death-blow  his 
spirit  passed  away,  and  our  well-be- 
loved comrade  and  friend  was  noth- 
ing now  but  a  lump  of  cMy  on  aur 
hands. 


We  were  some  miles  from  any 
town  or  village,  and  did  not  know 
what  to  do,  and  how  to  take  him  to  a 
resting-place.  At  last  we  were  obliged 
to  tie  the  body  across  the  proboscis, 
and  cover  it  as  well  as  we  could,  and 
so  we  made  his  murderess  carry  him 
to  the  little  town  of  La  Palice,  —  yes, 
La  Palice.  Here  we  stopped,  and  a 
sort  of  inquest  was  held,  and  M.  Hu- 
guet  attended  and  told  the  old  story  : 
said  the  man  had  been  cruel  to  her, 
and  she  had  put  up  with  it  as  long  as 
she  could.  Verdict,  "  Served  him 
right  "  ;  and  so  we  lied  over  our  poor 
friend's  murdered  body,  and  buried 
him  with  many  sighs  in  the  little 
churchyard  of  La  Palice,  and  then 
trudged  on,  sad  and  downcast,  toward 
the  gay  capital. 


CHAPTER  XL 

I  think  a  lesson  is  to  be  learned 
from  this  sad  story.  Too  much  fear 
is  not  prudence.  Had  poor  Pippin 
walked  with  Elliot  and  me  alongsido 
the  elephant,  she  dared  not  have  at- 
tacked him.  But  through  fear  he 
kept  forty  yards  in  the  rear,  and  she 
saw  a  chance  to  get  him  by  himself; 
and,  from  my  knowledge  of  her,  I 
have  little  doubt  she  had  meditated 
this  attempt  for  months  before  she 
carried  it  out.     Poor  Pippin  ! 

We  arrived  in  Paris  to  play  with 
Franconi.  Now  it  happened  to  be 
inconvenient  to  Franconi  to  fulfil  his 
engagement.  He  accordingly  declined 
us.  M.  Huguet  was  angry,  —  threat- 
ened l«jgal  proceedings.  Franconi  an- 
swered, "  Where  is  Pippin  ?  "  Huguet 
shut  up.  Then  Franconi  followed 
suit ;  if  hard  pressed,  he  threatened 
to  declare  in  open  court  that  it  was 
out  of  humanity  alone  he  declined  to 
fulfil  his  engagement.  This  stopped 
M.  Huguet's  mouth  altogether.  He 
took  a  place  on  the  Boulevard,  and 
we  showed  her  and  her  tricks  at  three 
prices,  and  did  a  rattling  business. 
Before   we  had  been  a  fortnight  in 


JACK  OF  ALL   TRADES. 


341 


Paris,  old  Tom  Elliot  died  at  the 
Hospital  Dubois,  and  I  became  her 
vizier  at  a  salary  of  one  hundred  francs 
per  week. 

Having  now  the  sole  responsibility, 
I  watched  her  as  you  would  a  powder- 
magazine  lighted  by  gas.  I  let  no- 
body but  M.  Huguet  go  near  her  in 
my  absence.  This  gentleman  contin- 
ued to  keep  her  sweet  on  him  with 
lumps  of  sugar,  and  to  act  as  her 
showman  when  she  exhibited  public- 
ly- 
One  day  we  had  a  message  from 
the  Tuileries,  and  we  got  the  place 
extra  clean  ;  and  the  king's  children 
paid  her  a  visit,  —  a  lot  of  little  chaps. 
I  ilid  not  know  their  names,  but  1 
suppose  it  was  Prince  Joinville,  Au- 
male,  and  cetera.  All  I  know  is  that 
while  these  little  Louis  Philippes  were 
coaxing  her,  and  feeding  her,  and  cut- 
ting about  her,  and  sliding  down  her, 
and  I  was  telling  them  she  was  a  duck, 
the  perspiration  was  running  down 
my  back  one  moment  and  cold  shiv- 
ers the  next,  and  I  thanked  Heaven 
devoutly  when  the  young  gents  went 
back  to  their  papa  and  mamma,  and  no 
bones  broken.  The  young  gentlemen 
reported  her  affability  and  my  lies  to 
the  king,  and  he  engaged  her  to  per- 
forin gratis  in  the  Champs  Elysees 
during  the  three  days'  fete.  Fifteen 
hundred  francs  for  this. 

Put  Bngnet  was  penny-wise  and 
pound-foolish  to  ajrrec,  for  it  took  her 
elo^s  off.  Showed  her  gratis  to  half 
the  city. 

Among  Djek's  visitors  came  one 
day  a  pretty  VOVng  lady,  a  nursery 
governess  to  some  nobleman's  chil- 
dren, whose  name  I  forget,  but  he 
was  English.  The  children  were 
highly  amused  with  Djek,  and  quite 
loath  to  go.  The  young  lady,  who  had 
a  mattering  of  English  as  I  had  of 
French,  put  several  questions  to  me. 
1  answered  then  more  polite  than 
usual  on  account  of  her  being  pretty, 
and  I  used  a  privilege  I  had  and  gave 
her  an  order  for  free  admission  some 
other  day.  She  came,  with  oiilv  one 
child,  which  luckily  was  otic  ol   those 


deeply  meditative  ones  that  occur  but 
rarely,  and  otdy  bring  out  a  word 
every  half-hour  ;  so  mademoiselle  and 
I  had  a  chat,  which  I  found  so  agree- 
able that  I  rather  neglected  the  gen- 
eral public  for  her.  I  made  it  my 
business  to  learn  where  she  aired  the 
children,  and,  one  vacant  morning, 
dressed  in  the  top  of  the  fashion,  I 
stood  before  her  in  the  garden  of  the 
Tuileries.  She  gave  a  half-start  and 
a  blush,  and  seemed  very  much  struck 
with  astonishment  at  this  rencounter. 
She  was  a  little  less  astonished  next 
week  when  the  same  thing  happened, 
but  still  she  thought  these  coinciden- 
ces remarkable,  and  said  so.  In  short, 
I  paid  my  addresses  to  Mademoiselle 

.     She  was  a  charming  brunette 

from  Geneva,  greatly  my  superior  in 
education  and  station.  I  was  perfectly 
conscious  of  this,  and  instantly  made 
this  calculation :  "  All  the  better  for 
me  if  I  can  win  her."  But  the  reader 
knows  my  character  by  this  time,  and 
must  have  observed  how  large  a  por- 
tion of  it  effrontery  forms.  I  wrote 
to  her  every  day,  sometimes  in  the 
French  language  —  no,  not  in  the 
French  language,  in  French  words. 
She  sometimes  answered  in  English 
words.  She  was  very  pretty  and  very 
interesting,  and  I  fancied  her.  When 
a  man  is  in  love  he  can  hardly  see  dif- 
ficulties. I  pressed  her  to  marry  nie, 
and  I  believed  she  would  consent. 
When  I  came  to  this  point  the  young 
lady's  gaycty  declined,  and  when  I 
was  painting  her  pictures  of  our  con- 
jugal happiness,  she  used  to  Bigh  in- 
stead of  brightening  at  the.  picture. 
At  last  I  pressed  her  so  hard  that  she 
consented  to  write  to  Geneva  and  ask 
her  parents'  consent  to  our  union. 
When  the  letter  went  1  was  in  tower- 
ing spirits.  I  was  now  in  the  zenith 
(it  my  prosperity.  The  risks  I  had 
run  with  Djek  ware  rewarded  by  a 
heavy  salary  and  the  post  of  honor 
near  her,  and.  now  that  I  was  a  little 
weary  of  roaming  the  world  alone 
with  an  elephant,  fate  had  thrown  in 
my  way  a  charming  companion  who 
would  cheer  the  weary  road. 


342 


JACK  OF  al:-  trades. 


Dreams. 

The  old  people  at  Geneva  saw  my 
position  with  another  eye.  "  He  is  a 
servant  liable  to  lose  his  place  at  any 
moment  by  any  one  of  a  hundred  ac- 
cidents, and  iiis  profession  is  a  discred- 
itable one  :  why,  he  is  a  showman." 

They  told  her  all  this  in  language 
so  plain  that  she  would  never  show 
me  the  letter.  I  was  for  defying  their 
advice  and  authority,  but  she  would 
not  hear  of  it.  I  was  forced  to  tem- 
porize. "  In  a  month's  time,"  said  I 
to  myself,  "  her  scruples  will  melt 
away."  But  in  less  than  a  fortnight 
the  order  came  for  us  to  march  into 
Flanders.  I  communicated  this  cruel 
order  to  my  sweetheart.  She  turned 
pale,  and  made  no  sceret  of  her  at- 
tachment to  me,  and  of  the  pain  she 
felt  at  parting.  Every  evening  before 
we  left  Paris  I  saw  her,  and  implored 
her  to  trust  herself  to  me  and  leave 
Paris  as  my  wife.  She  used  to  smile 
at  my  pictures  of  wedded  happiness, 
and  cry  the  next  minute  because  she 
dared  not  give  herself  and  me  that 
happiness ;  but,  with  all  this,  she  was 
firm,  and  would  not  fly  in  her  parents' 
face. 

At  last  came  a  sad  and  bitter  hour : 
hat  in  hand,  as  the  saying  is,  I  made 
a  last  desperate  endeavor  to  persuade 
her  to  be  mine,  and  not  to  let  this 
parting  take  place  at  all.  She  was 
much  agitated,  but  firm  ;  and,  the 
more  I  said,  the  firmer  she  became. 
So  at  lastlgrewfrantic  and  reproached 
her.  I  called  her  a  cold-hearted  co- 
quette, and  we  parted  in  anger  and  de- 
spair. 

Away  into  the  wide  world  again, 
not  as  I  used  to  start  on  these  pil- 
grimages, with  a  stout  heart  and  iron 
nerves,  but  cold,  and  weary,  and  worn 
out  before  the  journey  had  begun.  As 
we  left  Paris  behind  us  I  had  but  one 
feeling,  that  the  best  of  life  was  at  an 
end  for  me.  My  limbs  took  me  along 
like  machinery,  but  my  heart  was  a 
lump  of  ice  inside  me,  and  I  would 
have  thanked  any  man  for  knocking 
me  on  the  head  and  ending  the  mo- 
notonous farce  of  my  existence;  ay, 


gentlefolks,  even  a  poor  mechanic  cart 
feel  like  this  when  the  desire  of  his 
heart  is  balked  forever. 

Trudge  !  trudge !  trudge  !  for  ever 
and  ever. 

Tramp  !  tramp  '.  tramp  !  for  evei 
and  ever. 

A  man  gets  faint  and  'veary  of  it  aj 
last,  and  there  comes  a  time  when  ha 
pines  for  a  hearth-stone,  and  a  voica 
he  can  believe,  a  part,  at  least,  of 
what  it  says,  and  a  Sunday  of  semi 
sort  now  and  then  ;  and  my  time  waJ 
come  to  long  for  these  things,  and  foi 
a  pretty  and  honest  face  about  me  to 
stand  for  the  one  bit  of  peace  and  the 
one  bit  of  truth  in  my  vagabond  char- 
latan  life. 

I  lost  my  appetite  and  sleep,  and 
was  very  nearly  losing  heart  altogeth- 
er. My  clothes  hung  about  me  like 
bags,  I  got  so  thin.  It  was  my  infer- 
nal occupation  that  cured  me  after 
all.  Djek  gave  me  no  time  even  for 
despair.  The  moment  I  became  her 
sole  guardian  I  had  sworn  on  my 
knees  she  should  never  kill  another 
man  ;  judge  whether  I  had  to  look 
sharp  after  her  to  keep  the  biped  from 
perjury  and  the  quadruped  from  mur- 
der. I  slept  with  her  —  rose  early  — ■ 
fed  her  —  walked  twenty  miles  with 
her,  or  exhibited  her  all  day,  some- 
times did  both,  and  at  night  rolled 
into  the  straw  beside  her,  too  deadly 
tired  to  feel  all  my  unhappiness  ;  and 
so,  after  awhile,  time  and  toil  blunted 
my  sense  of  disappointment,  and  I 
trudged  and  tramped,  and  praised 
Djek's  moral  qualities  in  the  old  rou- 
tine. Only  now  and  then,  when  I 
saw  the  country  lads  in  France  and 
Belgium  going  to  church  dressed  in 
their  best  with  their  sweethearts,  and 
I  in  prison  in  the  stable  with  my  four- 
legged  hussy,  waiting  perhaps  till 
dark  to  steal  out  and  march  to  somo 
fresh  town,  I  used  to  feel  as  heavy  as 
lead  and  as  bitter  as  wormwood,  and 
wish  we  were  all  dead  together  by  way 
of  a  change. 

A  man  needs  a  stout  heart  to  go 
through  the  world  at  all,  but  most  of 
all  he  needs  it  for  a  roving  life;  don't 


JACK   OF   ALL   TRADES. 


343 


you  believe  any  other,  no  matter  who 
tells  you. 

With  this  brief  notice  of  my  feel- 
ings I  pass  over  two  months'  travel. 
All  through  I  spare  the  reader  much, 
though  I  dare  say  he  does  n't  see  it. 

Sir,  the  very  names  of  the  places  I 
have  visited  would  fill  an  old-fash- 
ioned map  of  Europe. 

Talk  of  Ulysses  and  his  travels ! 
he  never  saw  the  tenth  part  of  what 
I  have  gone  through. 

I  have  walked  with  Djek  farther 
than  round  the  world  during  the 
eleven  years  I  have  trudged  beside 
her  ;  it  is  only  24,000  miles  round  the 
world. 

After  a  year's  pilgrimage  we  found 
ourselves  at  Doncheray,  near  Sedan. 

Here  we  had  an  incident.  Mons. 
Huguet  was  showing  her  to  the  pub- 
lic with  the  air  of  a  prince  and  in  his 
Marechal  of  France  costume,  glitter- 
ing with  his  theatrical  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor.  He  was  not  par- 
ticular what  he  put  on,  so  that  it 
shone  and  looked  well.  He  sent  mo 
for  something  connected  with  the  per- 
formance, —  a  pistol,  I  think.  I  had 
hardly  ten  steps  to  go,  but  during  the 
time  I  was  out  of  her  sight  I  heard  a 
man  cry  out  and  the  elephant  snort. 
1  ran  back  hallooing  as  I  came.  As 
I  ran  in  I  found  the  elephant  feeling  j 
for  something  in  the  straw  with  her 
foot,  and  the  people  rushing  out  of 
the  doors  in  dismay.  The  moment 
Bhe  saw  me  she  affected  innocence, 
but  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  I 
drew  out  from  the  straw  a  thing  you 
would  have  Mken  for  a  scarecrow  or 
a  bundle  of  rags  It  w;is  my  master, 
M.  Hngnet,  liis  glossy  hat  battered, 
his  glossy  coat  stained  ami  torn,  and 
his  arm  broken  in  two  places  ;  a  mo- 
ment moffl  and  her  fool  would  have 
been  on  him,  and  his  soul  crushed 
Out  of  his  body. 

The  ptfople  were  surprised  when 
thev  saw  the  furioUS  slimline;  nion-ter 
creep  into  a  corner  to  escape  a  little 
fellow  five  feet  four,  who  got  to  the 
old  weapon,  pitchfork)  and  drove  it 
into  every  part  of  her  but  her  head. 


She  hid  that  in  the  corner  the  mo 
ment  she  saw  blood  in  my  eye. 

We  got  poor  M.  Huguet  to  bed, 
and  a  doctor  from  the  hospital  to 
him,  and  a  sorrowful  time  he  had  of 
it ;  and  so,  after  standing  good  fof 
twelve  years,  lump  sugar  fell  to  the 
ground.     Pitchfork  held  good. 

At  night  more  than  a  hundred  peo- 
pie  came  to  see  whether  I  was  really 
so  hardy  as*  to  sleep  with  this  fero- 
cious animal.  To  show  them  my 
sense  of  her,  I  lay  down  between  hef 
legs.  On  this  she  lifted  her  fore  feet 
singly,  and  with  the  utmost  care  and 
delicacy  drew  them  back  over  my 
body\ 

As  soon  as  M.  Huguet's  arm  was 
set  and  doing  well,  he  followed  us 
(we  had  got  into  France  by  this 
time),  and  came  in  along  with  tho 
public  to  admire  us,  and,  to  learn 
how  the  elephant  stood  affected  to- 
ward  him  now,  he  cried  out,  in  his 
most  ingratiating  way,  —  in  sugared 
tones, —  "Djek,  my  boy!  Djek!" 
At  this  sound  Djek  raised  a  roar  of 
the  most  infernal  rage,  and  Huguet, 
who  knew  her  real  character  well 
enough,  though  he  pretended  not  to, 
comprehended  that  her  heart  was  now 
set  upon  his  extinction,  malt/re  twelve 
years  of  lump  sugar. 

He  sent  for  me,  and  with  many 
expressions  of  friendship  offered  mo 
the  invaluable  animal  for  thirty  thou- 
sand francs.  1  declined  her  without 
thanks.  "  Then  1  shall  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  killing  her  to-morrow,''  said 
the  Frenchman,  "  and  what  will  be- 
come of  your  salary,  mon  pauvro 
gavcoal " 

In  short,  ho  had  me  in  a  fix,  and 
used  his  power.  I  bought  her  of  him 
for  20,000  francs,  to  be  paid  by  in- 
stalments. I  f^ave  him  the  first 
instalment,  a  live-franc  piece,  and 
walked  out  of  the  wine-shop  her  solo 
proprietor. 

The  sense  of  property  is  pleasant, 
even  when  wc  have  not  paid  for  tho 
article. 

That  night  I  formed    my  plans. 

There,  was  no  time  to   lose,  because  J 


344 


JACK   OF  ALL  TEADES. 


had  only  a  thousand  francs  in  the 
world,  and  she  ate  a  thousand  francs 
a  week,  or  nearly.  I  determined  to 
try  Germany,  —  a  poor  country,  but 
one  which,  being  quite  inland,  could 
not  have  become  callous  to  an  ele- 
phant, perhaps  had  never  seen  one. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  fine,  clear 
morning  I  started  on  my  own  ac- 
count. The  sun  was  just  rising,  the 
birds  were  tuning,  and  all  manner  of 
sweet  smells  came  from  the  fields  and 
the  hedges.  Djek  seemed  to  step  out 
more  majestically  than  when  she  was 
another  man's  ;  my  heart  beat  high. 
Eleven  years  ago  I  had  started  the 
meanest  of  her  slaves.  I  had  worked 
slowly,  painfully,  but  steadily  up,  and 
now  I  was  actually  her  lord  and  mas- 
ter, and  half  the  world  before  me  with 
the  sun  shining  on  it. 

The  first  town  I  showed  her  at  as 
mine  was  Verdun,  and  the  next  day  I 

wrote  to  Mademoiselle at  Paris 

to  tell  her  of  the  change  in  my  for- 
tunes. This  was  the  only  letter  I 
had  sent,  for  we  parted  bad  friends. 
I  received  a  kinder  answer  than  the 
abrupt  tone  of  my  letter  deserved. 
She  congratulated  me,  and  thanked 
me  for  remembering  that  whatever 
good  fortune  befell  me  must  give  her 
particular  pleasure,  and  in  the  post- 
script she  told  me  she  was  just  about 
to  leave  Paris  and  return  to  her  par- 
ents in  Switzerland. 

Djek  crossed  into  Prussia,  tramped 
that  country,  and  penetrated  into  the 
heart  of  Germany.  As  I  had  hoped, 
she  descended  on  this  nation  with  all 
the  charm  of  novelty,  and  used  to 
clear  the  copper  *  out  of  a  whole  vil- 
lage. I  remember  early  in  this  trip 
being  at  a  country  inn.  I  saw  rus- 
tics, male  and  female,  dressed  in  their 
Sunday  clothes,  coming  over  the  hills 
from  every  side  to  one  point.  I 
thought  there  must  be  a  fair  or  some- 
thing. I  asked  the  landlord  what 
they  were  all  coming  for.  He  said, 
"  Why,  you,  to  be  sure."    They  never 

*  Germany  is  mostly  made  of  copper.  A 
bucketful  of  farthings  was  a  common  thing 
for  me  to  have  in  my  carriage. 


saw  such  a  thing  in  their  lives,  and 
never  will  again. 

In  fact,  at  one  or  two  small  places 
we  were  stopped  by  the  authorities, 
who  had  heard  that  we  carried  more 
specie  out  of  little  towns  than  the 
circulating  medium  would  bear. 

In  short,  my  first  coup  was  success- 
ful. After  six  months'  Germany, 
Bavaria,  Prussia,  etc.,  I  returned  to 
the  Rhine  at  Strasbourg  with  eight 
thousand  francs.  During  all  this  time 
she  never  hurt  a  soul,  I  watched  her 
so  fearfully  close.  So,  being  debarred 
from  murder,  she  tried  arson. 

At  a  place  in  Bavaria  her  shed  was 
suddenly  observed  to  be  in  flames, 
and  we  saved  her  with  difficulty. 

The  cause  never  transpired  until 
now,  but  I  saw  directly  how  it  had 
been  done.  I  had  unwarily  left  my 
coat  in  her  way.  The  pockets  were 
found  emptied  of  all  their  contents, 
among  which  was  a  lucifer-box,  frao;- 
ments  of  which  I  found  among  the 
straw.  She  had  played  with  this  in 
her  trunk,  hammering  it  backward 
and  forward  against  her  "knee,  drop- 
ping the  lighted  matches  into  the 
straw,  when  they  stung  her,  and  very 
nearly  roasted  her  own  beef,  the  mis- 
chievous, uneasy  devil. 

My  readers  will  not  travel  with  an 
elephant,  but  business  of  some  sort 
will  fall  to  the  lot  of  some  of  them 
soon  or  late,  and,  as  charlatanry  is  the 
very  soul  of  modern  business,  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  show  how  the  humble 
artisan  worked  his  elephant. 

We  never  allowed  ourselves  to  drop 
casually  upon  any  place,  like  a  shower 
of  rain. 

A  man  in  bright  livery,  green  and 
gold,  mounted  on  a  showy  horse, 
used  to  ride  into  the  town  or  village, 
and  go  round  to  all  the  inns,  making 
loud  inquiries  about  their  means  of 
accommodation  for  the  elephant  and 
her  train.  Four  hours  after  him,  the 
people  being  now  a  little  agog,  anoth- 
er green  and  gold  man  came  in  on  a 
trained  horse,  and  inquired  for  No.  1. 
As  soon  as  he  had  found  him,  the  two 
rode  together  round  the  town,  —  No. 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


345 


2  blowing  a  trumpet  and  proclaiming 
the  elephant ;  the  nations  she  had  in- 
structed in  the  wonders  of  nature  ; 
the  kings  she  had  amused ;  her  gran- 
deur, her  intelligence,  and,  above  all, 
her  dovelike  disposition. 

This  was  allowed  to  ferment  for 
some  hours,  and,  when  expectation 
was  at  its  height,  the  rest  of  the  cav- 
alcade used  to  heave  in  sight,  Djek 
bringing  up  the  rear.  Arrived,  I 
used  to  shut  her  in  out  of  sight,  and 
send  all  my  men  and  horses  round, 
parading,  trumpeting,  and  pasting 
bills,  so  that  at  last  the  people  were 
quite  ripe  for  her,  and  then  we  went 
to  work ;  aud  thus  the  humble  arti- 
san and  his  elephant  cut  a  greater 
dash  than  lions  and  tigers,  and 
mountebanks,  and  quacks,  and  drew 
more  money. 

Here  is  one  of  my  programmes  : 
only  I  must  remark  that  I  picked  up 
my  French  where  I  picked  up  the  sin- 
cerity it  embodies,  in  the  circuses, 
coulisses,  and  cabarets  of  French 
towns,  so  that  I  can  patter  French  as 
fast  as  you  like  ;  but,  of  course,  I 
know  no  more  aliout  it  than  a  pig,  — 
not  to  really  know  it. 

Par  permission  de  M.  le  Maire, 
Lc  grand 
ELEPHANT 
du  Koi  de  Siam, 
Du  Cirque  Olympiquc  Franconi. 
Mile.  Djek, 
Elephant   colossal,  de  onzc  pieds  dc 
hauteur  et  du  poida  dc  nenf  mille 
liv.,  est  le  plus  grand  elephant  qui 
Ton  ait  vu  en  Europe. 

M.  H.  B.  Lott,  naturaliste,  pour- 
voyeur  des  menageries  dea  diverges 
cours  d'Europe,  actionnaire  du  Cirque 
Olympiquc  et  proprie'taire  de  ee  mag- 
niliquc  elephant,  qn'il  a  dressii  an 
point  de  lc   presenter  au   public  dans 

une  piece  theatrak  qui  hit  creee  pour 

Mad  lie.  Djek  il  y  a  trois  ans  et  dciui, 

et  qui  a  en  mi  u  grand  succes,  sous  le 
nom  de  1' Elephant  du  Uoi  de  Siam. 

Le  proprie'taire,   dans   son    voyage 
nntour  du  monde.  eat  occasion  d'achc- 
ter  cct  cnorme  quadrupede,  qui  le  prit 
15  : 


en  affection,  et  qui,  depuis  onzc  ans 
qu'il  le  possede,  ne  s'est  jamais  demen- 
ti, se  plait  a  e'eouter  son  maitre  et  ex- 
ecute avec  punctuality  tout  cc  qu'il 
lui  indique  de  faire. 

Mile.  Djek,  qui  est  dans  toute  la 
force  dc  sa  taille,  a  maintenant  cent 
vingt-cinq  ans  ;  elle  a  onzc  pieds  de 
hauteur  —  et  pese  neuf  mille  livres. 

Sa  consommation  dans  les  vingt- 
quatrc  heures  exeede  deux  cent  livres 
—  quarante  livres  de  pain  pour  son 
dejeuner ;  a  midi,  du  son  et  de  l'a- 
voinc ;  le  soir,  des  pommes  de  terrc 
ou  du  rizcuit :  et  la  nuit  du  foiu  et  de 
la  paille. 

C'est  le  meme  elephant  qui  a  com- 
battu  la  lionne  de  M.  Martin.  Cette 
lionne  en  furie,  qu'une  imprudence  fit 
sortir  de  sa  cage,  s'e'lance  sur  M.  11.  B. 
Lott  qui  se  trouvait  aupres  deson  ele'- 
phant ;  voyant  le  danger  il  se  refugie 
dcrricrc  une  des  jambes  dc  ce  bon 
animal,  qui  releve  sa  trompc  pour  le 
piotegcr.*  La  lionne  allait  saisir 
M.  II.  B.  Lott ;  l'c'le'phant  la  voit,  ra- 
bat  sa  trompe,  t'enveloppe,  l'e'toufle, 
la  jctte  au  loin,  et  Taurait  e'erasee,  si 
son  maitre  ne  lui  eut  dit  dc  ne  pas 
continuer. 

Elle  a  ensuite  allonge  sa  trompe, 
frappc'  du  pied,  criant  et  temoi- 
gnant  la  satisfaction,  quelle  e'prouvait 
d'avoir  sauve  son  ami  d'une  mort  cer- 
tainc,  comme  on  a  pu  voir  dans  les 
journaux  en  fe'vricr  1832. 

Dans  les  cours  des  se'anccs,  on  lui 
fera  faire  tous  ses  grands  exerckvs 
qui  sont  dignes  d'admiration,  dont  le 
grand  nombre  ne  permet  pas  d'en 
donner  Fanalyse  dans  cette  afliche,  et 
qu'il  faut  voir  pour  Ten  faire  une 
idee  juste. 

Prix  d'entre'e :  Premieres 
Secondes  Les   militaires  et  les 

enfants,  moitic\ 

I  don't  think  but  what  my  country  - 
inen  will  understand  every  word  of 
the  above ;   but,  as  there  arc  a  great 

*  I  am  a  dull  fellow  now,  cs  you  aw.  But 
you  must  allow  1  i*ave  beo»>  a  mar  if  imagi- 
nation. 


346 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


number  of  Frenchmen  in  London 
who  will  read  this,  I  think  it  would 
look  unkind  not  to  translate  it  into 
English  for  their  benefit. 

By  permission  of  the  Worshipful  the 
Mayor, 
the  great 
ELEPHANT 
of  the  King  of  Siam, 
from  Franconi's  Olympic  Circus. 
Mademoiselle  Djek, 
Colossal   Elephant,  eleven  feet    high 
and  weighs  nine  thousand  pounds. 
The  largest  elephant  ever  seen  in 
Europe. 

Mr.  H.  B.  Lott,  naturalist,  who 
supplies  the  menageries  of  the  various 
courts  of  Europe,  shareholder  in  the 
Olympic  Circus,  and  proprietor  of 
this  magnificent  elephant,  which  he 
has  trained  to  such  a  height  that  he 
will  present  her  to  the  public  in  a  dra- 
matic piece  which  was  written  for  her 
three  years  and  a  half  ago,  and  had 
a  great  success  under  the  title  of  the 
Elephant  of  the  King  of  Siam.* 

The  proprietor,  in  his  voyage  round 
the  globe,  was  fortunate  enough  to 
purchase  this  enormous  quadruped, 
which  became  attached  to  him,  and 
has  been  eleven  years  in  his  posses- 
sion, during  which  time  she  has  never 
once  forgotten  herself,  and  executes 
with  obedient  zeal  whatever  he  bids 
her. 

Mile.  Djek  has  now  arrived  at  her 
full  growth,  being  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  of  age  ;  she  is  eleven 
feet  high,  and  weighs  nine  thousand 
pounds.  Her  daily  consumption  ex- 
ceeds two  hundred  pounds.  She  takes 
forty  pounds  of  bread  for  her  break- 
fast, at  noon  barley  and  oats,  in  the 
evening  potatoes  or  rice  cooked,  and 
at  night  hay  and  straw. 

*  My  literary  gent  and  me  nearly  had 
words  over  this  bit.  "  Why,  it  is  all  nomina- 
tive case,"  says  he.  "Well,"  says  I,  "you 
can't  have  too  much  of  a  pood  thing.  Can 
you  better  it  ?  "  says  I.  "  Better  it !  "  says 
he  ;  "  why,  I  could  not  have  come  within  a 
miie  of  it  "  -,  and  he  grinned.  So  I  shut  him 
up  —  for  once. 


This  is  the  same  elephant  that  fought 
with  Mr.  Martin's  lioness.  The  lion- 
ess, whom  the  carelessness  of  the  at- 
tendants allowed  to  escape  from  her 
cage,  dashed  furiously  at  Mr.  II.  B. 
Lott;  fortunately  he  was  near  his  ele- 
phant, and,  seeing  the  danger,  took 
refuge  behind  one  of  the  legs  of  that 
valuable  animal.  She  raised  her 
trunk  in  her  master's  defence.  The 
lioness  made  to  seize  him  ;  but  the 
elephant  lowered  her  trunk,  seized 
the  lioness,  choked  her,  flung  her  a 
distance,  and  would  have  crushed  her 
to  death  if  Mr.  Lott  had  not  com- 
manded her  to  desist.  After  that  she 
extended  her  trunk,  stamped  with  her 
foot,  trumpeting  and  showing  her  sat- 
isfaction at  having  saved  her  friend 
from  certain  death,  full  accounts  of 
which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  journals 
of  February,  1832. 

In  the  course  of  the  exhibition  she 
will  go  through  all  her  exercises, 
which  are  wonderful,  and  so  numer- 
ous that  it  is  impossible  to  enumerate 
them  in  this  bill :  they  must  be  seen 
to  form  a  just  idea  of  them. 

Prices  :  F"irst  places        Second 
Soldiers  and  children  half  price. 

Djek  and  I  used  to  make  our  bow 
to  our  audiences  in  the  following  fash- 
ion. I  came  on  with  her,  and  said, 
"  Otez  mon  chapeau  pour  saluer  " ; 
then  she  used  to  take  off  my  hat,  wave 
it  gracefully,  and  replace  it  on  my 
head.  She  then  proceeded  to  pick  up 
twenty  five-franc  pieces,  one  after  an- 
other, and  keep  them  piled  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  her  trunk.  She  also  fired 
pistols,  and  swept  her  den  with  a 
broom,  in  a  most  painstaking  and  lu- 
dicrous way. 

But  perhaps  her  best  business  in  a 
real  judge's  eye  was  drinking  a  bottle 
of  wine.  The  reader  will  better  esti- 
mate this  feat  if  he  will  fancy  himself 
an  elephant,  and  lay  down  the  book 
now,  and  ask  himself  how  he  would  do- 
it, and  read  the  following  afterward. 

The  bottle  (cork  drawn)  stood  be* 
fore  her.  She  placed  the  finger  and 
thumb  of  her  proboscis  on  the  mouth, 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


317 


made  .1  vacuum  by  suction,  and  then, 
suddenly  inverting  the  bottle,  she  re- 
eeived  the  contents  in  her  trunk.  The 
difficulty  now  was  to  hold  the  bottle, 
which  she  would  not  have  broken  for 
a  thousand  pounds  (my  lady  thought 
less  of  killing  ten  men  than  breaking 
a  saucer),  and  yet  not  let  the  liquor 
run  from  her  flesh-pipe.  She  rapidly 
shifted  her  hold  to  the  centre  of  the 
bottle,  and  worked  it  by  means  of  the 
wrinkles  in  her  proboscis  to  the  bend 
of  it.  Then  she  griped  it,  and  at  the 
same  time  curled  round  her  trunk  to 
a  sloping  position,  and  let  the  wine 
run  down  her  throat.  This  done,  she 
resumed  the  first  position  of  her  trunk 
and  worked  the  bottle  back  toward 
her  finger,  suddenly  snapped  hold  of 
it  by  the  neck,  and  handed  it  grace- 
fully to  me. 

With  this  exception,  it  was  not  her 
public  tricks  that  astonished  me  most. 
The  principle  of  all  these  tricks  is  one. 
An  animal  is  taught  to  lay  hold  of 
things  at  command,  and  to  shift  them 
from  one  place  to  another.  You  vary 
the  thing  to  be  laid  hold  of,  but  the 
act  is  the  same.  In  her  drama,  which 
was  so  effective  on  the  stage,  Djefe  did 
nothing  out  of  the  way.  She  merely 
went  through  certain  mechanical  acts 
at  a  word  of  command  from  her  keep- 
er, who  was  unseen  or  unnoticed  ;  i.  e. 
he  was  cither  at  the  wing  in  his  fustian 
jacket,  or  on  the  Stage  with  her  in  gim- 
crack  and  gold,  as  one  of  a  lot  of  slaves 
or  courtiers,  or  what  not.  Between 
ourselves,  a  single  trick  I  have  several 
times  caught  her  doing  on  her  own  ac- 
count proved  more  for  ber intelligence 
than  all  these.      She   used   to  put  her 

eve,  to  a  keyhole.     Ay,  thai  she  would, 

and  so  wateh  for  hours  to  see  what 
devil's  trick  she  could  do  with  impu- 
nity,—  she  would  see  me  out  of  the 
WSTjr,  and  then  fro  to  work.  Where 
there  wafl  no  keyhole  I  have  seen  her 
pick  the  knot  out  of  a  deal  board,  and 
squint  through  the  little  hole  she  hail 
thus  made. 

A  dog  comes  next  to  an  elephant, 

but  he  is  not  up  to  looking  through  a 

keyhole  or  a  crack,     lie  can  think  of 


nothing  better  than  snuffing  under  the 
door. 

At  one  place,  being  under  a  grana- 
ry, she  worked  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  no 
bigger  than  a  thimble,  and  sucked 
down  sackfuls  of  grain  before  she  was 
found  out.  Talk  of  the  half-reasoning 
elephant :  she  seldom  met  a  man  that 
could  match  her  in  reasoning,  —  to  a 
bad  end.  Her  weak  points  were  her 
cruelty  and  cowardice,  and  by  this  lat- 
ter Tom  Elliot  and  I  governed  her 
with  a  rod  of  iron,  vulgarly  called  a 
pitchfork.  If  a  mouse  pattered  about 
the  floor  in  her  stable,  Djek  used  to 
tremble  all  over,  and  whine  with  ter- 
ror till  the  little  monster  was  gone. 
A  ton  shaken  by  an  ounce. 

I  have  seen  her  start  back  in  dismay 
from  a  small  feather  floating  in  the 
air.  If  her  heart  had  been  as  stout  as 
her  will  to  do  mischief  was  strong, 
mankind  must  have  risen  to  put  her 
down. 

Almost  all  yon  have  ever  heard 
about  the  full-grown  elephant's  char- 
acter is  a  pack  of  falsities.  They  are 
your  servants  by  fear,  or  they  are  your 
masters.  Two  years  ago  an  elephant 
killed  bis  keeper  at  Liverpool  or  Man- 
chester, I  forget  which.  Out  came 
the  "  Times  "  :  he  had  pronged  him 
six  weeks  before.  How  well  I  knew 
the  old  lie  ;  it  seldom  varies  a  syllable. 
That  man  died,  not  because  he  had 
pronged  the  animal,  but  because  he 
had  n't,  or  not  enough. 

Spare  the  pitchfork,  spoil  the  ele- 
phant. 

There  is  another  animal  people  mis- 
construe just  as  bad, —  the  hyena. 

Terrible  fierce  animal,  the  hyena, 
s:ivs  Bufl'on  and  Co.,  and  the  world 
echoes  the  chant. 

Fierce,  are  they  ?  Yon  get  a  score 
of  them  together  in  a  yard,  and  you 
shall  see  nie  walk  into  the  lot  with 
nothing  hut  a  switch,  and  them  try  to 
get  between  the  brick  and  the  mortar 
with  the  funk,  —  that  is  how  fierce  they 
are;  and  they  are  not  only  cowardly, 
but  innocent,  and  affectionate  into  the 
bargain,  is  the  fierce  hyena  of  FnfToii 
and    Co.  ;  but,    indeed,   wild  animals 


348 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


are  sadly  misunderstood ;  it  is  pitia- 
ble ;  and  those  that  have  the  best 
character  deserve  it  less  than  those 
that  have  the  worst. 

In  one  German  town  I  met  with 
something  I  should  like  to  tell  the 
sporting  gents,  for  I  don't  think  there 
is  many  that  ever  fell  in  with  such  a 
thing.  But  it  is  an  old  saying  that 
what  does  happen  has  happened  before 
and  may  again,  so  I  tell  this  to  put 
them  on  their  guard,  especially  in 
Germany.  Well,  it  was  a  good  town 
for  business,  and  we  stayed  several 
days  ;  but  before  we  had  been  there 
many  hours  my  horses  turned  queer. 
Restless  they  were,  and  uneasy. 
Sweated  of  their  own  accord.  Stamped 
eternally.  One,  in  particular,  began 
to  lose  flesh.  We  examined  the  hay. 
It  seemed  particularly  good,  and  the 
oats  not  amiss.  Called  the  landlord  in, 
and  asked  him  if  he  could  account  for 
it.  He  stands  looking  at  them  ;  this 
one,  called  Dick,  was  all  in  a  lather. 
"  Well,  I  think  I  know  now,'"  said  he  ; 
"  they  are  bewitched.  You  see  there 
is  an  old  woman  in  the  next  street 
that  bewitches  cattle,  and  she  rides  on 
your  horses'  backs  all  night,  you  may 
take  your  oath."  Then  he  tells  us  a 
lot  of  stories,  whose  cow  died  after 
giving  this  old  wench  a  rough  word, 
and  how  she  had  been  often  seen  to  go 
across  the  meadows  in  the  shape  of  a 
hare.  "  She  has  a  spite  against  me, 
the  old  sorceress,"  says  he.  "  She 
has  been  at  them  :  you  had  better  send 
for  the  pastor."  "  Go  for  the  farrier^ 
Jem,"  says  L  So  we  had  in  the  far- 
rier. He  sat  on  the  bin  and  smoked 
his  pipe  in  dead  silence,  looking  at 
them.  "  They  seem  a  little  fidgety," 
says  he,  after  about  half  an  hour.  So 
I  turned  him  out  of  the  stable.  And  I 
was  in  two  minds  about  punching  his 
head,  I  was.  "  Send  for  the  veteri- 
nary surgeon,  No.  1."  He  came. 
"  They  have  got  some  disorder,"  says 
he,  "  that  is  plain ;  nostrils  are  clear, 
too.  Let  me  see  them  eat."  They 
took  their  food  pretty  well.  Then  he 
asked  where  we  came  from  last.  I 
told  him.     "  Well,"  said  he,  cheerful- 


ly, "  this  is  a  murrain,  I  think.  In  this 
country  we  do  invent  a  new  murrain 
about  every  twenty  years.  We  are 
about  due  now."  He  spoke  English, 
this  one, — quite  a  fine  gentleman. 
One  of  the  grooms  put  in,  "  I  think 
the  water  is  poisoned."  "Any  way," 
says  another,  "  Dick  will  die  if  we  stay 
here."  So  then  they  both  pressed  me 
to  leave  the  town.  "  You  know,  gov- 
ernor, we  can't  afford  to  lose  the 
horses."  Now  I  was  clearing  ten 
pounds  a  day  in  the  place,  and  all  ex- 
penses paid  :  so  I  looked  blank.  So 
did  the  veterinary.  "  I  would  n't  go," 
says  he ;  "  wait  a  day  or  two  ;  then 
the  disease  will  declare  itself,  and 
we  shall  know  what  we  are  doing." 
You  see,  gents,  he  did  not  relish  my 
taking  a  murrain  out  of  his  town  ;  ho 
was  a  veterinary.  "  Whatever  it  is," 
says  he,  "you  brought  it  with  you." 
"  Well,  now,"  said  I,  "  my  opinion  is 
I  found  it  here.  Did  you  notice  any- 
thing at  the  last  place,  Nick?" 
"  No  "  :  the  grooms  botli  bore  me  out. 
"  Oh !  "  says  the  vet.,  "  you  can't  go 
by  that :  it  had  not  declared  itself." 
Well,  if  you  will  believe  me  (I  often 
laugh  when  I  think  of  it),  it  was  not 
two  minutes  after  he  said  that  that  it 
did  declare  itself.  It  was  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  Nick  had  got  a  clean  shirt  on. 
Nick  was  currying  the  very  horso 
called  Dick,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the 
sleeve  of  his  white  shirt  looked  dirty. 
"  What  now  ?  "  cries  he,  and  comes 
to  the  light.  "  I  do  believe  it  is  ver- 
min," says  he,  "  and  if  it  is  they  are 
eaten  up  with  it."  "Vermin?  What 
vermin  can  that  be?"  said  I;  "have  we 
invented  a  new  vermin,  too  1  "  They 
were  no  bigger  than  pins'  points, — 
looked  like  dust  on  his  shirt.  "  What 
do  you  say,  sir,  —  is  it  vermin  ?  " 
"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  says  the  vet. 
"  These  are  poultry-lice,  unless  I  am 
mistaken.  Have  you  any  hens  any- 
where near  ?  "  Both  the  grooms 
burst  out,  "  Hens  1  why,  there  are  full 
a  hundred  up  in  the  hay-loft."  So 
that  was  the  murrain.  The  hens  had 
been  tumbling  in  the  hay ;  the  hay 
came  down  to  the  rack  all  alive  with 


JACK   OF  ALL   TRADES. 


319 


their  vermin ;  and  the  vermin  were 
eating  the  horses.  We  stopped  that 
supply  of  hay  ;  and  what  with  curry- 
ing, and  washing  with  a  solut.  the  vet. 
gave  us,  we  cured  that  murrain,  — 
chicken-pox,  if  any.  We  had  a  little 
scene  at  going  away  from  this  place. 
Landlord  had  agreed  to  charge  noth- 
ing for  the  use  of  stabling,  we  spent  so 
much  in  other  ways  with  him.  In 
spite  of  that,  he  put  it  down  at  the 
foot  of  the  list.  I  would  not  pay. 
"  You  must."  "  I  won't."  "  Then 
you  sha'  n't  go  till  you  do  " ;  and  with 
that  he  and  his  servants  closed  the 
great  gates.  The  yard  was  entered 
by  two  great  double  doors  like  barn 
doors,  secured  outside  by  a  stout  beam. 
So  there  he  had  us  fast.  It  got  wind, 
and  there  was  the  whole  population 
hooting  outside,  three  thousand  strong. 
Then  it  was,  "  Come,  don't  be  a  fool." 

"  Don't  you  be  a  fool." 

"  Stand  dear,"  said  I  to  the  man  ; 
"  we  will  alter  our  usual  line  of  march 
this  time ;  I  '11  take  Djek  from  the 
rear  to  the  front."  So  they  all  formed 
behind  me  and  Djek,  two  carriages,  i 
and  six  horses,  all  in  order.  "  Now," 
said  I,  "  landlord,  you  have  had  your 
joke,  open  the  door,  and  let  us  part 
friends ;  we  have  been  with  you  a 
week,  you  know,  and  you  have  had 
one  profit  out  of  us,  and  another  out 
of  the  townsfolk  we  brought  to  your 
bar.     Open  the  door." 

"  Pay  me  my  bill,  and  I  '11  open," 
says  lie.  "  If  I  turned  away  one  trav- 
eller from  my  stahlc  for  you  I  've 
turned  away  twenty." 

"  A  bargain  is  a  bargain.  Will 
you  open  before  she  knocks  your  door 
into  toothpicks  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  '11  risk  my  door  if  you  '11 
risk  your  beast.  No,  I  won't  open 
till  I  am  paid." 

"  (  Mice,  will  you  open  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Twice,  will  you  open  1   Thrice  ?  " 

"No." 

"Djek  — Go!" 

She  walked  lazily  at  the  door,  as  if 
she  did  not  see  it.  The  moment  she 
touched    it   both    doors   were    in    the 


road  ;  the  beam  was  in  half  in  the 
road.  Most  times  one  thing  stands, 
another  goes  ;  here  it  all  went  bodily 
on  all  sides  like  paper  on  a  windy 
day,  and  the  people  went  fastest  of  all. 
There  was  the  yell  of  a  multitude  un- 
der our  noses,  then  an  empty  street 
under  our  eyes.  Wc  marched  on  calm, 
majestical,  and  unruffled,  beneath  the 
silent  night. 

Doors  and  bolts,  indeed,  to  a  lady 
that  had  stepped  through  a  brick  wall 
before  that  day,  —  an  English  brick 
wall. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

From  Strasbourg  I  determined  to 
go  into  Switzerland ;  ahove  all,  to 
Geneva.  I  could  not  help  it.  In 
due  course  of  time  and  travel  I  ar- 
rived near  Geneva,  and  sent  forward 
my  green  and  gold  avant-couricrs ; 
but,  alas  !  they  returned  with  the 
doleful  news  that  elephants  were  not 
admitted  into  that  ancient  city.  The 
last  elephant  that  had  been  there  had 
done  mischief,  and,  at  the  request  of 
its  proprietor,  Madlle.  Gamier,  a 
young  lady  whose  conscience  smote 
her,  for  she  had  another  elephant  that 
killed  one  or  two  people  in  Venice, 
was  publicly  executed  in  the  fortress.* 

Fortunately  (as  I  then  thought),  I 
had  provided  myself  with  testimonials 
from  the  mayor  and  governors  of 
some  score  of  towns  through  which 
we  had  passed.  I  produced  these,  and 
made  friends  in  the  town,  particularly 
with  a  Dr.  Mayo.  At  last  we  wero 
admitted.  Djek  was  proved  a  dove 
by  such  overpowering  testimony.  I 
had  now  paid  M.  Iluguct  six  thousand 
franca  and  found  myself  possessed  of 
five  thousand  more.  Business  was 
very  good  in  Geneva.  Djek  was  very 
popular.  Her  intelligence  and  amia- 
bility hecame  a  by-word.  1  had  but 
one   bitter    disappointment,    though. 

*  They  jrave  this  elephant  an  ounce  of 
pruasic  acid  and  an  ounce  of  arsenic  ;  neither 
of  these  sedatives  producing  any  effect,  they 
(lred  u  cauuou-ball  through  Iter  neck. 


350 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


Madllc. never  came  to  see  us,  and 

I  wai  too  sulky  and  too  busy  to  hunt 
for  her.  Besides,  I  said  to  myself, 
"  All  the  world  can  find  me,  and  if 
she  cared  a  button  for  me  she  would 
come  to  light."  I  tried  to  turn  it  off 
with  the  old  song, 

"  Now  get  ye  gone,  ye  scornful  dame  ; 
If  you  are  proud,  I  'II  be  the  same. 
;         I  make  no  doubt  that  I  shall  find 
As  pretty  a  girl  uato  my  mind." 

Behold  me  now  at  the  climax  of 
prosperity,  dressed  like  a  gentleman, 
driving  a  pair  of  horses,  proprietor  of 
a  whole  cavalcade  and  of  an  elephant, 
and,  after  clearing  all  expenses,  mak- 
ing at  the  rate  of  full  £  600  per  annum. 
There  was  a  certain  clergyman  of  the 
place  used  to  visit  us  about  every  day, 
and  bring  her  cakes  and  things  to  cat, 
till  he  got  quite  fond  of  her,  and  be- 
lieved that  she  returned  his  affection. 
I  used  to  beg  him  not  to  go  so  close 
to  her.  On  this,  his  answer  was, 
"  Why,  you  say  she  is  harmless  as  a 
chicken  "  ;  so  then  I  had  no  more  to 
say.  Well,  one  unlucky  day  I  turned 
my  back  for  a  moment ;  before  I 
could  get  back  there  were  the  old 
sounds,  a  snort  of  rage,  and  a  cry  of 
terror,  and  there  was  the  poor  minis- 
ter in  her  trunk.  At  sight  of  me  she 
dropped  him,  but  two  of  his  ribs  were 
broken,  and  he  was  quite  insensible, 
and  the  people  rushed  out  in  terror. 
We  raised  the  clergyman  and  carried 
him  home,  and  in  half  an  hour  a  mob 
was  before  the  door,  and  stones  as  big 
as  your  fists  thrown  in  at  the  win- 
dows :  this,  however,  was  stopped  by 
the  authorities.  But  the  next  (lay  my 
lady  was  arrested  and  walked  off  to 
the  fortress,  and  there  confined.  I 
remonstrated,  expostulated,  in  vain. 
I  had  now  to  feed  her  and  no  return 
from  her :  ruin  stared  me  in  the  face. 
So  I  went  to  law  with  the  authorities. 
Law  is  slow,  and  Djck  was  eating  all 
the  time.  Ruin  looked  nearer  still. 
The  law  ate  my  green  and  gold  ser- 
vants and  horses,  and  still  Djck  re- 
mained in  ijnod.  Then  I  refused  to 
feed  her  any  longer,  and  her  expenses 
fell  upon  the  town.     Her  appetite  and 


their  poverty  soon  brought  matters  to 
a  climax.  They  held  a  sort  of  mu- 
nicipal tribunal,  and  tried  her  for  an. 
attempt  at  homicide.  I  got  counsel  to 
defend  her,  for  I  distrusted  my  own 
temper  and  French. 

I  can't  remember  half  the  fine  things 
he  said,  but  there  was  one  piece  of 
common  sense  I  do  remember.  He 
said  :  "  The  animal,  I  believe,  is  un- 
conscious of  her  great  strength,  and 
has  committed  a  fatal  error  rather 
than  a  crime ;  still,  if  you  think  she  is 
liable  to  make  such  errors,  let  her  die 
rather  than  kill  men.  But  how  do 
you  reconcile  to  your  consciences  to 
punish  her  proprietor,  to  rob  him  of 
his  subsistence '?  He  has  committed 
no  crime,  he  has  been  guilty  of  no 
want  of  caution.  If,  therefore,  you 
take  upon  yourselves  to  punish  the 
brute,  be  honest !  buy  her  of  the  man 
first,  and  then  assert  your  sublime 
office,  —  destroy  an  animal  that  has 
offended  morality.  But  a  city  should 
be  above  wronging  or  robbing  an  in- 
dividual." When  he  sat  down  I 
thought  my  homicide  was  safe,  for  I 
knew  Geneva  could  not  afford  to  buy 
an  elephant  without  it  was  out  of  a 
Noah's  ark. 

But  up  gets  an  orator  on  the  other 
side  and  attacked  me  ;  accused  me  of 
false  representations,  of  calling  a  de- 
mon a  duck.  "  We  have  certain  in- 
formation from  France  that  this  ele- 
phant has  been  always  wounding  and 
killing  men  up  and  down  Europe 
these  twenty  years.  Mons.  Lott 
knew  this  by  universal  report,  and 
by  being  an  eye-witness  of  more  than 
one  man's  destruction."  Here  there 
was  a  sensation,  I  can  tell  you.  "  He 
has,  therefore,  forfeited  all  claims  to 
consideration."  Then  he  thundered 
out :  "  Let  no  man  claim  to  be  wiser 
than  Holy  Writ ;  there  we  are  told 
that  a  lie  is  a  crime  of  the  very  deep- 
est dye,  and  here  we  see  how  for  years 
falsehood  has  been  murder."  Then  I 
mind  he  took  just  the  opposite  line  to 
my  defender.  Says  he  :  "  If  I  hesitate 
for  a  moment,  it  is  not  for  the  man's 
sake,  but  lor  the  brute's ;  but  I  do  not 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


OJl 


hesitate.  I  could  wish  so  majestic  a 
creature  might  be  spared  for  our  in- 
struction," says  he,  "  that  so  wonder- 
ful a  specimen  of  the  Creator's  skill 
might  still  walk  the  earth;  but  rea- 
son, and  justice,  and  humanity  say 
*'  No.'  There  is  an  animal  far  small- 
er, yet  ten  times  more  important,  tor 
he  lias  a  soul ;  and  this,  the  king  of 
all  the  animals,  is  not  safe  while  she 
lives ;  therefore  she  ought  to  die. 
Weaker  far  than  her  in  his  individ- 
ual strength,  he  is  a  thousand  times 
stronger  by  combination  and  science, 
—  therefore  she  will  die." 

When  this  infernal  chatterbox  shut 
up,  my  heart  sunk  into  my  shoes.  He 
was  a  prig,  but  an  eloquent  one,  and 
he  walked  into  Djek  and  me  till  we 
were  not  worth  half  an  hour's  pur- 
chase. 

Eor  all  that,  the  council  did  not 
come  to  a  decision  on  the  spot,  and  I 
believe  that  if  Djek  had  but  been  con- 
tent to  kill  the  laity  as  heretofore,  we 
should  have  scraped  through  with  a 
fine  ;  but  the  fool  must  go  and  tear 
black  doth,  and  dig  her  own  grave. 

Two  days  after  the  trial,  out  came 
the  sentence,  —  Death  ! 

With  that  modesty  and  good  feel- 
ing which  belongs  to  most  foreign 
governments,  they  directed  me  to  exe- 
cute their  sentence. 

My  answer  came  in  English.  "  I  '11 
see  you  d — d,  and  double  d — d  first, 
and  then  I  won't." 

Meantime  Huguet  was  persecuting 
poor  heart-sick  me  for  the  remainder 
of  her  purchase  -  money,  and,  what 
with  the  delay,  the  expenses,  and  the 
anxiety,  I  was  so  down  and  so  at  the 
end  of  my  wits  and  m y  patience,  that 
her  sentence  fell  on  me  like  a  blow  on 
a  chap  that  is  benumbed,  —  produced 
l<^s  effect  upon  me  at  the  time  than  it 
does  when  I  think  of  it  now. 

Well,  — curse  them!  —  one  fine 
morning  they  ran  a  cannon  up  to  the 
gate,  loaded  it  and  bade  me  call  the 
elephant,  and  bring  her  into  a  favora- 
ble position  for  being  shot.  I  refused 
point-blank  in  English  as  before. 
They  threatened  me  lor  my  contuma- 


cy. I  answered  they  might  shoot  me 
if  they  liked,  but  I  would  not  be  the 
one  to  destroy  my  own  livelihood. 

So  they  had  to  watch  their  oppor- 
tunity. 

It  was  not  long  of  coming. 

She  began  to  walk  about,  and  pres- 
ently the  poor  fool  marched  right  up 
to  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  squinted 
down  it.  Then  she  turned,  and  at 
last  she  crossed  right  before  it.  The 
gunner  took  the  opportunity,  applied 
his  linstock,  and  fired.  There  was  a 
great  tongue  of  flame,  and  a  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  through  the  smoke  some- 
thing as  big  as  a  house  was  seen  to  go 
down  ;  the  very  earth  trembled  at  the 
shock. 

The  smoke  cleared  in  a  moment, 
and  there  lay  Djek.  She  never  moved. 
The  round  shot  went  clean  through 
her  body,  and  struck  the  opposite  wall 
with  great  force.  It  was  wonderful 
and  sad  to  see  so  huge  a  creature 
robbed  of  her  days  in  a  moment  by  a 
spark.     There  she  lay,  —  poor  Djek. 

In  one  moment  I  forgot  all  her 
faults.  She  was  an  old  companion  of 
mine  in  many  a  wet  day  and  dreary 
night.  She  was  reputation  to  me,  and 
a  clear  six  hundred  a  year ;  and  then 
she  was  so  clever  !  We  shall  never  see 
her  like  again  ;  and  there  she  lay.  I 
mourned  over  her,  right  or  wrong,  and 
have  never  been  the  same  man  since 
that  shot  was  fired. 

The  butchery  done,  I  was  informed 
by  the  municipal  authorities  that  the 
carcass  was  considered,  upon  the 
whole,  to  be  my  property.  The  next 
moment  I  had  two  hundred  applica- 
tions for  elephant  steaks  from  the 
pinch-gut  natives,  who,  I  believe, 
knew  gravy  by  tradition  and  romances 
that  had  come  all  the  way  from  Paris. 
Knives  and  scales  went  to  work,  and, 
with  the  tears  running  down  my 
checks,  I  sold  her  beef  at  four  sous 
per  pound  for  about  .£40  sterling. 

This  done,  all  my  occupation  was 
gone.  Geneva  was  no  placo  for  me, 
and  as  the  worthy  Huguet,  whose  life 
I  had  saved,  threatened  to  arrest  mo, 
I  determined  to  go  back  to   England 


'352 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


and  handicraft.  Two  days  after  Djek's 
death  I  was  hanging  sorrowfully  over 
the  bridge,  when  some  one  drew  near 
to  me  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  Mons. 
Lott.  I  had  no  need  to  look  up.  I 
knew  the  voice;  it  was  my  lost  sweet- 
heart. She  spoke  very  kindly,  blushed, 
and  welcomed  me  to  her  native  coun- 
try. She  did  more ;  she  told  me  she 
lived  five  miles  from  Geneva,  and  in- 
vited me  to  visit  her  mother.  She 
took  occasion  to  let  me  know  that  her 
father  was  dead :  "  My  mother  re- 
fuses me  nothing,"  she  added,  with 
another  blush.  This  was  all  like  a 
dream  to  me.  The  next  day  I  visited 
her  and  her  mother,  and  was  cordially 
received ;  in  short,  it  was  made  clear 
to  me  that  my  misfortune  had  en- 
deared me  to  this  gem  of  a  girl  in- 
stead of  repelling  her.  An  uncle,  too, 
had  died,  and  left  her  three  hundred 
pounds,  and  this  made  her  bolder 
still ;  and  she  did  not  conceal  her  re- 
gard for  me.  She  told  me  she  had 
seen  me  once  in  Geneva  driving  two 
showy  horses  in  a  carriage,  and  look- 
ing like  a  nobleman,  and  so  had  hesi- 
tated to  claim  the  acquaintance  ;  but 
hearing  the  elephant's  execution,  and 
guessing  that  I  could  no  longer  be  on 
the  high-road  to  fortune,  she  had  obeyed 
her  heart,  and  been  the  first  to  remind 
me  I  had  once  esteemed  her. 

In  short,  a  Pearl. 

I  made  her  a  very  bad  return  for  so 
much  goodness.  I  went  and  married 
her.  We  then  compounded  with  Hu- 
guet  for  three  thousand  francs,  and 
sailed  for  England  to  begin  the  world 
again. 

The  moment  I  got  to  London,  I 
made  for  the  Seven  Dials  to  see  my 
friend  Paley. 

On  the  way  I  met  a  mutual  ac- 
quaintance ;  told  him  where  I  was  go- 
ing, —  red-hot. 

He  shook  his  head  and  said  noth- 
ing. 

A  chill  came  over  me.  If  you  had 
stuck  a  knife  in  me  I  should  n't  have 
bled.  I  gasped  out  some  sort  of  in- 
quiry. 

"  Why,  you   know   he  was   not  a 


young  man,"  says  he ;  and  he  looked 
down. 

That  was  enough  for  such  an  un- 
lucky one  as  me.  I  began  to  cry  di- 
rectly. "  Don't  ye  take  on,"  says  he. 
"  Old  man  died  happy.  Come  home 
with  me  ;  my  wife  will  tell  you  more 
about  it  than  I  can." 

I  was  loath  to  go  ;  but  he  persuad- 
ed me.  His  wife  told  me  the  old  gen- 
tleman spoke  of  me  to  the  last,  and 
had  my  letters  read  out,  and  boasted 
of  my  success. 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  he  would  rise  ?  " 
he  used  to  say  ;  and  then,  it  seems,  he 
made  much  of  some  little  presents  I 
had  sent  him  from  Paris,  and  them 
such  trifles  compared  with  what  I  owed 
him  :  "  Does  n't  forget  old-  friends, 
now  he  is  at  the  top  of  the  tree  "  ;  and 
then  burst  out  praising  me,  by  all  ac- 
counts. 

So,  then,  it  was  a  little  bit  of  com- 
fort to  think  he  had  died  while  I  was 
prosperous,  and  that  my  disappoint- 
ment had  never  reached  his  warm  and 
feeling  heart. 

A  workman  has  little  time  to  grieve 
outwardly;  he  must  dry  his  eyes 
quickly,  let  his  heart  be  ever  so  sad, 
or  he  '11  look  queer  when  Saturday 
night  comes.  You  can't  make  a  work- 
manlike joint  with  the  tear  in  your 
eye ;  one  half  the  joiners  can't  do  it 
with  their  glasses  on.  And  I  was  a 
workman  once  more ;  I  had  to  end  as 
I  began. 

I  returned  to  the  violin  trade,  and, 
by  a  very  keen  attention  to  its  mys- 
teries, I  made  progress,  and,  having  a 
foreign  connection,  I  imported  and 
sold  to  English  dealers,  as  well  as 
made,  varnished,  and  doctored  violins. 
But  soon  the  trade,  through  foreign 
competition,  declined  to  a  desperate 
state.  I  did  not  despair,  but,  to  eke 
out,  I  set  my  wife  up  in  a  china  and 
curiosity  shop  in  Wardour  Street,  and 
worked  at  my  own  craft  in  the  hack 
parlor.  I  had  no  sooner  done  this 
than  the  writers  all  made  it  their  busi- 
ness to  sneer  at  Wardour  Street,  and 
now  nobody  dares  buy  in  that  street  ; 
so,  since  I  began  this  tale,  we  have 


JACK   OF   ALL  TRADES. 


353 


closed  the  shop,  —  it  only  wasted  their 
time,  —  they  are  much  better  out  walk- 
ing, and  getting  fresh  air,  at  least,  for 
their  trouble.  I  attend  sales,  and  nev- 
er lose  a  chance  of  turning  a  penny  ; 
at  home  I  make,  and  mend,  and  doc- 
tor fiddles  ;  I  carve  wood  ;  I  clean 
pictures  and  gild  frames  ;  I  cut  out 
fruit  and  flowers  in  leather ;  I  teach 
ladies  and  gentlemen  to  gild  at  so 
much  a  lesson  ;  and  by  these  and  a 
score  more  of  little  petty  arts  I  just 
keep  the  pot  boiling. 

I  am,  as  I  have  been  all  my  life,  so- 
ber, watchful,  enterprising,  energetic, 
and  unlucky. 

In  early  "life  I  played  for  a  great 
stake,  —  affluence. 

I  think  I  may  say  I  displayed  in  the 
service  of  Djek  some  of  those  qualities 
by  which,  unless  books  are  false,  men 
have  won  campaigns  and  battles,  and 


reaped  fortunes  and  reputations  :  re- 
sult in  my  case,  a  cannon-shot  fired  in 
a  dirty  little  village,  calling  itself  a  city, 
in  a  country  that  Yorkshire  could  eat 
up  and  spit  out  again,  after  all  the 
great  kingdoms  and  repubs.  had  ad- 
mired her  and  forgiven  her  her  one 
defect  —  a  tongue  of  fire —  a  puff  of 
smoke  —  and  all  the  perils,  labor, 
courage,  and  perseverance  of  eleven 
years  blown  away  like  dust  to  the 
four  winds  of  Heaven. 

I  am  now  playing  for  a  smaller 
stake  ;  but  I  am  now,  as  usual,  play- 
ing my  very  best.  I  am  bending  all 
my  experience  of  work  and  trade,  all 
my  sobriety,  activity,  energy,  and  care, 
all  my  cunning  of  eye  and  hand,  to  one 
end,  —  not  to  die  in  the  workhouse. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  workman 
has  said  his  say,  and  I  hope  the  com- 
pany have  been  amused. 


THE  END. 


A    SIMPLETON. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  YOUNG  lady  sat  pricking  a 
framed  canvas  in  the  drawing- 
room  of  Kent  Villa,  a  mile  from 
Gravesend.  She  was  making,  at  a 
cost  of  time  and  tinted  wool,  a  chair- 
cover,  admirably  unfit  to  be  sat  up- 
on—  except  by  some  peevish  artist 
bent  on  obliterating  discordant  col- 
ors. To  do  her  justice,  her  mind 
was  not  in  her  work;  for  she  rustled 
softly  with  restlessness  as  she  sat, 
and  she  rose  three  times  in  twenty 
minutes,  and  went  to  the  window. 
Thence  she  looked  down  over  a 
trim  flowery  lawn,  and  long  sloping 
meadows,  on  to  the  silver  Thames, 
alive  with  steamboats  ploughing, 
white  sails  bellying,  and  great  ships 
carrying  to  and  fro  the  treasures  of 
the  globe.  From  this  fair  landscape 
and  epitome  of  commerce  she  retired 
each  time  with  listless  disdain.  She 
was  waiting  tor  somebody. 

Yet  she  was  one  of  those  whom 
few  men  care  to  keep  waiting.  Ko- 
s;i  Lusignan  was  a  dark  but  dazzling 
beauty,  with  coal-black  hair  and 
glorious  dark  eyes  that  seemed  to 
beam  with  soul  all  day  long ;  her 
eyebrows,    black,    Btraightish,    and 

rather  thick,  would  have  been  majes- 
tic, and  too  severe,  had  the  other 
features  followed  Suit  ;  but  her  black 
brows  were  Miccceiled  by  lone;  silky 
lashes,  a  sweet  oval  face,  two  pout- 


ing lips  studded  with  ivory,  and  an 
exquisite  chin,  as  feeble  as  any  man 
could  desire  in  the  partner  of  his 
bosom.  Person  straight,  elastic, 
and  rather  tall.  Mind,  nineteen. 
Accomplishments,  numerous :  a  poor 
French  scholar,  a  worse  German,  a 
worst  English  ;  an  admirable  dancer, 
an  inaccurate  musician,  a  good  rider, 
a  bad  draughtswoman  ;  a  bad  hair- 
dresser, at  the  mercy  of  her  maid  ;  a 
hot  theologian,  knowing  nothing ;  a 
sorry  accountant,  no  housekeeper, 
no  seamstress,  a  fair  embroideress, 
a  capital  geographer,  and  no  cook. 

Collectively,  namely,  mind  and 
body,  the  girl  we  kneel  to. 

This  ornamental  member  of  soci- 
ety now  glanced  at  the  clock  once 
more,  and  then  glided  to  the  window 
for  the  fourth  time.  She  peeped  at 
the  side  a  good  while  with  superflu- 
ous slyness,  or  shyness  ;  and  present- 
ly she  drew  back,  blushing  crimson  : 
then  she  peeped  again,  still  more 
furtively,  then  retired  softly  to  her 
frame,  and,  lor  the  first  time,  set  to 
work  in  earnest.  As  she  plied  her 
harpoon,  smiling  now,  the  large  and 
vivid  blush  that  had  suffused  her 
lace  and  throat  turned  from  carna- 
tion to  rose,  and  melted  away  slowly 
but  perceptibly,  and  ever  so  sweetly  ; 
and  somebody  knocked  at  the  street- 
door. 

The  blow  seemed  to  drive  her 
deeper  into  her  work.     She  leaned 


A   SIMPLETON. 


over  it,  graceful  as  a  willow,  and  so 
absorbed  she  could  not  even  see  the 
door  of  the  room  open,  and  Dr. 
Staines  come  in. 

All  the  better ;  her  not  perceiving 
that  slight  addition  to  her  furniture 
gives  me  a  moment  to  describe  him. 

A  young  man,  five  feet  eleven 
inches  high,  very  square-shouldered 
and  deep-chested,  but  so  symmetrical 
and  light  in  his  movements  that  his 
size  hardly  struck  one  at  first.  He 
was  smooth  shaved,  all  but  a  short, 
thick  auburn  whisker  ;  his  hair  was 
brown.  His  features  no  more  than 
comely;  the  brow  full ;  the  eyes  wide 
apart  and  deep-seated  ;  the  lips  rath- 
er thin,  but  expressive ;  the  chin 
solid  and  square.  It  was  a  face  of 
power,  and  capable  of  harshness,  but 
leavened  by  an  eye  of  an  unusual 
color,  between  hazel  and  gray,  and 
wonderfully  tender.  In  complexion 
he  could  not  compare  with  ltosa :  his 
cheek  was  clear  but  pale ;  for  few 
young  men  had  studied  night  and 
day  so  constantly.  Though  but 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  he  was  lit- 
erally a  learned  physician,  deep  in 
hospital  practice,  deep  in  books,  es- 
pecially deep  in  German  science,  — 
too  often  neglected  or  skimmed  by 
English  physicians.  He  had  deliv- 
ered a  course  of  lectures  at  a  learned 
university  with  general  applause. 

As  my  reader  has  divined,  Rosa 
was  preparing  the  comedy  of  a  cool 
reception  ;  but,  looking  up,  she  saw 
his  pale  cheek  tinted  with  a  lover's 
beautiful  joy  at  the  bare  sight  of  her, 
and  bis  soft  eye  so  divine  with  love 
that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  chill 
him.  She  gave  him  her  hand  kind- 
ly, and  smiled  brightly  on  him  in- 
stead of  remonstrating.  She  lost 
nothing  by  it;  for  the  very  first  thing 
he  did  was  to  excuse  himself  eagerly. 
"  I  am  behind  time :  the  fact  is,  just 
as  I  was  mounting  my  horse,  a  poor 
man  came  to  the  gate  to  consult  me. 
He  had  a  terrible  disorder  I  have 
sometimes  succeeded  in  arresting. 
I  attack  the  cause  instead  of  the 
6ymptums;  which  is  the  old  practice 


and  so  that  detained  me.  You  for- 
give me  ? " 

"  Of  course.  Poor  man  !  Only 
you  said  you  wanted  to  see  papa, 
and  he  always  goes  out  at  two." 

When  she  had  been  betrayed  into 
saying  this,  she  drew  in  suddenly, 
and  blushed  with  a  pretty  conscious- 
ness. 

"  Then  don't  let  me  lose  another 
minute,"  said  the  lover.  "  Have  you 
prepared  him  for  —  for  what  I  am 
going  to  have  the  audacity  to  say  ?  " 

Rosa  answered,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, "  I  must  have,  a  little.  When 
I  refused  Col.  Bright  —  you  need  not 
devour  my  hand  quite;  he  is  for- 
ty." 

Her  sentence  ended ;  and  away 
went  the  original  topic,  and  gram- 
matical sequence  along  with  it. 
Christopher  Staines  recaptured  them 
both.  "  Yes,  dear,  when  you  re- 
fused Col.  Bright  — 

"  Well,  papa  was  astonished ;  for 
everybody  says  the  colonel  is  a 
most  eligible  match.  Don't  you 
hate  that  expression  1  I  do.  Eligi- 
ble ! " 

Christopher  made  due  haste,  and 
recaptured  her.  "  Yes,  love,  your 
papa  said  "  — 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  tell  you. 
He  asked  me  was  there  anybody 
else ;  and  of  course  I  said,  '  No.' " 

"Oh!" 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing !  I  had  not 
time  to  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  the 
truth.  I  was  taken  by  surprise;  and 
you  know  one's  first  impulse  is  to 
fib  —  about  that." 

"  But  did  you  really  deceive 
him  ?  " 

"No.  I  blushed;  and  he  caught 
me  :  so  he  said,  '  Come  now,  there 
was.' " 

"  And  you  said,  '  Yes,  there  is,' 
like  a  brave  girl  as  you  are." 

"  What !  plump  like  that?  No  : 
I  was  frightened  out  of  my  wits, 
like  a  brave  girl  as  I  am  not,  and 
said  I  should  never  marry  any  one 
he  could  disapprove ;  and  then  — 
oh !  then  I  believe  I  began  to  cry. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


Christopher,  I'll  tell  you  something. 
1  liad  people  leave  off  teasing  you 
when  you  cry  —  gentlemen,  I  mean. 
Ladies  go  on  all  the  more.  So  then 
dear  papa  kissed  me,  and  told  me  I 
must  not  be  imprudent  and  throw 
myself  away,  that  was  all ;  and  I 
promised  him  I  never  would.  I  said 
he  would  be  sure  to  approve  my 
choice,  and  he  said  he  hoped  so. 
And  so  he  will." 

Dr.  Staines  looked  thoughtful, 
and  said  he  hoped  so  too.  "  But 
now  it  comes  to  the  point  of  asking 
him  for  such  a  treasure,  I  feel  my 
deliciencies." 

"  Why,  what  deficiencies  ?  You 
arc  young  and  handsome  and  good, 
and  ever  so  much  cleverer  than  oth- 
er people.  You  have  only  to  ask  for 
me,  and  insist  on  having  me.  Come, 
dear,  go  and  get  it  over."  She  add- 
ed, mighty  coolly,  "  There  is  noth- 
ing so  dreadful  as  suspense." 

"  I'll  go  this  minute,"  said  he, 
and  took  a  step  toward  the  door  ; 
but  he  turned,  and  in  a  moment  was 
at  her  knees.  He  took  both  her 
h  inds  in  his,  and  pressed  them  to 
his  beating  bosom,  while  his  beauti- 
ful eyes  poured  love  into  hers  point 
blank.  "  May  I  tell  him  you  love 
me  '.  Oh!  I  know  you  cannot  love 
me  as  I  love  you ;  but  I  may  say 
you  love  me  a  little,  may  I  not  ? 
That  will  go  farther  with  him  than 
any  thing  else.  May  I,  liosa,  may 
I?— a  little?" 

His  passion  mastered  her.  She 
drooped  her  head  sweetly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  murmured,  "  You 
know  you  may,  my  own.  Who 
would  not  love  you  ?  " 

He  parted  lingering!?  from  her, 
then  marched  away,  bold  with  love 
and  hope,  to  demand  her  hand  in 
marriage. 

Rosa  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
and  quivered  a  little  with  new  emo- 
tions. Christopher  was  right  :  she 
was  not  capable  of  loving  like  him  ; 
hut    still    tiic   actual    contai  t    of   BO 

strong  a  passion  made  her  woman's 
nature  vibrate.     A  dewy  tear  hung 


on  the  fringes  of  her  long  lashes ; 
and  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
and  fluttered  a  while. 

That  emotion,  almost  new  to  her, 
soon  yielded,  in  her  girlish  mind,  to 
a  complacent  languor,  and  that,  in 
its  turn,  to  a  soft  reverie.  So  she 
was  going  to  be  married !  To  be 
mistress  of  a  house,  settle  in  Lon- 
don ( that  she  had  quite  determined 
long  ago  ) ;  be  able  to  go  out  into 
the  streets  all  alone,  to  shop  or  visit  ; 
have  a  gentleman  all  her  own,  whom 
she  could  put  her  finger  on  any 
moment,  and  make  him  take  her 
about,  even  to  the  opera  and  the 
theatre ;  to  give  dinner-parties  her 
own  self,  and  even  a  little  ball  once 
in  a  way;  to  buy  whatever  dresses 
she  thought  proper,  instead  of  being 
crippled  by  an  allowance  ;  have  the 
legal  right  of  speaking  first  in  soci- 
ety, even  to  gentlemen  rich  in  ideas 
but  bad  starters,  instead  of  sitting 
mum-chance  and  mock-modest ;  to 
be  mistress  instead  of  miss  —  con- 
temptible title ;  to  be  a  woman  in- 
stead of  a  girl ;  and  all  this  rational 
liberty,  domestic  power,  and  social 
dignity  were  to  be  obtained  by  mere- 
ly wedding  a  dear  fellow  who  loved 
her,  and  was  so  nice:  and  the  bright 
career  to  be  ushered  in  with  several 
delights,  each  of  them  dear  to  a 
girl's  very  soul,  —  presents  from  all 
her  friends;  as  many  beautiful  new 
dresses  as  if  she  was  changing  her 
body  or  her  hemisphere  instead  of 
her  name  ;  &hd  :  going  to  church, 
which  is  a  good  English  girl's  thea- 
tre of  display  and  temple  of  vanity, 
and  there  famine,  delightful  publicity 
and  whispered  admiration,  in  a  heav- 
enly long  veil,  which  she  could  not 
wear  even  once  if  she  remained  sin- 
gle. 

This  bright  variegated  picture  of 
holy  wedloek  and  its  essential  fea- 
tures, as  revealed  to  young  ladies  by 
feminine  tradition,  though  not  enu- 
merated in  the  Hook  of  Common 
Prayer  composed  by  males,  so  en- 
tranced her  that  time  llew  by  un- 
heeded,   and    Christopher     Staineo 


A   SIMPLETON. 


came  back  from  her  father.  His 
step  was  heavy  :  he  looked  pale  and 
deeply  distressed ;  then  stood  like  a 
statue,  and  did  not  come  close  to  her, 
but  cast  a  piteous  look,  and  gasped 
out  one  word,  that  seemed  almost  to 
choke  him,  —  "Refused  !  " 

Miss  Lusignan  rose  from  her  chair, 
and  looked  almost  wildly  at  him  with 
her  great  eyes.  "  Refused  ?  "  said 
she  faintly. 

"Yes,"  said  he  sadly.  "Your 
father  is  a  man  of  business;  and  he 
took  a  mere  business  view  of  our 
love :  he  asked  me  directly  what  pro- 
vision I  could  make  for  his  daughter 
and  her  children.  Well,  I  told  him 
I  had  three  thousand  pounds  in  the 
Funds,  and  a  good  profession  ;  and 
then  I  said  I  had  youth,  health,  and 
love,  boundless  love,  the  love  that 
can  do  or  suffer,  the  love  that  can 
conquer  the  world." 

"  Dear  Christopher  !  And  what 
could  he  say  to  all  that  1  " 

"  He  ignored  it  entirely.  There, 
I'll  give  you  his  very  words.  He 
said,  '  In  that  case,  Dr.  Staines,  the 
simple  question  is,  what  does  your 
profession  bring  you  in  per  an- 
num 1 ' " 

"  Oh  !  There,  I  always  hated 
arithmetic ;  and  now  I  abominate 
it." 

"  Then  I  was  obliged  to  confess  I 
had  scarcely  received  a  hundred 
pounds  in  fees  this  year;  but  I 
told  him  the  reason :  this  is  such 
a  small  district,  and  all  the  ground 
occupied.  London,  I  said,  was  my 
sphere." 

"  And  so  it  is,"  said  Rosa  eagerly  ; 
for  this  jumped  with  her  own  little 
designs.  "  Genius  is  wasted  in  the 
country.  Besides,  whenever  any- 
body worth  curing  is  ill  down  here, 
they  always  send  to  London  for  a 
doctor." 

"  I  told  him  so,  dearest,"  said  the 
lover.  "  But  he  answered  me  di- 
rectly, then  I  must  set  up  in  Lon- 
don ;  and,  as  soon  as  my  books 
showed  an  income  to  keep  a  wife 
and    servants    and    children,    and 


insure  my  life  for  five  thousand 
pounds " — 

"Oh,  that  is  so  like  papa  !  He  is 
director  of  an  insurance  company  ; 
so  all  the  world  must  insure  their 
lives." 

"  No,  dear,  he  was  quite  right 
there :  professional  incomes  are  most 
precarious.  Death  spares  neither 
young  nor  old,  neither  warm  hearts 
nor  cold.  I  should  be  no  true  phy- 
sician if  I  could  not  see  my  own 
mortality."  He  hung  his  head,  and 
pondered  a  moment ;  then  went  on 
sadly,  "It  all  comes  to  this:  until 
1  have  a  professional  income  of  eight 
hundred  a  year  at  least,  he  will  not 
hear  of  our  marrying  :  and  the  cruel 
thing  is,  he  will  not  even  consent  to 
an  engagement.  But,"  said  the  re- 
jected, with  a  look  of  sad  anxiety, 
"you  will  wait  for  me  without  that, 
dear  Rosa  ? " 

She  could  give  him  that  comfort ; 
and  she  gave  it  him  with  loving 
earnestness.  "  Of  course  I  will ; 
and  it  shall  not  be  very  long.  While 
you  are  making  your  fortune  to 
please  papa,  I  will  keep  fretting  and 
pouting  and  crying  till  he  sends  for 
you." 

"  Bless  you,  dearest.  Stop  !  not 
to  make  yourself  ill !  not  for  all  the 
world,"  There  spoke  the  lover  and 
the  physician. 

He  came,  all  gratitude,  to  her 
side ;  and  they  sat,  hand  in  hand, 
comforting  each  other;  indeed,  part- 
ing was  such  sweet  sorrow  that  they 
sat,  and  very  close  to  one  another, 
till  Mr.  Lusignan,  who  thought  five 
minutes  quite  enough  for  rational 
beings  to  take  leave  in,  walked  into 
the  room  and  surprised  them.  At 
sight  of  his  gray  head  and  iron- 
gray  eyebrows,  Christopher  Staines 
started  up  and  looked  confused :  he 
thought  some  apology  necessary,  so 
he  faltered  out,  "  Forgive  me,  sir ; 
it  is  a  bitter  parting  to  me,  you  may 
be  sure." 

Rosa's  bosom  heaved  at  these  sim- 
ple words.  She  flew  to  her  father, 
and   cried,    "  0   papa !   papa !  you 


A  SIMPLETON. 


5 


were  never  cruel  before,"  and  hid 
her  burning  face  on  his  shoulder ; 
and  then  burst  out  crying,  partly  for 
Christopher,  partly  because  she  was 
now  ashamed  of  herself  for  having 
taken  a  young  man's  part  so  openly. 

Mr.  Lusignan  looked  sadly  dis- 
composed at  this  outburst ;  she  had 
taken  him  by  his  weak  point;  he 
told  her  so.  "  Now,  Rosa,"  said  he, 
rather  peevishly,  "  you  know  I  hate 
a  noise." 

Rosa  had  actually  forgotten  that 
trait  for  a  single  moment;  but,  being 
reminded  of  it,  she  reduced  her  sobs 
in  the  prettiest  way,  not  to  offend  a 
tender  parent  who  could  not  bear 
noise.  Under  this  homely  term,  you 
must  know  he  included  all  scenes, 
disturbances,  rumpuses,  passions, 
and  expected  all  men,  women,  and 
things  in  Kent  Villa  to  go  smoothly, 
or  go  elsewhere. 

"  Come,  young  people,"  said  he, 
"don't  make  a  disturbance.  Where's 
the  grievance  ?  Have  I  said  he 
should  never  marry  you  ?  Have  I 
forbidden  him  to  correspond,  or  even 
to  call,  say  twice  a  year  3  All  I  say 
is,  no  marriage,  nor  contract  of  mar- 
riage, until  there  is  an  income." 
Then  he  turned  to  Christopher. 
"  Now,  if  you  can't  make  an  income 
without  her,  bow  could  you  make 
one  with  her,  weighed  down  by  the 
load  of  expenses  a  wife  entails  ?  I 
know  her  better  than  you  do.  She 
is  a  good  girl,  but  rather  luxurious 
and  sclf-indulent.  She  is  not  cut 
out.  for  a  poor  man's  wife  ;  and  pray 
don't  po  and  fancy  that  nobody  lores 
my  child  but  von.  Mine  is  not  so 
hot  as  yours,  of  course  ;  but  believe 
me.  sir,  it  is  lest  selfish.  You  would 
expose  her  to  poverty  and  misery  ; 
hut  I  say  no.  Jt  is  my  duty  to  pro- 
tect her  from  all  chance  of  them  ; 
and,  in  doing  it,  I  am  as  much  your 
friend  as  hers,  if  you  could  but  see  it. 
Come,  Dr.  Staines,  be  a  man,  and 
see  the  world  as  it  is.  I  have  told 
you  how  to  earn  my  daughter's  hand 
and  my  esteem  :  you  must  gain  both 
or  neither. 


Dr.  Staines  was  never  quite  deaf 
to  reason  :  he  now  put  his  baud  to 
his  brow,  and  said,  with  a  sort  of 
wonder  and  pitiful  dismay,  "My  love 
for  Rosa  selli.di !  Sir,  your  words 
are  bitter  and  hard."  Then,  after  a 
struggle,  and  with  rare  and  touching 
candor,  "  Ay,  but  so  are  hark  and 
steel ;  yet  they  are  good  medicines." 
Then,  with  a  great  glow  in  his  heart, 
and  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  My  darling 
shall  not  be  a  poor  man's  wife,  —  she 
who  would  adorn  a  coronet,  ay,  or 
a  crown.  Good-by,  Rosa,  for  the 
present."  He  darted  to  her,  and 
kissed  her  hand  with  all  his  soul. 
"  Oh,  the  sacrifice  of  leaving  you  !  " 
he  faltered  :  "  the  very  world  is  dark 
to  me  without  you.  Ah,  well,  I 
must  earn  the  right  to  come  again  !  " 
He  summoned  ail  his  manhood,  and 
marched  to  the  door.  There  lie 
seemed  to  turn  calmer  all  of  a  sud- 
den, and  said,  firmly  yet  humbly, 
"  I'll  try  and  show  you,  sir,  what 
love  can  do." 

"And  I'll  show  you  what  love 
can  suffer,"  said  Rosa,  folding  her 
beautiful  arms  superbly. 

It  was  not  in  her  to  have  shot  such 
a  bolt  except  in  imitation  ;  yet  how 
promptly  the  mimic  thunder  came, 
and  how  grand  the  beauty  looked, 
with  her  dark  brows  and  flashing 
eyes  and  folded  arms  !  much  grand- 
er and  more  inspired  than  poor 
Staines,  who  had  only  furnished  the 
idea. 

But  between  these  two  fipures, 
swelling  with  emotion,  the  represent- 
ative of  common  sense,  Lusignan 
pere,  stood  cool  and  impassive:  lie 
shrugged  bis  shoulders,  and  looked 
on  both  lovers  as  a  couple  of  rant- 
ing novices  he  was  saving  from  eaeh 
other  and  almshouses. 

For  all  that,  when  the  lover  had 
torn  himself  away,  papa's  compos- 
ure was  suddenly  disturbed  by  a 
misgiving.  lie  stepped  hastily  to 
the  stairhead,  and  gave  it  vent. 
"Dr.  Staines,"  said  he,  in  a  loud 
whisper  (Staines  was  hall-way 
down  the   stairs:  he    stopped),    "I 


A  SIMPLETON. 


trust  to  you,  as  a  gentleman,  not  to 
mention  this ;  it  will  never  transpire 
here.    Whatever  we  do,  no  noise  ! " 


CHAPTER  II. 

Rosa  Lusignan  set  herself  pin- 
ing as  she  had  promised,  and  she  did 
it  discreetly  for  so  young  a  person  ; 
she  was  never  peevish,  but  always 
sad  and  listless.  By  this  means  site 
did  not  anger  her  parent,  but  only 
made  him  feel  she  was  unhappy,  and 
the  house  she  had  hitherto  bright- 
ened exceeding  dismal. 

By  degrees  this  noiseless  melan- 
choly undermined  the  old  gentle- 
man ;  and  he  well  nigh  tottered. 

But  one  day,  calling  suddenly  on 
a  neighbor  with  six  daughters,  he 
heard  peals  of  laughter,  and  found 
Rosa  taking  her  full  share  of  the 
senseless  mirth.  She  pulled  up 
short  at  sight  of  him,  and  colored 
high ;  but  it  was  too  late,  for  he 
launched  a  knowing  look  at  her  on 
the  spot,  and  muttered  something 
about  seven  foolish  virgins. 

He  took  the  first  opportunity 
when  they  were  alone,  and  told  her 
lie  was  glad  to  find  she  was  only  dis- 
mal at  home. 

But  Rosa  had  prepared  for  him. 
"  One  can  be  loud  without  being 
gay  at  heart,"  said  she,  with  a  lofty, 
languid  air.  "  I  have  not  forgotten 
your  last  words  to  him.  We  were 
to  hide  our  broken  hearts  from  the 
world.  I  try  to  obey  you,  dear  pa- 
pa ;  but,  if  I  had  my  way,  I  would 
never  go  into  the  world  at  all.  I 
have  but  one  desire  now, —  to  end 
my  days  in  a  convent." 

"  Please  begin  them  first.  A  con- 
vent !  Why,  you'd  turn  it  out  of 
window.  You  are  no  more  fit  to  be 
a  nun  than  — a  pauper." 

Not  having  foreseen  this  facer, 
Rosa  had  nothing  ready  :  so  she  re- 
ceived it  with  a  sad,  submissive, 
helpless  sigh,  as  one  who  should  say, 
"Hit  me,  papa?   I  have  no  friend 


now."  So  then  he  was  sorry  he 
had  been  so  clever;  and,  indeed, 
there  is  one  provoking  thing  about 
"  a  woman's  weakness,"  it  is  in- 
vincible. 

The  next  minute  what  should 
come  but  a  long  letter  from  Dr. 
Staines,  detailing  his  endeavors  to 
purchase  a  practice  in  London,  and 
his  ill-success.  The  letter  spoke  the 
language  of  love  and  hope,  but  the 
facts  were  discouraging ;  and  indeed 
a  touching  sadness  pierced  through 
the  veil  of  the  brave  words. 

Rosa  read  it  again  and  again,  and 
cried  over  it  before  her  father,  to 
discourage  him  in  his  heartless  be- 
havior. 

About  ten  days  after  this,  some- 
thing occurred  that  altered  her 
mood. 

She  became  grave  and  thoughtful, 
but  no  longer  lugubrious.  She  seem- 
ed desirous  to  atone  to  her  father  for 
having  disturbed  his  cheerfulness. 
She  smiled  affectionately  on  him, 
and  often  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  knee, 
and  glided  her  hand  into  his. 

He  was  not  a  little  pleased,  and 
said  to  himself,  "She  is  coming 
round  to  common  sense." 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  she  was 
farther  from  it  than  ever. 

At  last  he  got  the  clew.     One  af- 
ternoon he  met  Mr.  Wyman  coining  . 
out  of  the  villa.     Mr.  Wyman  was 
the  consulting  surgeon  of  that  part. 

"  What !  any  body  ill  1 "  said  Mr. 
Lusignan  :  "  one  of  the  servants  1 " 

"  No  :  it  is  Miss  Lusignan." 

"Whv,  what  is  the  matter  with 
her?"  * 

Wyman  hesitated.  "Oh,  noth- 
ing very  alarming  !  Would  you 
mind  asking  her  "i  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  The  fact  is,  she  requested  me 
not  to  tell  you,  —  made  me  promise." 

"And  I  insist  upon  your  telling 
me." 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  sir, 
as  her  father.  Well,  she  is  troubled 
with  a  little  spitting  of  blood." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Mr.  Lusignan  turned  pale.  "My 
child  !  spitting  of  blood  !  God  for- 
bid ! " 

"  Oh,  do  not  alarm  yourself!  It 
is  nothing  serious." 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  said  the  father. 
"  It  is  always  serious.  And  she  kept 
this  from  me ! " 

Masking  his  agitation  for  the 
time,  he  inquired  how  often  it  had 
oeeurreil,  —  this  grave  symptom. 

"  Three  or  four  times  this  last 
month.  But  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
at  once,  I  have  examined  her  care- 
fully, and  I  do  not  think  it  is  from 
the  lungs." 

"  From  the  throat,  then  ?  " 

"No,  from  the  liver.  Every  thing 
points  to  that  organ  as  the  seat  of 
derangement:  not  that  there  is  any 
lesion  ;  only  a  tendency  to  conges- 
tion. I  am  treating  her  according- 
ly, and  have  no  doubt  of  the  result." 

"  Who  is  the  ablest  physician 
hereabouts  ? "  asked  Lusignan  ab- 
ruptly. 

"Dr.  Snell,  I  think." 

"Give  me  his  address." 

"  I'll  write  to  him  if  you  like,  and 
appoint  a  consultation."  He  ad- 
deil,  with  vast  but  rather  sudden 
alacrity,  "  It  will  be  a  great  satisfac- 
tion to  my  own  mind." 

"Then  send  to  him,  if  yon  please, 
and  let  him  be  here  to-morrow 
morning;  if  not,  I  shall  take  her  to 
London  for  advice  at  once." 

( >n  this  understanding  they  part- 
ed ;  and  Lusignan  went  at  once  to 
his  daughter.  "O  my  child!"  said 
he,  deeply  distressed,  "  how  could 
Mm  hide  this  Iroin  rac  ?  " 

"  Elide  what,  papal  "  said  the 
girl,  looking  the  picture  of  uncon- 
sciousness. 

"  That  you  have  been  spitting 
blood." 

"  Who  told  you  that?  "  snid  she 
sharply. 

"  Wyiuan  ;   he  is  attending  you." 

Rosa  colored  with  anger.  "  Chat* 
terbox  !  He  promised  nie  faithfully 
nut  to." 

"But  why,   in   Heaven's   name? 


What !  would  you  trust  this  terri- 
ble thing  to  a  stranger,  and  hide  it 
from  your  poor  father? " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Rosa  quietly. 

The  old  man  would  not  scold  her 
now :  he  only  said  sadly,  "  I  see 
how  it  is  :  because  I  will  not  let  you 
marry  poverty,  you  think  I  do  not 
love  you."     And  he  sighed. 

"  O  papa !  the  idea  ! "  said  Ro- 
sa. "  Of  course  I  know  you  love 
me.  It  was  not  that,  you  dear,  dar- 
ling, foolish  papa.  There,  if  you 
must  know,  it  was  because  I  did  not 
want  you  to  be  distressed.  I  thought 
I  might  get  better  with  a  little  phy- 
sic ;  and  if  not,  why  then  I  thought, 
'  Papa  is  an  old  man ;  la !  I  dare 
say  I  shall  last  his  time ; '  and  so, 
why  should  I  poison  your  latter 
days  with  worrying  about  me?  " 

Mr.  Lusignan  stared  at  her,  and 
his  lip  quivered  ;  but  he  thought  the 
trait  hardly  consistent  with  her  su- 
perficial character.  He  could  not 
help  saying,  half-sadly,  half-bittcrly, 
"  Well,  but  of  course  you  have  told 
Dr.  Staines." 

Rosa  opened  her  beautiful  eyes 
like  two  suns.  "  Of  course  I  have 
done  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  has 
enough  to  trouble  him  without  that. 
Poor  fellow !  there  he  is,  worrying 
and  striving  to  make  his  fortune 
and  gain  your  esteem :  '  they  go 
together,'  you  know  you  told  him 
so."  (Young  cats  will  scratch 
when  least  expected.)  "And  for 
me  to  go  and  tell  him  I  am  in  dan- 
ger! Why,  he  would  go  wild;  he 
would  think  of  nothing  but  me  and 
my  health  ;  he  would  never  make 
his  fortune  ;  and  so  then,  even  when 
I  am  gone,  he  will  never  get  a  wife, 
because  he  has  only  got  genius  and 
goodness  and  three  thousand  pounds. 
No,  papa,  I  have  not  told  poor 
Christopher.  I  may  tease  those  I 
love;  I  have  been  teasing  you  this 
ever  so  long  :  but  frighten  them  and 
make  them  miserable  i      No." 

And  here,  thinking  of  the  anguish 
that  was  perhaps  in  store  for  thoso 
she  loved,  she  wanted  to  cry;  it  al- 


8 


A  SIMPLETON. 


most  choked  her  not  to.  But  she 
fought  it  bravely  down :  she  re- 
served her  tears  for  lighter  occasions 
and  less  noble  sentiments. 

Her  father  held  out  his  arms  to 
her ;  she  ran  her  footstool  to  him, 
and  sat  nestling  to  his  heart. 

"Please  forgive  me  my  miscon- 
duct. I  have  not  been  a  dutiful 
daughter  ever  since  you —  Put 
now  I  will.  Kiss  me,  my  own  papa. 
There !  Now  we  are  as  we  always 
were." 

Then  she  purred  to  him  on  every 
possible  topic  but  the  one  that  now 
filled  his  parental  heart,  and  bade 
him  good-night  at  last  with  a  cheer- 
ful smile. 

Wyman  was  exact;  and  ten  min- 
utes afterward  Dr.  Snell  drove  up  in 
a  carriage  and  pair.  He  was  inter- 
cepted in  the  hall  by  Wyman,  and, 
after  a  few  minutes'  conversation, 
presented  to  Mr.  Lusignan. 

The  father  gave  vent  to  his  pater- 
nal anxiety  in  a  few  simple  but 
touching  words,  and  was  proceeding 
to  state  the  symptoms  as  he  had 
gathered  them  from  his  daughter ; 
but  Dr.  Snell  interrupted  him  polite- 
ly, and  said  he  had  heard  the  prin- 
cipal symptoms  from  Mr.  Wyman. 
Then,  turning  to  the  latter,  he  said, 
"  We  had  better  proceed  to  examine 
the  patient." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan. 
"  She  is  in  the  drawing-room  ;  "  and 
he  led  the  way,  and  was  about  to  en- 
ter the  room,  when  Wyman  informed 
him  that  it  was  against  etiquette  for 
him  to  be  present  at  the  examina- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  "  said  he.  "  Yes, 
I  see  the  propriety  of  that.  But 
oblige  me  by  asking  hor  if  she  lias 
any  thing  on  her  mind." 

Dr.  Snell  bowed  a  lofty  assent; 
for  to  receive  a  hint  from  a  layman 
was  to  confer  a  favor  on  him. 

The  men  of  science  were  closeted 
full  half  an  hour  with  the  patient. 
She  was  too  beautiful  to  be  slurred 
over,  even  by  a  busy  doctor :  he  felt 
her  pulse,  looked  at  her  tongue,  and 


listened  attentively  to  her  lungs,  to 
her  heart,  and  to  the  organ  suspected 
by  Wyman.  He  left  her  at  last  with 
a  kindly  assurance  that  the  case  was 
perfectly  curable. 

At  the  door  they  were  met  by  the 
anxious  lather,  who  came,  with 
throbbing  heart,  and  asked  the  doc- 
ter's  verdict. 

He  was  coolly  informed  that  could 
not  be  given  until  the  consultation 
had  taken  place ;  the  result  of  that 
consultation  would  be  conveyed  to 
him. 

"  And  pray  why  can't  I  be  pres- 
ent at  the  consultation  ?  The 
grounds  on  which  two  able  men 
agree  or  disagree  must  be  well 
worth  listening  to." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Dr.  Snell; 
"but,"  with  a  superior  smile,  "my 
dear  sir,  it  is  not  the  etiquette." 

"  Oh,  very  well  !  "  said  Lusignan. 
Put  he  muttered,  "  So,  then,  a  father 
is  nobody." 

And  this  unreasonable  person 
retired  to  his  study,  miserable,  and 
gave  up  the  dining-room  to  the  con- 
sultation. 

They  soon  rejoined  him. 

Dr.  Snell's  opinion  was  commu- 
nicated by  Wyman.  "  I  am  happy 
to  tell  you,  that  Dr.  Snell  agrees 
with  me  entirely ;  the  lungs  are  not 
affected,  and  the  liver  is  congested, 
but  not  diseased." 

"  Is  that  so,  Dr.  Snell  1 "  asked 
Lusignan  anxiously. 

"  It  is  so,  sir."  He  added,  "  The 
treatment  has  been  submitted  to  me, 
and  I  quite  approve  it." 

He  then  asked  for  a  pen  and  pa- 
per, and  wrote  a  prescription.  He 
assured  Mr.  Lusignan  that  the  case 
had  no  extraordinary  feature  what- 
ever ;  he  was  not  to  alarm  himself. 
Dr.  Snell  then  drove  away,  leaving 
the  parent  rather  puzzled,  but,  on 
the  whole,  much  comforted. 

And  here  I  must  reveal  an  extra- 
ordinary circumstance,  — ■ 

Wyman's  treatment  was  by 
drugs. 

Dr.  Snell's  was  by  drugs. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


D 


Dr.  Sncll,  as  you  have  seen,  en- 
tirely approved  Wyman's  treat- 
ment. 

His  own  had  nothing  in  common 
with  it.  The  arctic  and  antarctic 
poles  are  not  farther  apart  than  was 
his  prescription  from  the  prescrip- 
tion he  thoroughly  approved. 

Amiable  science  !  In  which  com- 
plete diversity  of  practice  did  not 
interfere  with  perfect  uniformity  of 
opinion. 

All  this  was  kept  from  Dr. 
Staines  ;  and  he  was  entirely  occu- 
pied in  trying  to  get  a  position  that 
might  lead  to  fortune  and  satisfy 
Mr.  Lusignan.  He  called  on  every 
friend  he  had,  to  inquire  where 
there  was  an  opening.  He  walked 
miles  and  miles  in  the  best  quarters 
of  London,  looking  for  an  opening; 
he  let  it  be  known  in  many  quarters 
that  he  would  give  a  good  premium 
to  any  physician  who  was  about  to 
retire,  and  would  introduce  him  to 
his  patients. 

No  ;  he  could  hear  of  nothing. 

Then,  after  a  great  struggle  with 
himself,  he  called  upon  his  uncle, 
Philip  Staines,  a  retired  M.D.,  to 
sec  if  he  would  do  any  thing  for 
him.  He  left  this  to  the  last,  for  a 
very  good  reason  ;  Dr.  Philip  was 
an  irritable  old  bachelor,  who  had 
assisted  most  of  his  married  rela- 
tives ;  but,  finding  no  bottom  to  the 
well,  had  turned  rusty  and  crusty, 
and  now  was  apt  to  administer 
kicks  instead  of  checks  to  all  who 
wore  near  and  dear  to  him.  How- 
ever, Christopher  was  the  old  gen- 
tleman's favorite,  ami  was  now  des- 
perate; so  he  mustered  courage  and 
went.  lie  was  graciously  received, 
—  warmly  indeed.  This  gave  him 
great  hopes,  and  he  told  his  talc. 

The  old  bachelor  sided  with  Mr. 
Lusignan.  "  What!"  said  he,  "do 
yon  want  to  marry,  ami  propagate 
pauperism?  I  thought  you  had 
more  sense.  Confound  it  all  !  I 
had  just  one  nephew  who.  e  knock 
at  my  Btrcct-door  did  not  make  mc 
tremble :  he  was  a  bachelor  and  a 


thinker,  and  came  for  a  friendly 
chat ;  the  rest  are  married  men, 
highwaymen,  who  come  to  say, 
'  Stand  and  deliver  ; '  and  now  even 
you  want  to  join  the  giddy  throng. 
Well,  don't  ask  me  to  have  any 
hand  in  it.  You  are  a  man  of  prom- 
ise; and  you  might  as  well  hang  a 
mdlstone  around  your  neck  as  a 
wife.  Marriage  is  a  greater  mistake 
than  ever  now;  the  women  dress 
more,  and  manage  worse.  I  met 
your  cousin  Jack  the  other  day  and 
his  wife,  with  seventy  pounds  on  her 
back,  and  next  door  to  paupers. 
No ;  while  you  are  a  bachelor,  like 
me,  you  are  my  favorite,  and  down 
in  my  mil  for  a  lump.  Once  mar- 
ry, and  you  join  the  noble  army  of 
footpads,  leeches,  vultures,  paupers, 
gone  coons,  and  babblers  about 
brats,  and  I  disown  you." 

There  was  no  hope  from  old 
Crusty.  Christopher  left  him, 
snubbed  and  heart-sick.  At  last  he 
met  a  sensible  man,  who  made  him 
see  there  was  no  short-cut  in  that 
profession.  He  must  be  content  to 
play  the  up-hill  game;  must  settle 
in  some  good  neighborhood,  marry 
if  possible,  since  husbands  and  fath- 
ers of  families  prefer  married  physi- 
cians ;  and  so  be  poor  at  thirty, 
comfortable  at  forty,  and  rich  at  fif- 
ty —  perhaps. 

Then  Christopher  came  down  to 
his  lodgings  at  Gravcsend,  and  was 
very  unhappy;  and,  after  some  days 
of  misery,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Rosa 
in  a  moment  of  impatience,  de- 
spondency, and  passion. 

Rosa  Lusignan  got  worse  and 
worse.  The  slight  but  frequent 
hemorrhage  was  a  drain  upon  her 
system,  and  weakened  her  visibly. 
She  began  to  lose  her  rich  complex- 
ion,  and   sometimes   looked    almost 

sallow  ;  and  a  alight  circle  showed  it- 
self under  her  eyes.  These  symp- 
toms were  unfavorable ;  nevertheless 

Dr.  Sncll  and  Mr.  Wyman  accepted 
them  cheerfully,  as  fresh  indication  i 
that  nothing  was  affected  but  the 


10 


A  SIMPLETON. 


liver.  They  multiplied  and  varied 
their  prescriptions  ;  the  malady  ig- 
nored those  prescriptions,  and  went 
steadily  on.  Mr.  Lusignan  was  ter- 
rified, but  helpless ;  Rosa  resigned 
and  reticent. 

But  it  was  not  in  human  nature 
that  a  girl  of  this  age  could  always, 
and  at  all  hours,  be  mistress  of  her- 
self. One  evening  in  particular  she 
stood  before  the  glass  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  looked  at  herself  a 
long  time  with  horror.  "  Is  that 
Rosa  Lusignan  ?  "  said  she  aloud. 
"  It  is  her  ghost." 

A  deep  groan  startled  her.  She 
turned ;  it  was  her  father.  She 
thought  he  was  fast  asleep  ;  and  so 
indeed  he  had  been  :  but  he  was  just 
awaking,  and  heard  his  daughter 
utter  her  real  mind.  It  was  a  thun- 
der-clap. "  O  my  child  !  what 
shall  I  do  ?  "  he  cried. 

Then  Rosa  was  taken  by  surprise 
in  her  turn.  She  spoke  out.  "  Send 
for  a  great  physician,  papa.  Don't 
let  us  deceive  ourselves  ■  it  is  our 
only  chance." 

"  I  will  ask  Mr.  Wyman  to  get  a 
physician  down  from  London." 

"  No,  no ;  that  is  no  use  :  they 
will  put  their  heads  together ;  and  he 
will  say  whatever  Mr.  Wyman  tells 
him.  La,  papa !  a  clever  man  like 
you  not  to.  see  what  a  cheat  that 
consultation  was  !  Why,  from  what 
you  told  me,  one  can  see  it  was 
managed  so  that  Dr.  Snell  could 
not  possibly  have  an  opinion  of  his 
own.  No;  no  more  echoes  of  Mr. 
Chatterbox.  If  you  really  want  to 
cure  me,  send  for  Christopher 
Staines." 

"Dr.  Staines !  He  is  very 
young." 

"  But  he  is  very  clever,  and  he  is 
not  an  echo.  He  won't  care  how 
many  doctors  he  contradicts  when  I 
am  in  danger.  Papa,  it  is  your 
child's  one  chance." 

"  I'll  try  it,"  said  the  old  man 
eagerly.  "  How  confident  you  look  ! 
your  color  has  come  back.  It  is  an 
inspiration.     Where  is  he  ?  " 


"  I  think  by  this  time  ho  must  be 
at  his  lodgings  in  Gravesend.  Send 
to  him  tomorrow  morning." 

"  Not  I.  I'll  go  to  him  to-night. 
It  is  only  a  mile,  and  a  fine  clear 
night." 

"  My  own,  good,  kind  papa !  Ah, 
well,  come  what  may,  I  have  lived 
long  enough  to  be  loved.  Yes,  dear 
papa,  save  me.  I  am  very  younj;  to 
die  ;  and  he  loves  me  so  dearly." 

The  old  man  bustled  away,  to  put 
on  something  warmer  for  his  night 
walk  ;  and  Rosa  leaned  back,  and 
the  tears  welled  out  of  her  eyes, 
now  he  was  gone. 

Before  she  had  recovered  her  com- 
posure, a  letter  was  brought  her ;  and 
this  was  the  letter  from  Christopher 
Staines  alluded  to  already. 

She  took  it  from  the  servant  with 
averted  head,  not  wishing  it  to  be 
seen  she  had  been  crying ;  and  she 
started  at  the  handwriting.  It 
seemed  such  a  coincidence  that  it 
should  come  just  as  she  was  sending 
for  him. 

"My  own  beloved  Rosa,  —  I 
now  write  to  tell  you,  with  a  heavy 
heart,  that  all  is  vain.  I  cannot 
make  or  purchase  a  connection,  ex- 
cept as  others  do,  by  time  and  pa- 
tience. Being  a  bachelor  is  quite 
against  a  young  physician.  If  I 
had  a  wife,  and  such  a  wife  as  you, 
I  should  be  sure  to  get  on.  You 
would  increase  my  connection  very 
soon.  What,  then,  lies  before  us  ? 
I  see  but  two  things  :  to  wait  till  we 
are  old,  and  our  pockets  are  filled, 
but  our  hearts  chilled  or  soured  ;  or 
else  to  marry  at  once,  and  climb  the 
hill  together.  If  you  love  me  as  I 
love  you,  you  will  be  saving  till  the 
battle  is  over ;  and  I  feel  I  could 
find  energy  and  fortitude  for  both. 
Your  father,  who  thinks  so  much 
of  wealth,  can  surely  settle  some- 
thing on  you ;  and  I  am  not  too  poor 
to  furnish  a  house  and  start  fair.  I 
am  not  quite  obscure,  —  my  lectures 
have  given  me  a  name ;  and  to 
you,  my  own  love,  I  hope  I  may 


A  SIMPLETON. 


11 


say  that  I  know  more  than  many  of 
my  elders,  thanks  to  good  schools, 
good  method,  a  genuine  love  of  my 
noble  profession,  and  a  tendency  to 
study  from  my  childhood.  Will 
you  "not  risk  something  on  my  abil- 
ity ?  If  not,  God  help  me !  for  I 
shall  lose  you ;  and  what  is  life,  or 
fame,  or  wealth,  or  any  mortal  thing 
to  me,  without  you.  I  cannot  ac- 
cept your  father's  decision :  you 
must  decide  my  fate. 

"  You  see,  I  havekept  away  from 
you  until  I  can  do  so  no  more.  All 
this  time  the  world  to  me  has 
seemed  to  want  the  sun ;  and  my 
heart  pines  and  sickens  for  one  sight 
of  you.  Darling  Rosa,  pray  let  me 
look  at  your  face  once  more. 

"  When  this  readies  you,  I  shall 
be  at  your  gate.  Let  me  see  you, 
though  but  for  a  moment,  and  let 
me  hear  my  fate  from  no  lips  but 
yours. 

"  My  own  love, 

"  Your  heart-broken  lover, 
"  Christopher  Staines." 

This  letter  stunned  her  at  first. 
Her  mind  of  late  had  been  turned 
away  from  love  to  such  stern  reali- 
ties. Now  she  began  to  be  sorry 
she  had  not  told  him.  "  Poor 
thing!"  she  said  to  herself;  "he 
little  thinks  that  now  all  is  changed. 
Papa,  I  sometimes  think,  would 
deny  mc  nothing  now.  It  is  I  who 
would  not  marry  him,  to  be  buried 
by  him  in  a  month  or  two.  Poor 
Christopher  ! " 

The  next  moment  she  started  up 
in  dismay.  Why,  her  father  would 
miss  him.  No,  perhaps  catch  him 
waiting  for  her.  What  would  he 
think  !  What  would  Christopher 
think-?  That  she  had  shown  her 
papa  his  letter. 

She  rang  the  bell  hard.  The 
footman  came. 

"  Send  Harriet  to  mc  this  instant. 
Oh  !  and  ask  papa  to  come  to  me  !  " 

Thru  Bhc  sat  down,  and  dashed 
oft'  a  line  to  Christopher.  This  was 
for  Harriet  to  take  out  to  him.  Any 


thing  better  than  for  Christopher  to 
be  caught  doing  what  was  wrong. 

The  footman  came  back  first. 
"  If  you  please,  miss,  master  has 
gone  out." 

"  Run  after  him,  the  road  to 
Gravesend." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  No.  It  is  no  use.    Never  mind." 

"Yes,  miss." 

Then  Harriet  came  in.  "Did 
you  want  me,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes.     No,  never  mind  now." 

She  was  afraid  to  do  any  thing, 
for  fear  of  making  matters  worse. 
She  went  to  the  window  and  stood 
looking  anxiously  out,  with  her 
hands  working.  Presently  she 
uttered  a  little  scream,  and  shrank 
away  to  the  sofa.  She  sank  down 
on  it,  half-sitting,  half-lying,  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  waited. 

Staines,  with  a  lover's  impatience, 
had  been  more  than  an  hour  at  the 
gate,  or  walking  up  and  down  close 
by  it,  his  heart  now  burning  with 
hope,  now  freezing  Avith  fear  that 
she  would  decline  a  meeting  on  these 
terms. 

At  last  the  postman  came,  and 
then  he  saw  his  mistake;  but  now 
in  a  few  minutes  Rosa  would  have 
his  letter,  and  then  he  should  soon 
know  whether  she  would  come  or 
not.  He  looked  up  at  the  drawing- 
room  windows.  They  were  full  of 
light.  She  was  there,  in  all  proba- 
bility. Yet  she  did  not  come  to 
them.  But  why  should  she,  if  she 
was  coming  out  1 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  road. 
She  did  not  come.  His  heart 
drooped  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  owing 
to  this  that  he  almost  ran  against  a 
gentleman  who  was  ((lining  the 
other  way.  The  moon  shone  bright 
on  both  faces. 

"Dr.  Staines!"  said  Mr.  Lusig- 
nan,  surprised.  Christopher  Uttered 
an  ejaculation  more  eloquent  than 
words. 

They  stared  at  each  other. 

"  You  were  coining  to  sec  us  ?  " 


12 


A   SIMPLETON. 


"N —  no,"  stammered  Christo- 
pher. 

Lusignan  thought  that  odd  ;  how- 
ever, he  said,  politely,  "  No  matter  ; 
it  is  fortunate.  Would  you  mind 
coming  in  ?  " 

"No,"  faltered  Christopher,  and 
stared  at  him  ruefully,  puzzled  more 
and  more ;  but  beginning  to  think, 
after  all,  it  might  be  a  casual  meet- 
ing. 

They  entered  the  gate  ;  and  in  one 
moment  he  saw  Rosa  at  the  window, 
and  she  saw  him. 

Then  he  altered  his  opinion  again. 
Rosa  had  sent  her  father  out  to  him. 
But  how  was  this  1  The  old  man 
did  not  seem  angry.  Christopher's 
heart  gave  a  leap  inside  him,  and 
he  began  to  glow  with  the  wildest 
hopes.  For  what  could  this  mean 
but  relenting? 

Mr.  Lusignan  took  him  first  into 
the  study,  and  lighted  two  candles 
himself.  He  did.  not  want  the  ser- 
vants prying. 

The  lights  showed  Christopher  a 
change  in  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  looked 
ten  years  older. 

"You  are  not  well,  sir,"  said 
Christopher  gently. 

"My  health  is  well  enough,  but 
I  am  a  broken-hearted  man.  Dr. 
Staines,  forget  all  that  passed  here 
at  your  last  visit.  All  that  is  over. 
Thank  you  for  loving  my  poor  girl 
as  you  do.  Give  me  your  hand. 
God  bless  you  !  Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say 
it  is  as  a  physician  I  invite  you  now. 
She  is  ill,  sir,  —  very,  very  ill !  " 

"  111,  and  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"  She  kept  it  from  yon,  my  poor 
friend,  not  to  distress  you  ;  and  she 
tried  to  keep  it  from  me,  but  how 
could  she  ?  For  two  months  she  has 
had  some  terrible  complaint :  it  is 
destroying  her.  She  is  the  ghost  of 
herself.  Oh,  my  poor  child !  my 
child!" 

The  old  man  sobbed  aloud.  The 
young  man  stood  trembling  and  ashy 
pale.  Still,  the  habits  of  his  profes- 
sion and  the  experience  of  dangers 
overcome,  together   with   a  certain 


sense  of  power,  kept  him  up;  but, 
above  all,  love  and  duty  said,  "  Be 
firm."  He  asked  tor  an  outline  of 
the  symptoms. 

They  alarmed  him  greatly. 

"Let  us  lose  no  more  time,"  said 
he :  "I  will  see  her  at  once." 

"  Do  you  object  to  my  being 
present  1  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  Dr.  Snell 
says  it  is,  and  Mr.Wyman  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,  after  I  have  seen 
her." 

This  comforted  Mr.  Lusignan. 
He  was  to  get  an  independent  judg- 
ment, at  all  events. 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  Dr.  Staines  paused,  and  leaned 
against  the  baluster.  "  Give  me  a 
moment,"  said  he.  "  The  patient 
must  not  know  how  my  heart  is  beat- 
ing ;  and  she  must  see  nothing  in 
my  face  but  what  I  choose  her  to 
see.  Give  me  your  hand  once  more, 
sir;  let  us  both  control  ourselves. 
Now  announce  me." 

Mr.  Lusignan  opened  the  door, 
and  said,  with  forced  cheerfulness, 
"  Dr.  Staines,  my  dear !  come  to 
give  you  the  benefit  of  his  skill." 

She  lay  on  the  sofa,  just  as  we  left 
her,  only  her  bosom  began  to  heave. 

Then  Christopher  Staines  drew 
himself  up ;  and  the  majesty  of 
knowledge  and  love  together  seemed 
to  dilate  his  noble  frame.  He  fixed 
his  eye  on  that  reclining,  panting 
figure,  and  stepped  lightly  but  firmly 
across  the  room,  to  know  the  worst, 
—  like  a  lion  walking  up  to  levelled 
lances. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

The  young  physician  walked  stead- 
ily up  to  his  patient,  without  taking 
his  eye  off  her,  and  drew  a  chair  to 
her  side. 

Then  she  took  down  one  hand,  — 
the  left,  —  and  gave  it  to  him,  avert- 
ing her  face  tenderly,  and  still  cover- 


A  SIMPLETON. 


12 


in,Lr  it  with  the  right,  "For,"  said  she 
to  herself,  "  I  am  such  a  fright  now." 
This  opportune  reflection,  and  her 
heaving  bosom,  proved  that  she  at 
least  felt  herself  something  more 
than  his  patient.  Her  pretty  con- 
sciousness made  his  task  more  diffi- 
cult :  nevertheless,  he  only  allowed 
himself  to  press  her  hand  tenderly 
with  both  his  palms  one  moment, 
and  then  he  entered  on  his  functions 
bravely.  "  I  am  here  as  your  physi- 
cian." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she  softly. 

He  gently  detained  the  hand,  and 
put  his  finger  lightly  to  her  pulse; 
it  was  palpitating,  and  a  fallacious 
test.  Oh,  how  that  beating  pulse, 
by  love's  electric  current,  set  his  own 
heart  throbbing  in  a  moment ! 

He  put  her  hand  gently,  reluctantly 
down,  and  said,  "  Oblige  me  by 
turning  this  way."  She  turned:  and 
he  winced  internally  at  the  change 
in  her  ;  but  his  face  betrayed  nothing. 
He  looked  at  her  full ;  and,  after 
a  pause,  put  her  some  questions ; 
one  was  as  to  the  color  of  the  hem- 
orrhage.   She  said  it  was  bright  red. 

"  Not  a  tinge  of  purple  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she  hopefully,  mistak- 
ing him. 

He  suppressed  a  sigh. 

Then  he  listened  at  her  shoulder- 
blade  and  at  her  chest,  and  made 
her  draw  her  breath  while  he  was 
listening.  The  net-;  were  simple  and 
usual  in  medicine  ;  but  there  was  a 
deep,  patient,  silent  intensity  about 
his  way  <>f  doing  them. 

Mr.  Lnsignan  crept  nearer,  and 
stood  with  both  hands  on  a  table, 
and  his  old  bead  bowed,  awaiting, 
yet  dreading  the  verdict. 

Up  to  this  time  Dr.  Staines,  in- 
stead of  tapping  and  squeezing  and 
palling  tin;  patient  about,  bail  never 
touched  her  with  bis  hand,  and  only 
grazed  her  with  bis  car :  but  now  he 
said,  "  Allow  me,"  and  put  both 
hands  to  her  waist,  more  lightly  and 
reverently  than  I  can  describe  : 
"  now  draw  a  deep  breath,  if  you 
please." 

2 


"  There !  " 

"  If  you  could  draw  a  deeper 
still,"  said  he  insinuatingly. 

"  There,  then,"  said  she  a  little 
pettishly. 

Dr.  Staines's  eye  kindled. 

"Hum!"  said  he.  Then,  after 
a  considerable  pause,  "  Are  you 
better  or  worse  after  each  hemor- 
rhage ?  " 

"  La  !  "  said  Rosa  ;  "  they  never 
asked  me  that.     Why,  better." 

"  No  faintness  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  Rather  a  sense  of  relief, 
perhaps  1  " 

"  Yes.    I  feel  lighter  and  better.  " 

The  examination  was  concluded. 

Dr.  Staines  looked  at  Rosa,  and 
then  at  her  father.  The  agony  in 
that  aged  face,  and  the  love  that 
agony  implied,  won  him  ;  and  it  was 
to  the  parent  he  turned  to  give  his 
verdict. 

"  The  hemorrhage  is  from  the 
lungs " — 

Lusignan  interrupted  him : 
"  From  the  lungs  1  "  cried  he  in 
dismay. 

"  Yes  :  a  slight  congestion  of  the 
lungs." 

"  But  not  incurable  !  Oh  !  not 
incurable,  doctor !  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  It  is  curable 
—  easily  —  by  removing  the  cause." 

"  And  what  is  the  cause  1  " 


The 


cause 


He     hesitated, 


and  looked  rather  uneasy.  "  Well, 
the  cause,  sir,  is  —  tight  stays." 

The  tranquillity  of  the  meeting 
was  instantly  disturbed.  "  Tight 
stays  !  Me  ! ''  cried  Rosa.  "  Why, 
I  am  the  loosest  girl  in  England  ! 
Look,  papa  !  "  and,  without  any 
apparent  effort,  she  drew  herself  in, 
and  poked  her  little  list  between  her 
Bash  and  her  Ljown.     "  There !  " 

Dr.  Staines  smiled  sadly  and  a 
little  sarcastically  :  he  was  evidently 
shy  of  encountering  the  lady  in  this 
argument ;  but  he  was  more  at  his 
ca<c  with  her  father;  so  be  turned 
toward  him,  and  lectured  him  freely. 

"  That     is     wonderful,    sir  ;     and 


14 


A   SIMPLETON. 


the  first  four  or  five  female  patients 
that  favored  me  with  it  made  me 
disbelie.e  my  other  senses;  but 
Miss  Lusignan  is  now  about  the 
thirtieth  who  has  shown  me  that 
marvellous  feat,  with  a  calm  counte- 
nance that  belies  the  Herculean 
effort.  Nature  has  her  every-day 
miracles  :  a  boa-constrictor,  diameter 
seventeen  inches,  can  swallow  a 
buffalo  ;  a  woman,  with  her  stays 
bisecting  her  almost,  and  lacerating 
her  skin,  can  yet  for  one  moment 
make  herself  seem  slack,  to  deceive 
a  juvenile  physician.  The  snake  is 
the  miracle  of  expansion  ;  the  woman 
is  the  prodigy  of  contraction." 

"  Highly  grateful  for  the  compar- 
ison," said  Rosa.  "  Women  and 
snakes !  " 

Dr.  Staines  blushed,  and  looked 
uncomfortable.  "  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  offensive :  it  certainly  was  a 
very  clumsy  comparison." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Lusignan  impatiently.  "  Be 
quiet,  Rosa,  and  let  Dr.  Staines  and 
me  talk  sense." 

"  Oh !  then  I  am  nobody  in  the 
business !  "  said  this  wise  young  lad y. 

"You  are  everybody,"  said 
Staines  soothingly.  "But,"  sug- 
gested he  obsequiously,  "  if  you 
don't  mind,  I  would  rather  explain 
my  views  to  your  father  —  on  this 
one  subject." 

"  And  a  pretty  subject  it  is." 

Dr.  Staines  then  invited  Mr. 
Lusignan  to  his  lodgings,  and 
promised  to  explain  the  matter  ana- 
tomically. "  Meantime,"  said  he, 
"  would  you  be  good  enough  to  put 
your  hands  to  my  waist,  as  I  did  to 
the  patient's." 

Mr.  Lusignan  complied  ;  and  the 
patient  began  to  titter  directly,  to 
put  them  out  of  countenance. 

"  Please  observe  what  takes  place 
when  I  draw  a  full  breath." 

"  Now  apply  the  same  test  to  the 

Saticnt.     Breathe  your  best,  please, 
liss  Lusignan." 
The  patient  put  on  a  face  full  of 
6aucy  mutiny. 


"  To  oblige  us  both." 

"  Oh,  how  tiresome !  " 

"  I  am  aware  it  is  rather  laborious/' 
said  Staines  a  little  dryly;  "  but  to 
oblige  your  father  !  " 

"Oh,  any  thing  to  oblige  papa!" 
said  she  spitefully.  "  There  !  And 
I  do  hope  it  will  be  the  last.  La ! 
no  ;  I  don't  hope  that,  neither." 

Dr.  Staines  politely  ignored  her 
little  attempts  to  interrupt  the  argu- 
ment. "  You  found,  sir,  that  the 
muscles  of  my  waist,  and  my  lower 
ribs  themselves,  rose  and  fell  with 
each  inhalation  and  exhalation  of 
air  by  the  lungs." 

"  1  did  ;  but  my  daughter's  waist 
was  like  dead  wood,  and  so  were  her 
lower  ribs." 

At  this  volunteer  statement,  Rosa 
colored  to  her  temples.  "  Thanks, 
papa  !  Pack  me  off  to  London,  and 
sell  me  for  a  big  doll !  " 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  lectur- 
er, mild  and  pertinacious,  "  with  us 
the  lungs  have  room  to  blow,  and  the 
whole  bony  frame  expands  elastic 
with  them,  like  the  wood-work  of  a 
blacksmith's  bellows ;  but  with  this 
patient,  and  many  of  her  sex,  that 
noble  and  divinely-framed  bellows  is 
crippled  and  confined  by  a  powerful 
machine  of  human  construction  ;  so 
it  works  lamely  and  feebly  :  conse- 
quently too  little  air,  and  of  course 
too  little  oxvgen,  passes  through 
that  spongy  organ  whose  very  life  is 
air.  Now  mark  the  special  result  in 
this  case  :  being  otherwise  healthy 
and  vigorous,  our  patient's  system 
sends  into  the  lungs  more  blood  than 
that  one  crippled  organ  can  deal 
with.  A  small  quantity  becomes  ex- 
travasated  at  odd  times.  It  accumu- 
lates, and  would  become  dangerous ; 
then  Nature,  strengthened  by  sleep 
and  by  some  hours'  relief  from  the 
diabolical  engine,  makes  an  effort, 
and  flings  it  off ;  that  is  why  the 
hemorrhage  comes  in  the  morning, 
and  why  she  is  the  better  for  it,  feel- 
ing neither  faint  nor  sick,  but  relieved 
of  a  weight.  This,  sir,  is  the  ration- 
ale of  the  complaint ;  and  it  is  to  you 


A   SIMPLETON. 


15 


I  must  look  for  the  cure.  To  judge 
from  my  other  female  patients,  and 
from  the  lew  words  Miss  Lusignan 
has  let  fall,  I  fear  we  must  not  count 
on  any  very  hearty  co-operation  from 
her ;  but  you  are  her  father,  and 
have  great  authority.  I  conjure  you 
to  use  it  to  the  full,  as  you  once  used 
it,  to  my  sorrow,  in  this  very  room. 
I  am  forgetting  my  character.  I 
was  asked  here  only  as  her  physi- 
cian.    Good-evening." 

lie  gave  a  little  gulp,  and  hurried 
away,  with  an  abruptness  that 
touched  the  father,  and  offended  the 
sapient  daughter. 

However,  Mr.  Lusignan  followed 
him,  and  stopped  him  before  he  left 
the  house,  and  thanked  him  warmly, 
and,  to  his  surprise,  begged  him  to 
call  again  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  Well,  Rosa,  what  do  you  say  }  " 

"  I  say  that  I  am  very  unfortunate 
in  my  doctors.  Mr.  Wyman  is  a 
chatter-box,  and  knows  nothing. 
Dr.  Snell  is  Mr.  Wyman's  echo. 
Christopher  is  a  genius,  and  they  are 
always  full  of  crotchets.  A  pretty 
doctor !  Gone  away  and  not  pre- 
scribed for  me  !  " 

Mr.  Lusignan  admitted  it  was 
odd.  "  But,  alter  all,"  said  he,  "  if 
medicine  docs  you  no  good  1 " 

"  Ah  !  but  any  medicine  he  had 
prescribed  would  have  done  me 
good ;  and  that  makes  it  all  the 
unkinder." 

"If  you  think  so  highly  of  his 
skill,  why  not  take  his  advice?  it 
can  do  DO  harm." 

"  No  harm  !  Why,  if  I  was  to 
leave  them  off,  I  should  catch  a 
dreadful  cold;  and  that  would  be 
sure  to  settle  on  my  chest,  and  carry 
inc  off  in  my  present  delicate  state. 
Besides,  it  is  so  unfeminine  not  to 
wear  them." 

This  staggered  Mr.  Lusignan, 
and  he  was  afraid  to  press  the 
point  ;  l>ut  what  Staines  had  said 
fermented  in  his  mind. 

Dr.  Snell  and  Mr.  Wyman  continu- 
ed their  visits  and  their  prescriptions. 


The  patient  got  a  little  worse. 

Mr.  Lusignan  hoped  Christopher 
would  call  again  ;  but  he  did  not. 

When  Dr.  Staines  had  satislied 
himself  that  the  disorder  was  easily 
curable,  then  wounded  pride  found 
an  entrance  even  into  his  loving 
heart.  That  two  strangers  should 
have  been  consulted  before  him ! 
He  was  only  sent  for  because  they 
could  not  cure  her. 

As  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
repeat  his  visit,  Mr.  Lusignan  called 
on  hitn,  and  said,  politely,  he  had 
hoped  to  receive  another  call  ere 
this.  "  Personally,"  said  he,  "  I  was 
much  struck  with  your  observations : 
but  my  daughter  is  afraid  she  will 
catch  cold  if  she  leaves  off  her  corset ; 
and  that,  you  know,  might  be  very 
serious." 

Dr.  Staines  groaned.  And,  when 
he  had  groaned,  he  lectured.  "  Fe- 
male patients  are  wonderfully 
monotonous  in  this  matter :  they 
have  a  programme  of  evasions ;  and, 
whether  the  patient  is  a  lady  or  a 
house-maid,  she  seldom  varies  from 
that  programme.  You  find  her 
breathing  life's  air  with  half  a  bel- 
lows, and  you  tell  her  so.  '  Oh,  no  !  ' 
says  she,  and  does  the  gigantic  feat 
of  contraction  we  witnessed  that 
evening  at  your  house.  But,  on 
inquiry,  you  learn  there  is  a  raw  red 
line  plowed  in  her  flesh  by  the  cruel 
stays.  '  What  is  that  ? '  you  ask, 
and  flatter  yourself  you  have  pinned 
her.  Not  a  bit.  'That  was  the 
last  pair.  I  changed  them  because 
they  hurt  me.'  Driven  out  of  that 
by  proofs  of  recent  laceration,  they 
say,  •  If  I  leave  them  off,  I  should 
Catch  my  death  of  Cpldj'  which  is 
equivalent  to  saying  there  is  no  flan- 
nel in  the  shops,  no  common-sense 
nor  needles  at  home." 

He  then  laid  before  him  some 
large  French  plates,  showing  the  or- 
gans of  the  human  trunk,  and  bade 
him  observe  in  how  small  a  space 
and  with  what  skill  the  Creator  has 
packed  SO  many  large  yet  delicate 
organs,  so  that    they    shall    be    free 


16 


A  SIMPLETON. 


and  secure  from  friction,  though  so 
close  to  each  other.  He  showed 
him  the  liver,  an  organ  weighing 
four  pounds  and  of  a  large  circum- 
ference ;  the  lungs,  a  very  large  or- 
gan suspended  in  the  chest,  and  im- 
patient of  pressure;  the  heart,  the 
stomach,  the  spleen,  all  of  them  too 
closely  and  artfully  packed  to  bear 
any  further  compression. 

Having  thus  taken  him  by  the 
eye,  he  took  him  by  the  mind. 

"  Is  it  a  small  thing  for  the  crea- 
ture to  say  to  her  Creator,  '  I  can 
pack  all  this  egg-china  better  than 
you  can/  and  thereupon  to  jam  all 
those  vital  organs  close  by  a  power- 
ful, a  very  powerful  and  ingenious 
machine  ?  Is  it  a  small  thing  for  that 
sex,  which,  for  good  reasons,  the 
Omniscient  has  made  larger  in  the 
waist  than  the  male,  to  say  to  her 
Creator,  '  You  don't  know  your 
business ;  women  ought  to  be 
smaller  in  the  waist  than  men,  and 
shall  be  throughout  the  civilized 
world  ? ' " 

In  short,  he  delivered  so  many 
true  and  pointed  things  on  this  trite 
subject  that  the  old  gentleman  was 
convinced,  and  begged  him  to  come 
over  that  very  evening  and  con- 
vince Rosa. 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head  dole- 
fully ;  and  all  his  fire  died  out  of  him 


at  havino:  to  face  the  fair. 


Rea- 


son will  be  wasted.  Authority  is 
the  only  weapon.  My  profession 
and  my  reading  have  both  taught 
me  that  the  whole  character  of  her 
sex  undergoes  a  change  the  mo- 
ment a  man  interferes  with  their 
dress.  From  Chaucer's  day  to  our 
own,  neither  public  satire  nor  pri- 
vate remonstrance  has  ever  shaken 
any  of  their  monstrous  fashions. 
Easy,  obliging,  pliable,  and  weaker 
of  will  than  men  in  other  things,  do 
but  touch  their  dress,  however  ob- 
jectionable, and  rock  is  not  harder, 
iron  is  not  more  stubborn,  than 
these  soft  and  yielding  creatures. 
It  is  no  earthly  use  my  coming. 
VII  come." 


He  came  that  very  evening,  and 
saw  directly  she  was  worse.  "  Of 
course,"  said  he  sadly,  "  you  have 
not  taken  my  advice." 

Rosa  replied  with  a  toss  and  an 
evasion,  "  I  was  not  worth  a  pre- 
scription ?  " 

"  A  physician  can  prescribe  with- 
out sending  his  patient  to  the  drug- 
gist ;  and,  when  he  does,  then  it  is 
his  words  are  gold." 

Rosa  shook  her  head  with  an  air 
of  lofty  incredulity. 

He  looked  ruefully  at  Mr.  Lusig- 
nan,  and  was  silent.  Rosa  smiled 
sarcastically ;  she  thought  he  was  at 
his  wit's  end. 

Not  quite :  he  was  cudgelling  his 
brains  in  search  of  some  horribly 
unscientific  argument  that  might 
prevail ;  for  he  felt  science  would 
fall  dead  upon  so  fair  an  antagonist. 
At  last  his  eye  kindled  :  he  had  hit 
on  an  argument  unscientific  enough 
for  anybody,  he  thought.  Said  he, 
ingratiatingly,  "  You  believe  the 
Old  Testament?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  Every  syllable." 

"  And  the  lessons  it  teaches  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  a  story 
from  that  book.  A  Syrian  general 
had  a  terrible  disease.  He  consult- 
ed Elijah  by  deputy.  Elijah  said, 
'  Bathe  seven  times  in  a  certain 
river,  Jordan,  and  you  will  get 
well.'  The  general  did  not  like  this 
at  all :  he  wanted  a  prescription  ; 
wanted  to  go  to  the  druggist ; 
didn't  believe  in  hydropathy  to 
begin,  and,  in  any  case,  turned  up 
his  nose  at  Jordan.  What,  bathe 
in  an  Israelitish  brook,  when  his 
own  country  boasted  noble  rivers, 
with  a  reputation  for  sanctity  into 
the  bargain  ?  In  short,  he  preferred 
his  leprosy  to  such  irregular  medi- 
cine. But  it  happened,  by  some  im- 
mense fortuity,  that  one  of  his  ser- 
vants, though  an  Oriental,  was  a 
friend  instead  of  a  flatterer  ;  and 
this  sensible  fellow  said,  'If  the 
prophet  told  you  to  do  some  great 
and  difficult  tiling  to  get  rid  of  this 


A  SIMPLETON. 


17 


fearful  malady,  would  not  you  do  it, 
however  distasteful  ?  and  can  you 
hesitate  when  he  merely  says, 
"  Wash  in  Jordan,  and  be  healed  ?  "  ' 
The  general  listened  to  good  sense, 
and  cured  himself.  Your  case  is 
parallel.  You  would  take  quanti- 
ties of  foul  medicine,  you  would  sub- 
mit to  some  painful  operation,  if 
life  and  health  depended  on  it; 
then  why  not  do  a  small  thing  for  a 
great  result  ?  You  have  only  to 
take  off  an  unnatural  machine, 
which  cripples  your  growing  frame, 
and  was  unknown  to  every  one  of 
the  women  whose  forms  in  parian 
marble  the  world  admires.  Off 
with  that  monstrosity,  and  your 
cure  is  as  certain  as  the  Syrian  gen- 
eral's ;  though  science,  and  not  in- 
spiration, dictates  the  easy  remedy." 

Rosa  had  listened  impatiently, 
and  now* replied  with  some  warmth, 
"  This  is  shockingly  profane.  The 
idea  of  comparing  yourself  to  Elijah, 
and  me  to  a  horrid  leper  !  Much 
obliged.  Not  that  I  know  what  a 
leper  is." 

"  Come,  come,  that  is  not  fair," 
said  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  He  only 
compared  the  situation,  not  the 
people." 

"But,  papa,  the  Bible  is  not  to  be 
dragged  into  the  common  affairs  of 
life." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  is  the  use 
of  it?" 

"  0  papa  !  Well,  it  is  not  Sun- 
day ;  but  I  have  had  a  sermon. 
This  is  tlie  clergyman,  and  you  arc 
the  commentator,  Hel  he!  And  so 
now  let  ns  go  back  from  divinity  to 
medicine.  I  repeat  "  (this  was  the 
firm  tini*'  she  had  said  ir)  "  that  my 
other  doctors  give  me  real  prescrip- 
tions, written  in  hieroglyphics.    You 

can't  look  at  them  without  feeling 
there  mutt  be  something  ill  then)." 
An  angry  spot  rose  on  Christo- 
pher's cheek ;  but  he  only  said, 
"  And  arc  your  other  doctors  satis- 
fied with  the  progress  your  disorder 
is  making  under  their  superintend- 
ence I " 

2* 


"Perfectly.  Papa,  tell  him  what 
they  say  ;  and  I'll  find  him  their  pre- 
scriptions." She  went  to  a  drawer 
and  rummaged,  affecting  not  to 
listen. 

Lusignan  complied.  "  First  of 
all,  sir,  I  must  tell  you  they  are 
confident  it  is  not  the  lun^s,  but  the 
liver." 

"  The  what  ?  "  shouted  Christo- 
pher. 

"Ah?"  screamed  Rosa.  "Oh, 
don't !  —  bawling !  " 

"  And  don't  you  screech/'said 
her  father,  with  a  look  of  misery 
and  apprehension  impartially  dis- 
tributed on  the  resounding  pair. 

"You  must  have  misunderstood 
them,"  murmured  Staines,  in  a  voice 
that  was  now  barely  audible  a  yard 
off.  "The  hemorrhage  of  a  bright 
red  color,  and  expelled  without 
effort  or  nausea'?  " 

"  From  the  liver,  they  have  as- 
sured me  again  and  again,  "  said 
Lusignan. 

Christopher's  face  still  wore  a  look 
of  blank  amazement,  till  Rosa  her- 
self confirmed  it  positively. 

Then  he  cast  a  look  of  ngony 
upon  her,  and  started  up  in  a  pas- 
sion, forgetting,  once  more,  that  his 
host  abhorred  the  sonorous.  "  Oh, 
shame  !  shame  !  "  he  cried,  "  that 
the  noble  profession  of  medicine 
should  be  disgraced  by  ignorance 
such  as  this!"  Then  he  said  stern- 
ly :  "  Sir,  do  not  mistake  my  mo- 
tives ;  but  I  decline  to  have  any 
thing  further  to  do  with  this  case 
until  those  two  gentlemen  have 
been  relieved  of  it  ;  and  as  this  is 
verv  harsh,  and  on  my  part  unpre- 
cedented, I  will  give  you  one  reason 
out  of  many  I  could  give  you.  Sir, 
there  is  no  road  from  the  liver  to 
the  throat  by  which  blood  can  travel 
in  this  way,  defying  the  laws  of 
gravity  ;  and  they  knew  from  the 
patient  that  no  strong  expellant 
force  has  ever  been  in  operation. 
Their  diagnosis,  therefore,  implies 
agnosis,  or  ignorance  too  great  to 
be  forgiven.     I   will  not    share  my 


18 


A  SIMPLETON. 


patient  with  two  gentlemen  who 
know  so  little  of  medicine,  and 
know  nothing  of  anatomy,  which  is 
the  ABC  of  medicine.  Can  I  see 
their  prescriptions  ? " 

These  were  handed  to  him. 
"  Good  heavens  !  "  said  he,  "  have 
you  taken  all  these  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them." 

"  Why,  then,  you  have  drunk 
about  two  gallons  of  unwholesome 
liquids,  and  eaten  a  pound  or  two  of 
unwholesome  solids.  These  med- 
icines have  co-operated  with  the 
malady.  The  disorder  lies  not  in 
the  hemorrhage,  but  in  the  prece- 
dent extravasation;  that  is,  a 
drain  on  the  system.  And  how  is 
the  loss  to  be  supplied  1  Why,  by 
taking  a  little  more  nourishment 
than  before.  There  is  no  other 
way  ;  and  probably  Nature,  left  to 
herself,  might  have  increased  your 
appetite  to  meet  the  occasion.  But 
those  two  worthies  have  struck  that 
weapon  out  of  Nature's  hand  ;  they 
have  peppered  away  at  the  poor 
ill-used  stomach  with  drugs  and 
draughts,  not  very  deleterious,  I 
grant  you,  but  all  more  or  less  indi- 
gestible, and  all  tending  not  to  whet 
the  appetite,  but  to  clog  the  stomach, 
or  turn  the  stomach,  or  pester  the 
stomach,  and  so  impair  the  appetite, 
and  so  co-operate,  indirectly,  with 
the  malady." 

"  This  is  good  sense,"  said  Lusig- 
nan.  "  I  declare  I  —  I  wish  I  knew 
how  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that  papa  !  " 

"  No,  no :  it  is  not  worth  a 
rumpus." 

"  I'll  do  it  too  politely  for  that. 
Christopher,  you  are  very  clever, 
terribly  clever.  Whenever  I  threw 
their  medicines  away,  I  was  always  a 
little  better  that  day.  I  will  sacri- 
fice them  to  you.  It  is  a  sacrifice. 
They  are  both  so  kind  and  chatty, 
and  don't  grudge  me  hieroglyphics  : 
now  you  do.' 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  two  sweet 
letters  to  Dr.  Snell  and  Mr.  Wy- 
man,  thanking  them  for  the  great 


attention  they  had  paid  her :  hut 
finding  herself  getting  steadily 
worse,  in  spite  of  all  they  had  done 
for  her,  she  proposed  to  discontinue 
her  medicines  for  a  time,  and  try 
change  of  air. 

"And  suppose  they  call  to  see 
whether  you  arc  changing  the  air  1  " 

"hi  that  case,  papa.  'Not  at 
home.' " 

The  notes  were  addressed  and 
despatched. 

Then  Dr.  Staines  brightened  up, 
and  said  to  Lusignan,"  I  am  now 
happy  to  tell  you  that  I  have  over- 
rated the  malady.  The  sad  change 
I  see  in  Miss  Lusignan  is  partly 
due  to  the  great  bulk  of  unwhole- 
some esculents  she  has  been  eating 
and  drinking  under  the  head  of 
medicines.  These  discontinued,  she 
might  linger  on  for  years,  existing, 
though  not  living :  the  tight-laced 
cannot  be  said  to  live.  But,  if  she 
would  be  healthy  and  happy,  let  her 
throw  that  diabolical  machine  into 
the  fire.  It  is  no  use  asking  her  to 
loosen  it ;  she  can't.  Once  there, 
the  temptation  is  too  strong.  Off 
with  it :  and,  take  my  word,  you 
will  be  one  of  the  healthiest  and 
most  vigorous  young  ladies  in 
Europe." 

Rosa  looked  rueful,  and  almost 
sullen. 

She  said  she  had  parted  with  her 
doctors  for  him,  but  she  really  could 
not  go  about  without  stays.  "  They 
are  as  loose  as  they  can  be.     See  !  " 

"  That  part  of  the  programme  is 
disposed  of,"  said  Christopher. 
"  Please  go  on  to  No.  2.  How  about 
the  raw  red  line  where  the  loose  ma- 
chine has  sawed  your  skin  1 

"What  red  line?  Oh!  oh!  oh! 
Somebody  or  other  has  been  peep- 
ing in  at  my  window.  I'll  have  the 
ivy  cut  down  to-morrow." 

"  Simpleton  !  "  said  Mr.  Lusig- 
nan, angrily.  "  You  have  let  the 
cat  out  of  the  bag.  There  is  such  a 
mark,  then  ;  and  this  extraordinary 
young  man  has  discerned  it  with  the 
eye  of  science." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


19 


"  He  never  discerned  it  at  all,"  said 
Rosa,  red  as  fire;  "and,  what  is 
more,  he  never  will." 

"  I  don't  want  to.  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to.  I  hope  it  will  be 
gone  in  a  week." 

"  I  wish  you  were  gone  now,  ex- 
posing me  in  this  cruel  way,"  said 
Rosa,  angry  with  herself  for  having 
said  an  idiotic  thing,  and  furious 
with  him  for  having  made  her 
say  it. 

"  O  Rosa ! "  said  Christopher, 
in  a  voice  of  tenderest  reproach. 

But  Mr.  Lusignan  interfered 
promptly.  "  Rosa,  no  noise.  I  will 
not  have  you  snapping  at  your  best 
friend  and  mine.  If  you  are  ex- 
cited, you  had  better  retire  to  your 
own  room  and  compose  yourself.  I 
hate  a  clamor." 

Rosa  made  a  wry  face  at  this  re- 
buke, and  then  began  to  cry  quietly. 

Every  tear  was  like  a  drop  of 
blood  from  Christopher's  heart. 
"  Pray  don't  scold  her,  sir,"  said  he, 
ready  to  snivel  himself.  "  She 
meant  nothing  unkind:  it  is  only 
her  pretty,  sprightly  way ;  and  she 
did  not  really  imagine  a  love  so  rev- 
erent as  mine"  — 

"  Don't  yon  interfere  between  my 
father  and  me,"  said  this  reasonable 
young  lady,  now  in  an  ungoverna- 
ble state  of  feminine  irritability. 

"  No,  Rosa,"  said  Christopher 
humbly.  "  Mr.  Lusignan,"  said  he, 
"  I  hope  you  will  tell  her  that  from 
the  very  first  I  was  unwilling  to  en- 
ter on  this  subject  with  her.  Nei- 
ther she  nor  I  can  forget  my  double 
ch  iracter.  I  have  not  said  half  as 
much  to  her  as  I  ought,  being  her 
physician  ;  and  yet  you  see  I  have 
said  more  than  she  can  bear  from 
me,  who,  she  knows,  loves  her  and  re- 

veres  her.  Thru,  once  for  all,  do  pray 

let  me  put  this  delicate  matter  into 
your  hands  :  it  is  a  case  for  parental 
authority." 

"  Unl'atherly  tyranny,  that  means," 
said    Rosa.     "  What   business   have 

gentlemen      interfering     in     such 

tilings  J       It    is     unheard     of.       I 


will   not  submit   to  it  even    from 
papa." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  scream  at 
me,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan;  and  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  to  Staines. 
"  She  is  impracticable,  you  see.  If 
I  do  my  duty,  there  will  be  a  dis- 
turbance." 

Now  this  roused  the  bile  of  Dr. 
Staines.  "  What,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  you  could  separate  her  and  me  by 
your  authority,  here  in  this  very 
room ;  and  yet,  when  her  life  is  at 
stake,  you  abdicate.  You  could 
part  her  from  a  man  who  loved  her 
with  every  drop  of  his  heart,  and  she 
said  she  loved  him,  or  at  all  events 
preferred  him  to  others,  and  you 
cannot  part  her  from  a  miserable 
corset,  although  you  see  in  her  poor 
wasted  face  that  it  is  carrying  her  to 
the  churchyard.  In  that  case,  sir, 
there  is  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do  : 
withdraw  your  opposition,  and  let  me 
marry  her.  As  her  lover,  I  am 
powerless ;  but  invest  me  with  a 
husband's  authority,  and  good-by 
corset !  You  will  soon  see  the  roses 
return  to  her  cheek,  and  her  elastic 
figure  expanding,  and  her  eye 
beaming  with  health  and  physical 
happiness.'' 

Mr.  Lusignan  made  an  answer 
neither  of  his  hearers  expected. 
He  said,  "  I  have  a  great  mind  to 
take  you  at  your  word.  I  am  too 
old  and  fond  of  quiet  to  drive  a 
simpleton  in  single  harness." 

This  contemptuous  speech,  and 
above  all  the  word  "simpleton," 
which  had  been  applied  to  her  pretty 
freely  by  young  ladies  at  school,  and 
always  galled  her  terribly,  inflicted 
so  intolerable  a  wound  on  Rosa's  van- 
ity that  she  was  ready  to  burst:  on 
that,  of  course,  her  stays  contributed 
their  might  of  physical  uneasiness. 
Thus  irritated,  mind  and  body,  sho 
burned  to  strike  in  return  ;  and,  as 
she  could  not  slap  her  father  in  the 
presence  of  another,  she  gave  it  to 
Christopher  backhanded. 

"  You  can  turn  me  out  of  doors," 
said  she,  "  if  you  are  tired  of  your 


20 


A  SIMPLETON. 


daughter;  but  I  am  not  such  a  sim- 
pleton as  to  marry  a  tyrant.  No  :  he 
has  shown  the  cloven  foot  in  time. 
A  husband's  authority,  indeed ! " 
Then  she  turned  her  hand,  and  gave 
it  him  direct.  "  You  told  me  a 
different  story  when  you  were  pay- 
ing your  court  to  me ;  then  you 
were  to  be  my  servant,  —  all  hypocrit- 
ical sweetness.  You  had  better  go 
and  marry  a  Circassian  slave.  They 
don't  wear  stays,  and  they  do  wear 
trowsers  ;  so  she  will  be  unfeminine 
enough  even  tor  you.  No  English 
lady  would  let  her  husband  dictate 
to  her  about  such  a  thing.  I  can 
have  as  many  husbands  as  I  like, 
without  falling  into  the  clutches  of  a 
tyrant.  You  are  a  rude,  indelicate 
—  And  so  please  understand  it  is 
all  over  between  you  and  me." 

Both  her  auditors  stood  aghast  ; 
for  she  uttered  this  conclusion  with 
a  dignity  of  which  the  opening  gave 
no  promise,  and  the  occasion, 
weighed  in  masculine  balances,  was 
not  worthy. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that.  You 
cannot  mean  it,"  said  Dr.  Staines 
aghast. 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  said  she  firmly  ; 
"and,  if  you  are  a  gentleman,  you 
will  not  compel  me  to  say  it  twice,  — 
three  times,  I  mean." 

At  this  dagger-stroke,  Christopher 
turned  very  pale ;  but  he  maintained 
his  dignity.  "I  am  a  gentleman," 
said  he  quietly,  "  and  a  very  unfor- 
tunate one.  Good-by,  sir ;  thank 
you  kindly.  Good-by,  Rosa ;  God 
bless  you  !  Oh,  pray  take  a  thought ! 
Remember,  your  life  and  death  are 
in  your  own  hand  now.  I  am  pow- 
erless." 

And  he  left  the  house  in  sorrow, 
and  just,  but  not  pettish,  indigna- 
tion. 

When  he  was  gone,  father  and 
daughter  looked  at  each  other ;  and 
there  was  the  silence  that  succeeds 
a  storm. 

Rosa,  feeling  the  most  uneasy, 
was  the  first  to  express  her  satisfac- 
tion.    "  There,  he  is  gone ;  and  I  am 


glad  of  it.  Now  you  and  I  shall 
never  quarrel  again.  I  was  quite 
right.  Such  impertinence !  Such 
indelicacy  !  A  fine  prospect  for  me 
if  I  had  married  such  a  man !  How- 
ever, he  is  gone ;  and  so  there's  an 
end  of  it.  The  idea !  telling  a 
young  lady,  before  her  father,  she  is 
tight-laced.  If  you  had  not  been 
there,  I  could  have  forgiven  him. 
But  I  am  not ;  it  is  a  story.  Now," 
suddenly  exalting  her  voice,  "  I  knoW 
you  believe  him ! " 

"  I  say  nothing,"  whispered  papa, 
hoping  to  still  her  by  example.  This 
ruse  did  not  succeed. 

"  But  you  look  volumes,"  cried 
she  ;  "  and  I  can't  bear  it ;  I  won't 
bear  it.  If  you  don't  believe  me, 
ask  my  maid."  And,  with  this  feli- 
citous speech,  she  rang  the  bell. 

"You'll  break  the  wire,  if  you 
don't  mind,"  suggested  her  father 
piteously. 

"All   the    better!     Why   should 
not  wires  be  broken  as  well  as  my 
heart  ?     Oh,  here  she  is  !    Now,  Har- 
riet, come  here." 
"  Yes,  miss." 

"  And  tell  the  truth.  Am  I  tight- 
laced  1  " 

Harriet  looked  in  her  face  a 
moment,  to  see  what  was  required  of 
her,  and  then  said,  "  That  you  are 
not,  miss.  I  never  dressed  a  young 
lady  as  wore'em  easier  than  you  do." 
"  There,  papa.  That  will  do, 
Harriet." 

Harriet  retired  as  far  as  the  key- 
hole :  she  saw  something  was  up. 

"Now,"  said  Rosa,  "you  see  I 
was  right ;  and,  after  all,  it  was  a 
match  you  did  not  approve.  Well, 
it  is  all  over;  and  now  you  may 
write  to  your  favorite,  Colonel 
Bright.  If  he  comes  here,  I'll  box 
his  old  ears.  I  hate  him.  I  hate 
them  all.  Forgive  your  wayward 
girl.  I'll  stay  with  you  all  my  days. 
I  dare  say  that  will  not  be  long,  now 
I  have  quarrelled  with  my  guardian 
angel :  and  all  for  what  ?  Papa ! 
papa  !  how  can  you  sit  there  and  not 
speak    me  one   word   of   comfort'? 


A  SIMPLETON. 


21 


*  Simpleton!'  Ah!  that  I  am,  to 
throw  away  a  love  a  cfueen  is  scarce- 
ly worthy  of:  and  all  for  what? 
Really,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  ingrati- 
tude and  wickedness  of  the  thing,  it 
is  too  laughable.  Ha  !  ha  !  —  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  —  ha !  ha !  ha  !  " 

And  off  she  went  into  hysterics, 
and  began  to  gulp  and  choke  fright- 
fully. 

Her  father  cried  for  help,  in  dis- 
may. In  ran  Harriet,  saw,  and 
screamed,  but  did  not  lose  her  head. 
This  veracious  person  whipped  a 
pair  of  scissors  off  the  table,  and  cut 
the  young  lady's  stay-laces  directly. 
Then  there  was  a  burst  of  impris- 
oned beauty;  a  deep,  deep  sigh  of 
relief  came  from  a  bosom  that  would 
have  done  honor  to  Diana;  and  the 
scene  soon  concluded  with  fits  of 
harmless  weeping,  renewed  at  inter- 
vals. 

When  it  had  settled  down  to  this, 
her  father,  to  soothe  her,  said  he 
would  write  to  Dr.  Staines,  and 
bring  about  a  reconciliation  if  she 
liked. 

"No,"  said   she,  "you   shall   kill 

me  sooner.     I  should  die  of  shame." 

She  added,  "  Oh,  pray,  from  this 

hour   never   mention   his   name   to 

me!" 

And  then  she  had  another  cry. 
Mr.  Lusignan  was  a  sensible  man  : 
he  dropped  the  subject  for  the  pres- 
ent; but  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
one  thing,  —  that  he  would  never 
part  with  Dr.  Staines  as  a  physi- 
cian. 

N<xt  day  Rosa  kept  her  own  room 
Until  dinner-time,  and  was  as  un- 
happy as  she  deserved  to  be.  She 
Spent  her  time  in  sewing  on  still' 
flannel  linings,  and  crying.  She 
half-hoped  Christopher  would  write 
to  her,  bo  that  she  might  write  back 
that  she  forgave  him.  But  not  a 
line. 

At  half-past  six.  her  volatile  mind 
took  a  turn,  real  or  affected.  She 
WOnld  cry  no  more  tor  an  ungrate- 
ful fellow,  —  ungrateful  for  not  see- 
ing through  the  stone  walls  how  she 


had  been  employed  all  the  morning, 
and  making  it  up ;  so  she  bathed 
her  red  eyes,  made  a  great  alteration 
in  her  dress,  and  came  dancing  into 
the  room,  humming  an  Italian 
ditty. 

As  they  were  sitting  together  in 
the  dining-room  after  dinner,  two  let- 
ters came  by  the  same  post  to  Mr. 
Lusignan,  —  from  Mr.  Wyman  and 
Dr.  Sncll. 

Mr.  Wyman's  letter. 

"  Dear  Sir,  — I  am  sorry  to  hear 
from  Miss  Lusignan  that  she  intends 
to  discontinue  medical  advice.  The 
disorder  was  progressing  favorably, 
and  nothing  to  be  feared,  under 
proper  treatment. 

"  Yours,  etc." 

Dr.  Snell's  letter. 

"Dear  Sir,  —  Miss  Lusignan 
has  written  to  me  somewhat  impa- 
tiently, and  seems  disposed  to  dis- 
pense with  my  visits.  I  do  not, 
however,  think  it  right  to  withdraw 
without  telling  you  candidly  that 
this  is  an  unwise  step.  Your  daugh- 
ter's health  is  in  a  very  precarious 
condition. 

"  Yours,  etc." 

Rosa  burst  out  laughing.  "  I 
have  nothing  to  fear ;  and  I'm  on 
the  brink  of  the  grave.  That  comes 
of  writing  without  a  consultation. 
If  they  had  written  at  one  table,  I 
should  have  been  neither  well  nor 
ill.  Poor  Christopher!"  and  her 
sweet  face  began  to  work  piteously. 

"  There,  there :  drink  a  glass  of 
wine." 

She  did,  and  a  tear  with  it,  that 
ran  into  the  glass  like  lightning. 

Warned  by  this  that  grief  sat  very 
near  the  bright  hilarious  surface, 
Mr.  Lnsignail  avoided  all  emotional 
subjects  lor  the  present.  Next  day, 
however,  be  told  her  she  might  dis- 
miss her  lover  ;  but  no  power  should 
make  him  dismiss  his  jut  physician, 
unless  her  health  improved. 

"  1  will  not  give  you  that  ^xcuso 


22 


A  SIMPLETON. 


for  inflicting  him  on  me  again,"  said 
the  young  hypocrite. 

She  kept  her  word.  She  got 
better  and  better,  stronger,  brighter, 
gayer. 

She  took  to  walking  every  day, 
and  increasing  the  distance,  till  she 
could  walk  ten  miles  without  fa- 
tigue. 

Her  favorite  walk  was  to  a  certain 
cliff  that  commanded  a  noble  view 
of  the  sea :  to  get  to  it,  she  must  pass 
through  the  town  of  Gravesend; 
and  we  may  be  sure  she  did  not 
pass  so  often  through  that  city  with- 
out some  idea  of  meeting  the  lover 
she  had  used  so  ill,  and  eliciting  an 
apology  from  him.     Sly  puss  ! 

When  she  had  walked  twenty 
times  or  thereabouts  through  the 
town  and  never  seen  him,  she  began 
to  fear  she  had  offended  him  past 
hope.  Then  she  used  to  cry  at  the 
end  of  every  walk. 

But  by-and-l>y  bodily  health,  van- 
ity, and  temper  combined  to  rouse 
the  defiant  spirit.  Said  she,  "  If  he 
really  loved  me,  he  would  not  take 
me  at  my  word  in  such  a  hurry. 
And,  besides,  why  does  he  not 
watch  me,  and  find  out  what  I  am 
doing  and  where  I  walk  1 " 

At  last  she  really  began  to  per- 
suade herself  that  she  was  an  ill-used 
and  slighted  girl.  She  was  very 
angry  at  times,  and  disconsolate  at 
others,  —  a  mixed  state,  in  which 
hasty  and  impulsive  young  ladies 
commit  life-long  follies. 

Mr.  Lusignan  observed  the  sur- 
face only.  He  saw  his  invalid 
daughter  getting  better  every  day, 
till  at  last  she  became  a  picture  of 
health  and  bodily  vigor.  Relieved  of 
his  fears,  he  troubled  his  head  but  lit- 
tle about  Christopher  Staines.  Yet 
he  esteemed  him,  and  had  got  to  like 
him  ;  but  Rosa  was  a  beauty,  and 
could  do  better  than  marry  a  strug- 
gling physician,  however  able.  He 
launched  out  into  a  little  gayety, 
resumed  his  quiet  dinner  parties, 
and,  after  some  persuasion,  took 
his    now  blooming   daughter  to  a 


ball  given  by  the  officers  at  Chat- 
ham. 

She  was  the  belle  of  the  ball  be- 
yond dispute,  and  danced  with  ethe- 
real grace  and    athletic  endurance. 
She  was  madly  fond   of  waltzing; 
and  here  she  eucountered  what  she 
was  pleased  to  call  a  divine  dancer. 
It  was  a  Mr.    Reginald  Falcon,  a 
gentleman  who  had    retired    to  the 
sea-side  to    recruit   his   health   and 
finances,  sore  tried  by  London  and 
Paris.     Falcon  had  run  through  his 
fortune,  but    had    acquired,  in    the 
process,    certain    talents,   which,    as 
they  cost  the  acquirer  dear,  so  they 
sometimes  repay  him,  especially  if 
he  is  not  overburdened  with  princi- 
ple, and  adopts  the  notion,  that,  the 
world  having  plucked  him,  he  has  a 
right  to  pluck  the  world.     He  could 
play  billiards  well,  but  never  so  well 
as  when  backing  himself  for  a  heavy 
stake.     He  could  shoot  pigeons  well ; 
and   his    shooting  improved  under 
that  which  makes  some  marksmen 
miss,  —  a  heavy  bet  against  the  gun. 
He  danced  to  perfection  ;  and  being 
a    well-bred,    experienced,    brazen, 
adroit  fellow,  who  knew  a  little  of 
every  thing  that  was  going,  he  had 
always  plenty  to  say  :  above  all,  he 
had  made  a  particular  study  of  the 
fair  sex  ;  had   met  with  many  suc- 
cesses, many  rebuffs,  and  at  last,  by 
keen   study  of  their  minds,  and  a 
habit  he  had  acquired  of  watching 
their  faces,  and    shifting   his  helm 
accordingly,  had  learned  the  great 
art   of   pleasing   them.     They   ad- 
mired his  face :    to    me    the   short 
space  between  his  eyes  and  his  hair, 
his  aquiline  nose,  and  thin  straight 
lips,  suggested  the  bird   of  prey  a 
little  too  much ;  but  to  fair  doves, 
born  to  be  clutched,  this  similitude 
perhaps  was  not  very  alarming,  even 
if  they  observed  it. 

Rosa  danced  several  times  with 
him,  and  told  him  he  danced  like  an 
angel.  He  informed  her  that  was 
because,  for  once,  he  was  dancing 
with  an  angel.  She  laughed  and 
blushed.     He   flattered  deliciously, 


A   SIMPLETON. 


23 


and  it  cost  him  little  ;  for  he  fell  in 
love  with  her  that  night  deeper  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  his  whole  life 
of  intrigue.  He  asked  leave  to  call 
on  her  :  she  looked  a  little  shy  at 
that,  and  did  not  respond.  He  in- 
stantly withdrew  his  proposal,  with 
an  apology  and  a  sigh  that  raised 
her  pity.  However,  she  was  not  a 
forward  girl,  even  when  excited  by 
dancing  and  charmed  with  her  part- 
ner; so  she  left  him  to  lind  his  own 
way  out  of  that  difficulty. 

He  was  not  long  about  it.  At 
the  end  of  the  next  waltz,  he  asked 
her  if  lie  might  venture  to  solicit  an 
introduction  to  her  father. 

"  Oh,  certainly  !"  said  she.  "What 
a  selfish  i^irl  I  am !  this  is  terribly 
dull  for  him." 

The  introduction  being  made, 
and  Rosa  being  engaged  for  the 
next  three  dances,  Mr.  Falcon  sat 
by  Mr.  Lusignan  and  entertained 
him.  For  this  little  piece  of  appar- 
ent self-denial,  he  was  paid  in  vari- 
ous coin :  Lusignan  found  out  he 
was  the  son  of  an  old  acquaintance, 
and  so  the  door  of  Kent  Villa  open- 
ed to  him.  Meantime,  Rosa  Lusig- 
nan never  passed  him,  even  in  the 
arms  of  a  cavalry  officer,  without 
bestowing  a  glance  of  approval  and 
gratitude  on  him.  "  What  a  good- 
hearted  young  man  !  "  thought  she. 
"  How  kind  of  him  to  amuse  papa  ! 
and  now  I  can  stay  so  much 
longer." 

Falcon  followed  up  the  dance  by 
a  call,  and  was  infinitely  agreeable; 
followed  up  the  call  by  another,  and 
admired  Rosa  with  so  little  disguise 
that  Mr.  Lusignan  said  to  her,  "  I 
think  you  have  made  a  conquest, 
His  father  had  considerable  estates 
in  Essex.  I  presume  he  inherits 
them." 

"Oh,  never  mind  his  estates!" 
said  Kosa.  "He  dances  like  an 
angel,  and  gossips  charmingly,  and 
it  so  nice." 

Christopher  Staines  pined  for  this 
girl  in  silence  ;  his  lino  frame  got 
thinner,  his  pale  cheek  paler,  as  she 


got  rosier  and    rosier ;    and    how  1 

Why,  by  following  the  very  advice 

she  had  snubbed  him  for  giving  her. 

At  last  he  heard  she  had  been  the 

belle  of  a  ball,  and  that  she  had  been 

seen  walking  miles  from  home,  and 

blooming    as    a    Hebe.       Then    his 

deep  anxiety  ceased,  his  pride  stung 

him  furiously  ;  he   began   to  think 

of  his  own    value,   and  to  struggle 

with  all  his  might  against  his  deep 

love.      Sometimes    he    would  even 

inveigh   against  her,  and  call  her  a 

fickle,  ungrateful  girl,  capable  of  no 

strong  passion  but   vanity.     Many 

a  hard  term  he  applied  to  her  in  his 

sorrowful  solitude,  but  not  a  word 

when  he  had  a  hearer.     He  found 

it  hard  to  rest  :  he  kept  dashing  up 

to  London  and  back.     He  plunged 

furiously  into   study,     lie  groaned 

and  sighed,  and  fought  the  hard  and 

bitter  fight   that  is  too  often  the  lot 

of  the   deep  that  love  the  shallow. 

Strong,  but  single-hearted,  no  other 

lady  could  comfort  him.     He  turned 

from    their    female    company,   and 

shunned  all  for  the  fault  of  one. 

The  inward  contest  wore  him. 
He  began  to  look  very  thin  and  wan, 
and  all  for  a  simpleton. 

Mr.  Falcon  prolonged  his  stay  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  drove  a  hand- 
some dog-cart  over  twice  a  week  to 
visit  Mr.  Lusignan. 

He  used  to  call  on  that  gentleman 
at  four  o'clock  ;  for  at  that  hour  .Mr. 
Lusignan  was  always  out,  and  his 
daughter  always  at  home. 

She  was  at  home  at  that  hour, 
because  she  took  her  long  walks  in 
the  morning.  While  her  new  ad- 
mirer was  in  bed,  or  dressing,  or 
breakfasting,  she  was  Springing 
along  the  road  with  all  the  elasticity 
of  youth  and  health  and  native 
vigor,  braced  by  daily  exereise. 

Twenty-one  of  these  walks  did 
she  take  with  no  other  result  than 
health  and  appetite  ;  but  the  twenty- 
second  was  more  fertile,  extremely 
fertile.  Starting  later  than  usual, 
she  passed  through  Gravesend  while 
Reginald  Falcon  was    smoking    at 


24 


A  SIMPLETON. 


his  front  window.  He  saw  her,  and 
instantly  doffed  his  dressing-gown 
and  donned  his  coat  to  follow  her. 
He  was  madly  in  love  with  her ;  and, 
being  a  man  who  had  learned  to 
shoot  pigeons  and  opportunities  fly- 
ing, he  instantly  resolved  to  join  her 
in  her  walk,  get  her  clear  of  the 
town,  by  the  sea-beach,  where  beauty 
melts,  and  propose  to  her.  Yes, 
marriage  had  not  been  hitherto  his 
habit ;  but  this  girl  was  peerless. 
He  was  pledged  by  honor  and  grati- 
tude to  Phoebe  Dale ;  but  hang  all 
that  now.  "  No  man  should  marry 
one  woman  when  he  loves  another ; 
it  is  dishonorable."  He  got  into  the 
street,  and  followed  her  as  fast  as  he 
could  without  running. 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  catch  her. 
Ladies  are  not  built  for  running ; 
but  a  fine,  tall,  symmetrical  girl,  who 
has  practised  walking  fast,  can  cover 
tlie  ground  wonderfully  in  walking 
—  if  she  chooses.  It  was  a  sight  to 
see  how  Rosa  Lusignan  squared  her 
shoulders  and  stepped  out  from  the 
loins,  like  a  Canadian  girl  skating, 
while  her  elastic  foot  slapped  the 
pavement  as  she  spanked  along. 

She  had  nearly  cleared  the  town 
before  Falcon  came  up  with  her. 

He  was  hardly  ten  yards  from  her 
when  an  unexpected  incident  oc- 
curred. She  whisked  round  the  cor- 
ner of  Bird  Street,  and  ran  plump 
against  Christopher  Staines  ;  in  fact, 
she  darted  into  his  arms,  and  her 
face  almost  touched  the  breast  she 
had  wounded  so  deeply. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Rosa  cried,  "  Oh !  "and  put  up  her 
hands  to  her  face  in  lovely  confu- 
sion, coloring  like  a  peony. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Chris- 
topher stiffly,  but  in  a  voice  that 
trembled. 

"  No,"  said  Rosa :  "  it  was  I  ran 
against  you.  I  walk  so  fast  now. 
Hope  I  did  not  hurt  you." 


"  Hurt  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  frighten  you  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  quarrel  with  me 
in  the  street !  "  said  Rosa,  cunningly 
implying  that  he  was  the  quarrel- 
some one.  "  I  am  going  on  the 
beach.  Good-by."  This  adieu  she 
uttered  softly,  and  in  a  hesitating 
tone,  that  belied  it.  She  started  off, 
however,  but  much  more  slowly  than 
she  was  going  before;  and,  as  she 
went,  she  turned  her  head  with  in- 
finite grace,  and  kept  looking  askant 
down  at  the  pavement  two  yards 
behind  her :  moreover,  she  went 
close  to  the  wall,  and  left  room  at 
her  side  for  another  to  walk. 

Christopher  hesitated  a  moment ; 
but  the  mute  invitation,  so  arch  yet 
timid,  so  pretty,  tender,  sly,  and 
womanly,  was  too  much  for  him, 
as  it  has  generally  proved  for  males  ; 
and  the  philosopher's  foot  was  soon 
in  the  very  place  to  which  the  sim- 
pleton with  the  mere  tail  of  her  eye 
directed  it. 

They  walked  along  side  by  side  in 
silence,  Staines  agitated,  gloomy,  con- 
fused ;  Rosa  radiant  and  glowing ; 
yet  not  knowing  what  to  say  for 
herself,  and  wanting  Christopher  to 
begin.  So  they  walked  along  with- 
out a  word. 

Falcon  followed  them  at  some 
distance,  to  see  whether  it  was  an 
admirer  or  only  an  acquaintance; 
a  lover,  he  never  dreamed  of,  she 
had  shown  such  evident  pleasure  in 
his  company,  and  had  received  his 
visits  alone  so  constantly. 

However,  when  the  pair  had  got 
to  the  beach,and  were  walking  slow- 
er and  slower,  he  felt  a  pang  of  rage 
and  jealousy,  turned  on  his  heel 
with  an  audible  curse,  and  found 
Phcebe  Dale  a  few  yards  behind  him 
with  a  white  face  and  a  peculiar 
look.  He  knew  what  the  look  meant. 
He  had  brought  it  to  that  faithful 
face  before  to-day. 


You   are   better,  Miss  Lusig- 


nan. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


25 


"Better,  Dr.  Staines?  I  am 
health  itself,  thanks  to —    Hem!" 

"  Our  estrangement  has  agreed 
with  you  ?  "   This  very  bitterly. 

"  You  know  very  well  it  is  not 
that.  Oh,  please  don't  make  me 
cry  in  the  streets  !  " 

This  humble  petition,  or  rather 
meek  threat,  led  to  another  long  si- 
lence. It  was  continued  till  they 
had  nearly  reached  the  shore.  But 
meantime,  Rosa's  furtive  eyes  scan- 
ned Christopher's  face  ;  and  her  con- 
science smote  her  at  the  signs  of 
sutfering.  She  felt  a  desire  to  beg 
his  pardon  with  deep  humility  ;  but 
she  suppressed  that  weakness.  She 
hung  her  head  with  a  pretty,  sheep- 
ish air,  and  asked  him  if  he  could 
not  think  of  something  agreeable  to 
say  to  one  after  deserting  one  so 
long. 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Christo- 
pher bluntly.  "  I  have  an  awk- 
ward habit  of  speaking  the  truth; 
and  some  people  can't  bear  that,  not 
even  when  it  is  spoken  for  their 
good." 

"  That  depends  on  temper  and 
nerves  and  things,"  said  Rosa  dep- 
recatingly ;  then  softly,  "I  could 
bear  any  thing  from  you  now." 

"Indeed!"  said  Christopher, 
grimly.  "  Well,  then,  I  hear  you 
had  no  sooner  got  rid  of  your  old 
lover,  for  loving  you  too  well,  and 
telling  you  the  truth,  than  you  took 
up  another,  —  some  flimsy  man  of 
fashion,  who  will  tell  you  any  lie 
you  like." 

"  It  is  a  story,  a  wicked  story," 
cried  Rosa,  thoroughly  alarmed. 
"  Me,  a  lover?  He  dances  like  an 
angel.     I  can't  help  that." 

"  Are  his  visits  at  your  house  like 
angels',  few  and  far  between  ?  " 
Ami  the  true  lover's  brow  lowered 
black  upon  her  lor  the  lirst  time. 

Rosa  changed  color  ;  and  her  eyes 
fell  a  moment  "  Ask  papa,"  said 
she.  "  His  father  was  an  old  friend 
of  papa's." 

"  Boss,   you   are    prevaricating. 
Young  men  do  not  call  on  old  gen- 
3 


tlemen   when  there  is  an  attractive 
young  lady  in  the  house." 

The  argument  was  getting  too 
close,  so  Rosa  operated  a  diversion. 
"  So,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  air 
of  lofty  disdain,  swiftly  and  adroit- 
ly assumed,  "  you  have  had  me 
watched." 

"  Not  I :  I  only  hear  what  people 
say.'^ 

"Listen  to  gossip,  and  not  have 
me  watched  !  That  shows  how  little 
you  really  cared  for  me.  Well,  if 
you  had,  you  would  have  made  a 
little  discovery  ;  that  is  all." 

"  Should  I  ?  "  said  Christopher 
puzzled.     "  What  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you.  Think 
what  you  please.  Yes,  sir,  you 
would  have  found  out  that  I  take 
long  walks  every  day,  all  alone;  and 
what  is  more,  that  I  walk  through 
Gravesend  hoping,  like  a  goose, 
that  somebody  really  loved  me,  and 
would  meet  me,  and  beg  my  pardon  ; 
and,  if  he  had,  I  should  have  told 
him  it  was  only  my  tongue  and  my 
nerves  and  things.  My  heart  was 
his,  and  my  gratitude ;  and,  after 
all,  what  do  words  signify  when  I 
am  a  good,  obedient  girl  at  bottom  ? 
So  that  is  what  you  have  lost  by  not 
condescending  to  look  after  me. 
Fine  love!  Christopher,  beg  my 
pardon." 

"  May  I  ask  for  what  ?  " 
"  Why,  for  not  understanding 
me  ;  for  not  knowing  that  I  should 
be  sorry  the  moment  you  were  gone. 
I  took  them  off  the  very  next  day, 
to  please  you." 

"  Took  off  whom  ?  Oh,  I  under- 
stand !  You  did  ?  Then  you  are 
a  good  girl." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  ?  A 
good  obedient  girl,  and  any  thing 
but  a  flirt." 

"  I  don't  say  that." 

"  But  I  do.  Don't  interrupt.  It 
is  to  your  good  advice  I  owe  my 
health ;  and  to  love  anybody  but 
you,  when  I  owe  you  my  love  and 
my  life,  I  must  be  a  heartless  un- 
grateful,   worthless —        O    Chris- 


2G 


A  SIMPLETON. 


topher  forgive  me !  No,  no ;  I 
moan,  beg  my  pardon." 

"I'll  do  both,"  said  Christopher, 
taking  her  in  his  arms.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  and  I  forgive  you." 

Rosa  leaned  her  head  tenderly  on 
his  shoulder,  and  began  to  sigh. 
"  Oh,  dear,  dear,  I  am  a  wicked, 
foolish  girl,  not  fit  to  walk  alone!" 

On  this  admission,  Christopher 
spoke  out,  and  urged  her  to  put  an 
end  to  all  these  unhappy  misunder- 
standings, and  to  his  new  torment, 
jealousy,  by  marrying  him. 

"  And  so  I  would  this  very  min- 
ute, if  papa  would  consent.  But," 
said  she  shyly,  "  you  never  can  be 
so  foolish  to  wish  it.  What !  a 
wise  man  like  you  marry  a  simple- 
ton ! " 

"  Did  I  ever  call  you  that  1  " 
asked  Christopher,  reproach  fully. 

"No,  dear;  but  you  are  the  only 
one  who  has  not;  and  perhaps  I 
should  lose  even  the  one,  if  you 
were  to  marry  me.  Oh,  husbands 
are  not  so  polite  as  lovers  !  I  have 
observed  that,  simpleton  or  not." 

Christopher  assured  her  that  he 
took  quite  a  different  view  of  her 
character:  he  believed  her  to  be 
too  profound  for  shallow  people  to 
read  all  in  a  moment ;  he  even 
intimated  that  he  himself  had  ex- 
perienced no  little  difficulty  in 
understanding  her  at  odd  times. 
"  And  so,"  said  he,  "  they  turn 
round  upon  you,  and  instead  of 
saying,  '  We  are  too  shallow  to 
fathom  you,'  they  pretend  you  are 
a  simpleton." 

This  solution  of  the  mystery  had 
never  occurred  to  Rosa,  nor,  indeed, 
was  it  likely  to  occur  to  any  creature 
less  ingenious  than  a  lover.  It  pleased 
her  hugely  :  her  fine  eyes  sparkled  ; 
and  she  nestled  closer  still  to  the 
strong  arm  that  was  to  parry  every 
ill,  from  mortal  disease  to  galling  epi- 
thets. 

She  listened  with  a  willing  ear  to 
all  his  reasons,  his  hopes,  his  fears  ; 
and,  when  they  reached  her  father's 
door,  it  was  settled  that  he  should 


dine  there  that  day,  and  urge  his 
suit  to  her  father  after  dinner.  She 
would  implore  the  old  gentleman  to 
listen  to  it  favorably. 

The  lovers  parted ;  and  Christo- 
pher went  home  like  one  who  has 
awakened  from  a  hideous  dream  to 
daylight  and  happiness. 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  he 
met  a  dashing  dog-cart  driven  by  an 
exquisite.  He  turned  to  look  after 
it,  and  saw  it  drive  up  to  Kent 
Villa. 

In  a  moment,  he  divined  his  rival ; 
and  a  sickness  of  heart  came  over 
him.  But  he  recovered  himself  di- 
rectly, and  said,  "  If  that  is  the  fel- 
low, she  will  not  receive  him 
now." 

She  did  receive  him,  though  :  at 
all  events,  the  dog-cart  stood  at  the 
door,  and  its  master  remained  in- 
side. 

Christopher  stood  and  counted 
the  minutes  :  five  —  ten  — fifteen  — 
twenty  minutes  ;  and  still  the  dog- 
cart stood  there. 

It  was  more  than  he  could  bear. 
He  turned  savagely,  and  strode  back 
to  Gravesend,  resolving  that  all  this 
torture  should  end  that  night,  one 
way  or  other. 

Phcebe  Dale  was  the  daughter  of 
a  farmer  in  Essex,  and  one  of  the 
happiest  young  women  in  England 
till  she  knew  Reginald  Falcon, 
Esq. 

She  was  reared  on  wholesome 
food,  in  wholesome  air,  and  used  to 
churn  butter,  make  bread,  cook  a 
bit  now  and  then,  cut  out  and  sew 
all  her  own  dresses,  get  up  her  own 
linen,  make  hay,  ride  any  thing  on 
four  legs,  and,  for  all  that,  was  a 
great  reader,  and  taught  in  the  Sun- 
day school  to  oblige  the  vicar ;  wrote 
a  neat  hand,  and  was  a  good  arith- 
metician ;  kept  all  the  house  ac- 
counts and  farm  accounts.  She  was 
a  musician  too  —  not  profound,  but 
very  correct ;  she  would  take  her 
turn  at  the  harmonium  in  church, 
and  when  she  was  there  you  never 


A  SIMPLETON. 


27 


heard  a  wrong  note  in  the  bass,  nor 
an  inappropriate  flourish,  nor  bad 
time.  Siie  could  sing  too,  but  never 
would,  except  her  part  in  a  psalm. 
Her  voice  was  a  deep  contralto  ;  and 
she  chose  to  be  ashamed  of  this 
heavenly  organ  because  a  pack  of 
envious  girls  had  giggled,  and  said 
it  was  like  a  man's. 

In  short,  her  natural  ability,  and 
the  range  and  variety  of  her  useful 
accomplishments,  were  considerable  ; 
not  that  she  was  a  prodigy,  but  she 
belonged  to  a  small  class  of  women 
in  this  island  who  are  not  too  high 
to  use  their  arms,  nor  too  low  to 
cultivate  their  minds;  and,  having  a 
faculty  ami  a  habit  deplorably  rare 
among  her  sex,  viz.,  attention,  she 
had  profited  by  her  miscellaneous 
advantages. 

Her  figure  and  face  both  told  her 
breed  at  once :  here  was  an  old 
English  pastoral  beauty;  not  the 
round-backed,  narrow-chested  cotta- 
ger, but  the  well-fed,  erect  rustic, 
with  broad,  full  bust  and  massive 
shoulder,  and  arm  as  hard  as  a  rock 
with  health  and  constant  use;  a 
hand  finely  cur,  though  neither  small 
ii.ir  very  white,  and  just  a  little  hard 
inside  compared  with  Luxury's  soft 
palm  ;  a  face  honest,  fair,  and  rather 
large  than  small  ;  not  beautiful,  but 
exceedingly  comely;  a  complexion 
not  pink  and  white,  but  that  deli- 
cately blended,  brick-dusty  color 
which  tints  the  whole  cheek  in  fine 
gradation,  outlasta  other  complex- 
ions twenty  years,  and  beautifies  the 
true  Northern  even  in  old  age. 
Gray,  limpid,  honest,  point-blank, 
searching  cms  ;  hair  true  nut  brown, 
without  a  shade  of  red  or  black,  and 
a  high  smooth  forehead,  full  of 
Bense,  Across  it  ran  one  deep  wrin- 
kle that  did  not  belong  to  her  youth  ; 
that  wrinkle  was  the  brand  of 
trouble,  the  line  of  agony.  It  hnd 
come  of  loving  above  her,  yet  below 
ber,  and  of  loving  an  egotist. 

Three   years  before   our  tale   com- 

menced    a    gentleman's    horse  ran 

away  with  him,  and  threw  him  on  a 


heap  of  stones  by  the  roadside,  not 
very  far  from  Farmer  Dale's  gate. 
The  farmer  had  him  taken  in  :  the 
doctor  said  he  must  not  be  moved. 
He  was  insensible;  his  cheek  like 
delicate  wax  ;  his  fair  hair  like  silk 
stained  with  blood.  He  became 
Phcebe's  patient,  and,  in  due  course, 
her  convalescent:  his  pale,  hand- 
some face  and  fascinating  manners 
gained  one  charm  more  from  weak- 
ness ;  his  vices  were  in  abeyance. 

The  womanly  nurse's  heart 
yearned  over  her  child,  for  he  was 
feeble  as  a  child ;  and  when  he  got 
well  enough  to  amuse  his  weary 
hours  by  making  love  to  her,  and 
telling  her  a  pack  of  arrant  lies,  she 
was  a  ready  dupe.  He  was  to  marry 
her  as  soon  as  ever  his  old  uncle 
died  and  left  him  the  means,  etc., 
etc.  At  last  he  got  well  enough  to 
leave  her,  and  went  away,  her  open 
admirer  and  secret  lover.  He  bor- 
rowed twenty  pounds  of  her  the  day 
he  left. 

He  used  to  write  her  charming 
letters,  and  feed  the  flame  :  but  one 
day  her  father  sent  her  up  to  Lon- 
don, on  his  own  business,  all  of  a 
sudden  ;  and  she  called  on  Mr.  Fal- 
con at  his  feigned  address.  She 
found  he  did  not  live  there  —  only 
received  letters.  However,  half  a 
crown  soon  bought  his  real  address, 
and  thither  Phoebe  proceeded,  with  a 
troubled  heart;  for  she  suspected 
that  her  true  lover  was  in  debt  or 
trouble,  and  obliged  to  bide.  Well, 
be  must  be  got  out  of  it,  and  hide  at 
the  farm  meantime. 

So  the  loving  girl  knocked  at  the 
door,  asked  for  Mr.  Falcon,  and  was 
shown  in  to  a  lady  rather  showily 
dressed,  who  asked  her  business,  and 
introduced  herself  as  Mrs.  Falcon. 

Phoebe  Dale  stared  at  her,  and 
then  turned  pale  as  allies.  She  was 
paralysed,  and  could  not  find  her 
tongue. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  now  1 " 
said  the  other  sharply. 

"  Are  vou  married  fo  Reginald 
Falcon  !  " 


28 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  Of  course  I  am.  Look  at  my 
wedding-ring." 

"  Then  I  am  not  wanted  here," 
faltered  Phcebe,  ready  to  sink  on  the 
floor. 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  arc  one  of 
the  by-gones,"  said  the  woman 
coarsely ;  and  Phcebe  Dale  waited  to 
hear  no  more,  but  found  her  way, 
Heaven  knows  how  !  into  the  street, 
and  there  leaned,  half  fainting,  on  a 
rail,  till  a  policeman  came  and  told 
her  she  had  been  drinking,  and  sug- 
gested a  cool  cell  as  the  best  cure. 

"  Not  drink ;  only  a  breaking 
heart,"  said  she,  in  her  low  mellow 
voice  that  few  could  resist. 

He  got  her  a  glass  of  water,  drove 
away  the  boys  that  congregated  di- 
rectly, and  she  left  the  street.  But 
she  soon  came  back  again,  and  wait- 
ed about  for  Reginald  Falcon. 

It  was  night  when  he  appeared. 
She  seized  him  by  the  breast,  and 
taxed  him  with  his  villany. 

What  with  her  iron  grasp,  pale 
face,  and  flashing  eyes,  he  lost  his 
cool  impudence,  and  blurted  out  ex- 
cuses. It  was  an  old  and  unfortu- 
nate connection  ;  he  would  give  the 
world  to  dissolve  it,  if  he  could  do  it 
like  a  gentleman. 

Phcebe  told  him  to  please  himself ; 
he  must  part  with  one  or  the  other. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,"  said  this 
man  of  brass.  "  I'll  un-Falcon  her 
on  the  spot." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I 
am  going  home,  and  if  you  are  not 
there  by  to-morrow  at  noon "  — 
She  said  no  more,  but  looked  a 
great  deal.  Then  she  departed,  and 
refused  him  her  hand  at  parting. 
"  We  will  see  about  that  by  and 
by,"  said  she. 

By  noon  my  lord  came  down  to  the 
farm,  and,  unfortunately  for  Phoebe, 
played  the  penitent  so  skilfully  for 
about  a  month  that  she  forgave  him, 
and  loved  him  all  the  more  for  hav- 
ing so  nearly  parted  with  him. 

Her  peace  was  not  to  endure  long. 
He  was  detected  in  an  intrigue  in 
the  very  village. 


The  insult  struck  so  home  that 
Phoebe  herself,  to  her  parents'  satis- 
faction, ordered  him  out  of  the  house 
at  once. 

But  when  he  was  gone  she  had 
fits  of  weeping,  and  could  settle  to 
nothing  for  a  long  time. 

Months  had  elapsed,  and  she  was 
getting  a  sort  of  dull  tranquillity, 
when  one  evening,  taking  a  walk 
she  had  often  taken  with  him,  and 
mourning  her  solitude  and  wasted 
affection,  he  waylaid  her,  and  clung 
to  her  knees,  and  shed  crocodile 
tears  on  her  hands,  and  after  a  long 
resistance,  vio.ent  at  first,  but  faint- 
er and  fainter,  got  her  in  his  power 
again,  and  that  so  completely  that 
she  met  him  several  times  by  night, 
being  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  him 
in  those  parts  by  day. 

This  ended  in  fresh  promises  of 
marriage,  and  in  a  constant  corre- 
spondence by  letter.  This  pest  knew 
exactly  how  to  talk  to  a  woman,  and 
how  to  write  to  one.  His  letters  fed 
the  unhappy  flame  :  and,  mind  yon, 
he  sometimes  deceived  himself  and 
thought  he  loved  her;  but  it  was 
only  himself  he  loved.  She  was  an 
invaluable  lover,  a  faithful,  disinter- 
ested friend  :  hers  was  a  vile  bargain; 
his  an  excellent  one,  and  he  clung  to 
it. 

And  so  they  went  on.  She  de- 
tected him  in  another  infidelity,  and 
reproached  him  bitterly ;  but  she 
had  no  longer  the  strength  to  break 
with  him.  Nevertheless,  this  time 
she  had  the  sense  to  make  a  straggle. 
She  implored  him  on  her  very  knees 
to  show  her  a  little  mercy  in  return 
for  all  her  love.  "  For  pity's  sake, 
leave  me  !  "  she  cried.  "  You  are 
strong,  and  I  am  weak.  You  can 
end  it  forever;  and  pray  do.  You 
don't  want  me ;  you  don't  value  mc  : 
then  leave  me  once  and  for  all,  and 
end  this  hell  you  keep  me  in." 

No  ;  he  could  not  or  he  would  not 
leave  her  alone,  Look  at  a  bird's 
wings  !  —  how  like  an  angel's  !  Yet 
so  vile  a  thing  as  a  bit  of  bird-lime 
subdues  them  utterly  :  and  such  was 


A  SIMr^fcTOH". 


29 


the  fascinating  power  of  this  rr,ea:i 
man  over  this  worthy  woman.  She 
was  a  reader,  a  thinker,  a  model  of 
respectability,  industry,  and  sense; 
a  business  woman,  keen  and  practi- 
cal ;  could  encounter  sharp  hands  in 
sharp  trades ;  could  buy  or  sell 
hogs,  calves,  or  beasts  with  any  far- 
mer or  butcher  in  the  country  ;  yet 
no  match  for  a  cunning  fool.  She 
had  enshrined  an  idol  in  her  heart; 
and  that  heart  adored  it  and  clung 
to  it,  though  the  superior  head  saw 
through  it,  dreaded  it,  despised  it. 

No  wonder  three  years  of  this  had 
drawn  a  tell-tale  wrinkle  across  the 
polished  brow. 

Phoebe  Dale  had  not  received  a 
letter  lor  some  days  :  that  roused  her 
suspicion  and  stung  her  jealousy; 
she  came  up  to  London  by  fast  train, 
and  down  to  Gravesend  directly. 

She  had  a  thick  veil  that  concealed 
her  features  ;  and,  with  a  little  in- 
quiring and  bribing,  she  soon  found 
out  that  Mr.  Falcon  was  there  with 
a  showy  dog-cart.  "  Ah  !  "  thought 
I'll  ibe,  "  he  has  won  a  little  money 
at  play  or  pigeon-shooting ;  so  now 
he  has  no  need  of  inc." 

She  took  lodgings  opposite  him, 
but  observed  nothing  till  this  very 
morning,  when  she  saw  him  throw 
off  his  dressing-gown  all  in  a  hurry, 
and  fling  on  his  coat.  She  tied  on 
her  bonnet  as  rapidly,  and  followed 
him  until  she  discovered  the  object 
of  his  pursuit.  It  was  a  surprise  to 
her,  and  a  puzzle,  to  see  another  man 
step  in,  as  if  to  take  her  part.  But, 
as  Reginald  still  followed  the  loiter- 
ing pair,  she  followed  Reginald,  till 
be  tiinird  and  found  her  at  his  heels, 
white  and  lowering. 

She  confronted  him  in  threaten- 
ing silence  tor  some  time,  during 
which  he  prepared  his  defence. 

"  So  it  is  11  /(«/'/  this  time,"  said 
she,  in  her  low,  rich  voice,  sternly. 

"Is  it?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  should  say  site  is  be- 
spoke.    That    tall,  line-built   gentle- 
man.    But  I  suppose  you  care  no 
a* 


more  for  his  feelings  than  you  do 
for  mine." 

"  lJhcebe,"  said  the  egotist,  "  I  will 
not  try  to  deceive  you.     You   have 
olten  said  you  are  my  true  friend." 
"And  I  think  I  have  proved  it." 
"  That  you  have.     Well,  then,  be 
my  true  friend   now.     I  am  in  love 
— really  in   love  —  this   time.     You 
and  I  only  torment  each  other;  let 
us  part  friends.     There  are  plenty 
of    farmers   in    Essex    that    would 
jump  at   you.     As  for  me,  I'll  tell 
you  the  truth  ;  I  have  run   through 
every  farthing  ;  my  estate  mortgaged 
beyond    its    value  —  two   or    three 
writs  out  against  me  —  that  is  wdiy 
I    slipped    down    here.     My    only 
chance  is  to  marry  Money.     Her  fa- 
ther  knows    I   have   land,    and   he 
knows  nothing  about    the    mortga- 
ges; she  is  his*  only  daughter.  Don't 
stand   in    my   way,  that   is    a   good 
girl ;  be    my  friend   as   you  always 
were.     Hang   it   all,   riioebe,  can't 
you  say  a  word  to  a  fellow   that   is 
driven    into    a   corner,    instead    of 
glaring    at    me  like  that:    there,  I 
know  it  is    ungrateful  —  but  what 
can  a  fellow  do  ?     I  must  live  like  a 
gentleman,  or  else  take  a  dose  of 
prussic    acid  ;    you   don'  t  want    to 
drive  me   to   that.     Why,  you   pro- 
posed to  part,  last  time,  yourself." 

She  gave  him  one  majestic,  inde- 
scribable look,  that  made  even  his 
callous  heart  quiver,  and  turned 
away. 

Then  the  scamp  admired  her  for 
despising  him,  and  could  not  bear 
to  lose  her.  lie  followed  her.  and 
put  forth  all  those  powers  of  per. 
suading  and  soothing  which  had  so 
often  proved  irresistible.  But  this 
time  it  was  in  vain.  The  insult  was 
too  savage  and  his  egotism  too  bru- 
tal for  honeyed  phrases  to  blind  her. 
After  enduring  it  a  long  time  with 
a  silent  shudder,  she  turned  and 
shook  him  fiercely  off  her,  like  some 

poisonous  reptile. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  kill  you  .' 
I'd  liever  kill  myself  fir  loving  Blich 
a  thing  as  l/iuu.    Go  thy  ways,  man, 


30 


A  SIMPLETON. 


and  let  me  go  mine."  In  her  pas- 
sion, she  dropped  her  cultivation  for 
one  ■,  and  went  back  to  the  thou  and 
thou  of  her  grandam. 

He  colored  up,  and  looked  spite- 
ful enough  ;  but  he  soon  recovered 
his  cynical  egotism,  and  went  off 
whistling  an  operatic  passage. 

She  crept  to  her  lodgings,  and 
huried  her  face  in  her  pillow,  and 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro  for  hours 
in  the  bitterest  agony  the  heart  can 
feel,  groaning  over  her  great  affec- 
tion wasted,  thing  into  the  dirt. 

While  she  was  thus,  she  heard  a 
little  commotion.  She  came  to  the 
window  and  saw  Falcon,  exquisite- 
ly dressed,  drive  off  in  his  dog-cart, 
attended  by  the  acclamations  of 
eight  boys.  She  saw  at  a  glance  he 
was  going  courting.  Her  knees  gave 
way  under  her;  and,  such  is  the 
power  of  the  mind,  this  stalwart 
girl  lay  weak  as  water  on  the  sofa, 
ami  had  not  the  power  to  go  home, 
though  just  then  she  had  but  011°, 
wish,  one  hope,  to  see  her  idol's  face 
no  more,  nor  hear  his  wheedling 
tongue,  that  had  ruined  her  peace. 

The  exquisite  Mr.  Falcon  was  re- 
ceived by  liosa  Lusignan  with  a  cer- 
tain tremor  that  flattered  his  hopes. 
He  told  her,  in  charming  lan<ruaii;e, 
how  he  had  admired  her  at  first  sight, 
then  esteemed  her,  then  loved  her. 

Site  blushed  and  panted,  and 
showed  more  than  once  a  desire  to 
interrupt  him,  but  was  too  polite. 
She  heard  him  out,  with  rising  dis- 
may, and  he  offered  her  his  hand 
and  heart. 

But,  by  this  time,  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  what  to  say.  "  O  Mr. 
Falcon  !  "  she  cried,  "  how  can  you 
speak  to  me  in  this  way  ?  Whv, 
I'm  engaged  !     Didn't  you  know %" 

"  No ;  and  I  am  sure  you  are 
not,  or  you  would  never  have  given 
mc  the  encouragement  you  have." 

"  Oh,  all  engaged  young  ladies 
flirt,  —  a  little  !  and  everybody  here 
knows  I  am  engaged  to  Dr. 
Staines." 


"  Why,  I  never  saw  him  here  !  " 

Rosa's  tact  was  a  quality  that 
came  and  went ;  so  she  blushed  and 
faltered  out,  "  We  had  a  little  tiff, 
as  lovers  will." 

"  And  you  did  me  the  honor  to 
select  me  as  cat's-paw,  to  bring  him 
on  again.  Was  not  that  rather 
heartless  ? " 

Rosa's  fitful  tact  returned  to 
her. 

"  Oh,  sir  ,do  not  think  so  ill  of 
me !  I  am  not  heartless,  I  am  only 
unwise.  And  you  are  so  superior 
to  the  people  about  you  I  could  not 
help  appreciating  you  :  and  I 
thought  you  knew  I  was  engaged  ; 
and  so  I  was  less  on  my  guard.  I 
hope  I  shall  not  lose  your  esteem, 
though  I  have  no  right  to  any 
thing  more.  Ah !  I  see  by  your 
face  I  have  behaved  very  ill :  pray 
forgive  me." 

And  with  this  she  turned  on  the 
waters  of  the  Nile,  better  known  to 
you  perhaps  as  "  crocodile  tears." 

Falcon  was  a  gentleman  on  the 
surface,  anil  knew  he  should  only 
make  matters  worse  by  quarrelling 
with  her.  So  he  ground  his  teeth, 
and  said,  "  May  your  own  heart 
never  feel  the  pangs  you  have  in- 
flicted !  I  shall  love  you  and  re- 
member you  till  my  dying  day." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  left 
her.  "  Ay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I 
will  remember  you,  you  heartless 
jilt,  and  the  man  you  have  jilted 

me    for.      Staines   is    his    d d 

name,  is  it  ?  " 

He  drove  back  crest-fallen,  bitter, 
and,  for  once  in  his  life,  heart-sick, 
and  drew  up  at  his  lodgings.  Here 
he  found  attendants  waiting  to  re- 
ceivo  him. 

A  sheriffs  officer  took  his  dog- 
cart and  horse  under  a  judgment; 
the  disturbance  this  caused  collected 
a  tidy  crowd,  gaping  and  grinning, 
and  brought  Phoebe's  white  face  and 
eyes  swollen  with  weeping  to  the 
window. 

Falcon  saw  her,  and  brazened  it 
out.     "  Take  them,"  said  he,  with 


A  SIMPLETON. 


31 


an  oath.     "  I'll  have  a  better  turn- 
out by  to-morrow,  breakfast-time." 

The  crowd  cheered  him  for  his 
spirit. 

He  got  down,  lit  a  cigar,  chaffed 
the  officer  and  the  crowd,  and  was, 
on  the  whole,  admired. 

Then  another  officer,  who  had 
been  hunting  him  in  couples  with 
the  other,  stepped  forward  and  took 
him  for  the  balance  of  a  judgment 
debt. 

Then  the  swell's  cigar  fell  out  of 
his  mouth,  and  he  was  seriously 
alarmed.  "  Why,  Cartwright,"  said 
he,  "  this  is  too  bad  !  You  promised 
not  to  see  me  this  month.  You 
passed  me  full  in  the  Strand." 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said 
Cartwright,  with  sullen  irony,  "I've 
got  a  twin  brother  >  a  many  takes 
him  for  mi-,  till  they  finds  the  differ- 
ence." Then,  lowering  his  voice, 
"  What  call  had  you  to  boast  in 
your  club  you  had  made  it  right 
with  Bill  Cartwright,  and  he'd  never 
see  you  1  That  got  about,  and  so  I 
was  bound  to  see  you  or  lose  my 
bread.  There's  one  or  two  I  don't 
sec;  but  then  they  are  real  gentle- 
men, and  thinks  of  me  as  well  as 
theirselves,  anil  doesn't  blab." 

"  I  must  have  been  drunk,"  said 
Falcon  apologetically. 

"  .More  likely  blowing  a  cloud. 
When  you  young  gents  gets  a-smok- 
in<r  together,  you'd  tell  or.  your  own 
mothers.  Come  along,  colonel ;  oil' 
we  ge  to  Merrima-hee." 

"  Why,  it  is  only  twenty-six 
pounds.     I  have  paid  the  rest." 

"More  tli  in  that;  there's  the 
costs." 

"  Come  in,  ami  I'll  settle  it." 

"All  right,  sir;  .Jem,  watch  the 
hack." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  try  that  game 
with  a  >harp  hand  like  you,  Cart- 
wright!" 

"  You  had  better  not,  sir,"  said 
Cartwright;  but  he  was  softened  ft 
little  by  the  compliment. 

When  thej  were  alone.  Falcon  be- 
gan by  saying  it  was  a  bad  job  for  hist. 


"  Why,  I  thought  you  was  a-go- 
ing  to  pay  it  all  in  a  moment !  " 

"  I  can't :  but  I  have  got  a  friend 
over  the  way  that  could,  if  she 
chose.  She  has  always  got  money 
somehow." 

"  Oh  !  if  it  is  a  she,  it  is  all  right  " 
"  I  don't  know.     She  has  quar- 
reled with  me  ;  but  give  me  a  little 
time.     Here,  have  a  glass  of  sherry 
and  a  biscuit,  while  I  try  it  on." 

Having  thus  muffled  Cartwright, 
this  man  of  the  world  opened  his 
window  and  looked  out.  The  crowd 
had  followed  the  captured  dog-cart, 
so  he  had  the  street  to  himself.  He 
beckoned  to  Phoebe  ;  and,  after  con- 
siderable hesitation,  she  opened  her 
window. 

"Phcebe,"  said  he,  in  tones  of 
tender  regret,  admirably  natural  and 
sweet,  "  I  shall  never  offend  you 
again  ;  so  forgive  me  this  once.  I 
have  given  that  girl  up." 

"  Not  you,"  said  Phoebe  sullenly. 
"  Indeed  I  have.    After  our  quar- 
rel I  started  to  propose  to  her,  but  I 
had  not  the  heart :  I  came  back  and 
left  her." 

"  Time  will  show.  If  it  is  not 
her,  it  will  be  some  other,  you  false, 
heartless  villain." 

"  Come,  I  say,  don't  be  so  hard 
on  me  in  trouble.  I  am  going  to 
prison." 

"  So  I  suppose." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  worse  than  you 
think  !  I  am  only  taken  for  a  pal- 
try thirty  pounds  or  so." 

"  Thirty-three,  fifteen,  five,"  sug- 
gested Cartwright,  in  a  muffled 
whisper,  his  mouth  being  full  of 
biscuit. 

"  Hut  once  they  got  me  to  a 
sponging-housc,  detainers  will  pour 
in,  and  my  cruel  creditors  will  con- 
fine me  for  life." 

"It  IS  the  best  place  for  you.  It 
will  pat  a  stop  to  your  wickedness, 
and  I  shall  lie  at  peace.  That's 
what  I  have  never  known,  night  or 
day,  this  three  years." 

"  But  you  will  not  be  happy  if 
you  see  me  go  to  prison   before  your 


32 


A  SIMPLETON. 


eyes.  Were  you  ever  inside  a 
prison  1  Just  think  what  it  must 
be  to  be  cooped  up  in  those  cold 
grim  cells  all  alone  ;  for  they  use  a 
debtor  like  a  criminal  now." 

Phoebe  shuddered ;  but  she  said 
bravely,  "  Well,  tell  them  you  have 
been  a-courting.  There  was  a  time 
I'd  have  died  sooner  than  see  a  hair 
of  your  head  hurt ;  but  it  is  all  over 
now  :  you  have  worn  me  out." 
Then  she  began  to  cry. 
Falcon  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "  It 
is  no  more  than  I  deserve,"  said  he. 
"  I'll  pack  up  my  things  and  go 
with  the  officer.  Give  me  one  kind 
word  at  parting  ;  and  I'll  think  of  it 
in  my  prison  night  and  day." 

He  withdrew  from  the  window 
with  another  deep  sigh,  told  Cart- 
wright,  cheerfully,  it  was  all  right, 
and  proceeded  to  pack  up  his  traps. 
Meantime  Phcebe  sat  at  her  win- 
dow and  cried  bitterly.  Her  words 
had  been  braver  than  her  heart. 

Falcon  managed  to  pay  the  trifle 
he  owed  for  the  lodgings  ;  and  pres- 
ently he  came  out  with  Cartwright, 
and  the  attendant  called  a  cab. 
His  things  were  thrown  in,  and 
Cartwright  invited  him  to  follow. 
Then  he  looked  up  and  cast  a  gen- 
uine look  of  terror  and  misery  at 
Phoebe.  He  thought  she  would  have 
relented  before  this. 

Her  heart  gave  way :  I  am  afraid 
it  would,  even  without  that  piteous 
and  mute  appeal.  She  opened  the 
window,  and  asked  Mr.  Cartwright 
if  he  would  be  good  enough  to  come 
and  speak  to  her. 

Cartwright  committed  his  prison- 
er to  the  subordinate,  and  knocked 
at  the  door  of  Phoebe's  lodgings. 
She  came  down  herself  and  let  him 
in.  She  led  the  way  upstairs,  mo- 
tinned  him  to  a  seat,  sat  down  by 
him,  and  began  to  cry  again.  She 
was  thoroughly  unstrung. 

Cartwright  was  human,  and  mut- 
tered some  words  of  regret  that  a 
poor  fellow  must  do  his  duty. 

"Oh,  it  is  not  that!"*  sobbed 
Phcebe ;    "  I  can   find   the   money. 


I  have  found  more  for  him  than 
that  many's  the  time."  Then,  dry- 
ing her  eyes,  "  But  you  must  know 
the  world  ;  and  I  dare  say  you  can 
see  how  'tis  with  me." 

"  I  can,"  said  Cartwright  grave- 
ly. "  I  overheard  you  and  him  ;  and, 
my  girl,  if  you  take  my  advice, 
why,  let  him  go.  He  is  a  gentle- 
man skin  deep,  and  dresses  well, 
and  can  palaver  a  girl,  no  doubt; 
but,  bless  your  heart !  I  can  see  at  a 
glance  he  is  not  Avorth  your  little 
finger,  —  an  honest,  decent  young 
woman  like  you.  Why,  it  is  like 
butter  fighting  with  stone  !  Let  him 
go  ;  or  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  you 
will  hang  for  him  some  day,  or  else 
make  away  with  yourself." 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  "that's 
likelier  ;  and,  if  I  was  to  let  him  go 
to  prison,  I  should  sit  me  down  and 
think  of  his  parting  look :  and  I 
should  fling  myself  into  the  wr.ter 
for  him  before  I  was  a  day  older." 

"  Ye  mustn't  do  that,  any  way. 
While  there's  life  there's  hope." 

Upon  this,  Phoebe  put  him  a  ques- 
tion, and  found  him  ready  to  do  any 
thing  for  her,  in  reason,  — provided 
he  was  paid  for  it.  And  the  end  of 
it  all  was,  the  prisoner  was  convey- 
ed to  London.  Phcebe  got  the  re- 
quisite sum  ;  Falcon  was  deposited 
in  a  third-class  carriage  bound  for 
Essex.  Phoebe  paid  his  debt,  and 
gave  Cartwright  a  present;  and 
away  rattled  the  train  conveying 
the  handsome  egotist  into  temporary 
retirement,  to  wit,  at  a  village  five 
miles  from  the  Dales'  farm.  She 
was  too  ashamed  of  her  young  gen- 
tleman and  herself  to  be  seen  with 
him  in  her  native  village.  On  the 
road  down,  he  was  full  of  little  prac- 
tical attentions  ;  she  received  them 
coldly.  His  mellifluous  mouth  was 
often  at  her  ear,  pouring  thanks  and 
praises  into  it;  she  never  vouch- 
safed a  word  of  reply.  All  she  did 
was  to  shudder  now  and  then,  and 
cry  at  intervals.  Yet,  whenever  he 
left  her  side,  her  whole  body  became 
restless ;  and,  when  he  came  back  to 


A  SIMPLETON. 


33 


her,  a  furtive  thrill  announced  the 
insane  complacency  his  bare  contact 
gave  her.  Surely  of  all  the  forms 
in  which  love  torments  the  heart, 
this  was  the  most  terrible  and  pitia- 
ble. 

Mr.  Lusignan  found  his  daughter 
in  tears. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 
said  he,  a  little  peevishly.  "  We 
have  had  nothing  of  this  sort  of 
thing  lately." 

"Papa,  it  is  because  I  have  mis- 
conducted myself.  I  am  a  foolish, 
imprudent  girl.  I  have  been  flirting 
with  Mr.  Falcon  ;  and  he  has  taken 
a  cruel  advantage  of  it,  — proposed 
to  me,  this  verv  afternoon,  actu- 
ally !  " 

"  Has  he  ?  Well,  he  is  a  fine 
fellow,  and  has  a  landed  estate  in 
Norfolk.  There's  nothing  like  land. 
They  may  well  call  it  real  property  : 
there  is  something  to  show.  You 
can  walk  on  it,  and  ride  on  it,  and 
look  out  of  window  at  it :  that  is 
property." 

"  O  papa !  What  arc  you  say- 
ing? Would  you  have  me  marry 
one  man,  when  I  belong  to  anoth- 
er?" 

"  But  you  don't  belong  to  any 
one,  except  to  me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  !  I  belong  to  my 
dear  Christopher." 

"  Why,  you  dismissed  him  before 
my  very  eyes  ;  and  very  ill  you  be- 
haved, begging  your  pardon  !  The 
man  was  your  able  physician  and 
your  best  friend,  and  said  nothing 
that  was  nut  for  your  good  ;  and 
you  treated  him  like  a  dog." 

'   Yea,  but  he  has  apologized." 

"  What  for  9  for  being  treated 
like  a  (Jog  I" 

"  Oh,  don't  say  so,  papa!  At  all 
events,  he  has  apologised,  as  a  gen- 
tleman should  whenever  —  when- 
ever "  — 

"  Whenever  a  lady  is  in  the 
wrong." 

"  Don't,  papa  ;  and  I  have  a>ked 
him  to  dinner." 


"  With  all  my  heart.  I  shall  be 
downright  glad  to  see  him  again. 
You  used  him  abominably." 

"  But  you  need  not  keep  saying 
so,"  whined  Rosa.  "  And  that  is 
not  all,  dear  papa;  the  worst  of  it 
is,  Mr.  Falcon  proposing  to  me  has 
opened  my  eyes.  I  am  not  fit  to  be 
trusted  alone.  I  am  too  fond  of 
dancing ;  and  flirting  will  follow 
somehow.  Oh,  think  how  ill  I  was 
a  few  months  ago,  and  how  unhappy 
you  were  about  me !  They  were 
killing  me.  He  came  and  saved  me. 
Yes,  papa,  I  owe  all  this  health  and 
strength  to  Christopher.  I  did  take 
them  off  the  very  next  day,  and  see 
the  effect  of  it,  and  my  long  walks. 
I  owe  him  my  life,  and,  what  I  value 
far  more,  my  good  looks.  La !  I 
wish  I  had  not  told  you  that ;  and, 
after  all  this,  don't  I  belong  to  my 
Christopher?  How  could  I  be 
happy,  or  respect  myself,  if  I  mar- 
ried any  one  else?  And  O  papa! 
he  looks  wan  and  worn.  He  has 
been  fretting  for  his  simpleton.  Oh, 
dear!  I  mustn't  think  of  that;  it 
makes  me  cry ;  and  you  don't  like 
scenes,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Hate  'cm  !  " 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Rosa  coax- 
ingly, "  I'll  tell  you  how  to  end  them. 
Marry  your  simpleton  to  the  only 
man  who  is  fit  to  take  care  of  her. 
O  papa!  think  of  his  deep,  deep 
affection  for  me,  and  pray  don't 
snub  him  if — by  any  chance  — 
after  dinner  —  he  should  happen  to 
ask  you  —  something." 

"Oh  !  then  it  is  possible  that,  by 
the  merest  chance,  the  gentleman 
you  have  accidentally  asked  to  din- 
ner may,  by  some  strange  fortuity, 
l>e  surprised  into  asking  me  a  sec- 
ond time  for  something  very  much 
resembling  my  daughter's  hand, 
eh  >.  " 

Rosa  colored  high.  "He  might, 
you    know.      How   can    I   tell   what 

gentlemen  will  say  when  the  ladies 
have  retired,  and  they  are  left  alone 
with  —  with  "  — 

"  With    the    bottle.       Ay,    that's 


34 


A  SIMPLETON. 


true !  when  the  wine  is  in,  the  wit 
is  out." 

Said  Rosa,  "  Well,  if  he  should 
happen  to  be  so  foolish,  pray  think 
of  vie ;  of  all  we  owe  him,  and  how 
much  I  love  him,  and  ought  to  love 
him."  She  then  bestowed  a  propi- 
tiatory kiss,  and  ran  off  to  dress  for 
dinner  :  it  was  a  much  longer  opera- 
tion to-day  than  usual. 

Dr.  Staines  was  punctual.  Mr. 
Lusignan  commented  favorably  on 
that. 

"  He  always  is,"  said  Rosa  eager- 

They  dined  together.  Mr.  Lusig- 
nan  chatted  freely ;  but  Staines  and 
Rosa  were  under  a  feeling  of  re- 
straint, Staines  in  particular :  he 
could  not  help  feeling  that  before 
long  his  fate  must  be  settled.  He 
would  either  obtain  Rosa's  hand,  or 
have  to  resign  her  to  some  man  of 
fortune  who  would  step  in ;  for 
beauty  such  as  hers  could  not  long 
lack  brilliant  offers.  Longing, 
though  dreading,  to  know  his  fate, 
he  was  glad  when  dinner  ended. 

Rosa  sat  with  them  a  little  while 
after  dinner,  then  rose,  bestowed 
another  propitiatory  kiss  on  her 
father's  head,  and  retired  with  a 
modest  blush,  and  a  look  at  Chris- 
topher that  was  almost  divine. 

It  inspired  him  with  the  courage 
of  lions  ;  and  he  commenced  the  at- 
tack at  once. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"Mr.  Lusignan,"  said  he,  "the 
last  time  I  was  here,  you  gave  me 
some  hopes  that  you  might  he  pre- 
vailed on  to  trust  that  angel's  health 
and  happiness  to  my  care." 

"  Well,  Dr.  Staines,  I  will  not 
beat  about  the  bush  with  you.  My 
judgment  is  still  against  this  mar- 
riage :  you  need  not  look  so  alarmed  ; 
it  does  not  follow  I  shall  forbid  it. 
I  feel  I  have  hardly  a  right  to  ;  for 
my   Rosa  might  be  in  her    grave 


now  but  for  you.  And  another 
thing,  when  I  interfered  between 
you  two,  I  had  no  proof  you  were  a 
man  of  ability  :  I  had  only  your 
sweetheart's  word  for  that ;  and  I 
never  knew  a  case  before  where  a 
young  lady's  swan  did  not  turn  out 
a  goose.  Your  rare  ability  gives 
you  another  chance  in  the  profes- 
sional battle  that  is  before  you ;  in- 
deed, it  puts  a  different  face  on  the 
whole  matter.  I  still  think  it  pre- 
mature. Come,  now,  would  it  not  be 
much  wiser  to  wait,  and  secure  a  good 
practice  before  you  marry  a  mere 
child  ?  There  —  there  —  I  only  ad- 
vise ;  I  don't  dictate :  you  shall 
settle  it  together,  you  two  wiseacres. 
Only  I  must  make  one  positive 
condition :  I  have  nothing  to  give 
my  child  during  my  lifetime;  but 
one  thing  I  have  done  for  her ; 
years  ago  I  insured  my  life  for  six 
thousand  pounds  ;  and  you  must  do 
the  same.  I  will  not  have  her  thrown 
on  the  world  a  widow,  with  a  child 
or  two  perhaps,  to  support,  and  not 
a  farthing ;  you  know  the  insecu- 
rity of  mortal  life." 

"  I  do,  I  do.  Why,  of  course  I  will 
insure  my  life,  and  pay  the  annual 
premium  out  of  my  little  capital 
until  income  flows  in  ! " 

"  Will  you  hand  me  over  a  sum 
sufficient  to  pay  that  premium  for  five 
years  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure." 

"  Then  I  fear,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman with  a  sigh,  "  my  opposition 
to  the  match  must  cease  here.  I 
still  recommend  you  to  wait :  but, 
there  I  might  just  as  well  advise  fire 
and  tow  to  live  neighbors,  and  keep 
cool." 

To  show  the  injustice  of  this 
simile,  Christopher  Staines  started 
up,  with  his  eyes  all  asrlow,  and 
cried  out,  rapturously,  "  0  sir  !  may 
I  tell  her?" 

"Yes,  you  may  tell  her,"  said 
Lusignan  with  a  smile.  "  Stop  ! 
what  are  you  going  to  tell  her?  " 

"  That    you    consent,    sir.      God 
bless  you  !     God  bless  you!     Oh!" 


A  SIMPLETON. 


35 


"  Yes,  but  that  I  advise  you  to 
wait.  " 

"I'll  tell  her  all,"  said  Staines, 
and  rushed  out  even  as  he  spoke, 
and  upset  a  heavy  chair  with  a  loud 
thud. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  "  cried  the  old  gentle- 
man  in  dismay,  and  put  his  fingers 
in  his  cars.  "  Too  late.  I  see," 
said  he,  "  there  will  be  no  peace 
and  quiet  now  till  they  are  out  of 
the  house."  He  lighted  a  soothing 
cigar,  to  counteract  the  fracas. 

"Poor  little  Rosa!  —  a  child  but 
yesterday,  and  now  to  encounter 
the  cares  of  a  wife,  and  perhaps  a 
mother.  Ah!  she  is  but  young, 
but  young." 

The  old  gentleman  prophesied 
truly  ;  from  that  moment  he  had 
no  peace  till  he  withdrew  all  sem- 
blance of  dissent,  and  even  of  pro- 
crastination. 

Christopher  insured  his  life  for 
six  thousand  pounds,  and  assigned 
the  policy  to  his  wile.  Four  hun- 
dred pounds  was  handed  to  Mr.  Lu- 
signan  to  pay  the  premiums  until 
the  genius  of  Dr.  Staines  should 
haVe  secured  him  that  large  pro- 
fessional  income,  which  does  not 
come  all  at  once  even  to  the  rare 
physician,  who  is  Capax  Efficax 
Sagax. 

The  wedding-day  was  named. 
The  bridemaids  were  selected,  the 
quests  invited.  None  refused  hut 
Uncle  Philip.  lie  declined,  in  his 
fine  hold  hand,  to  countenance  in 
on  an  act  of  folly  he  disapproved. 
Christopher  put  his  letter  away  with 
a  momentary  sigh,  and  would  not 
show  it  Rosa,  All  other  letters 
they  read  together,  —  charming  pas- 
time  of  that  happy  period.  Pres- 
ents poured  in.  Silver  tea-pots, 
coffee-pots,  suLrai--h.asitis,  cream-jujrs, 
fruit-dishes,  rilver-gilt  inkstands, 
alliums,  photograph-books,  little 
candlesticks,  choice  little  services  of 
china,  shell  salt-cellars  in  a  ca8e 
lined  with  maroon  velvet  ;  a  Bible, 
superb  in  binding  and  clasps  and 
every     thing,    hut    the    text, —  that 


was  illegible ;  a  silk  scarf  from  Ben- 
ares ;  a  gold  chain  from  Delhi,  six 
feet  long  or  nearly  ;  a  maltese  neck- 
lace ;  a  ditto  in  exquisite  filigree, 
from  Genoa ;  English  brooches,  a 
trifle  too  big  and  brainless  :  apostle- 
spoons  ;  a  treble-lined  parasol,  with 
ivory  stick  and  handle ;  an  ivory 
card-case,  richly  carved  ;  work-box 
of  sandal-wood  and  ivory,  &e. 
Mr.  Lusiguan's  city  friends,  as  usu- 
al with  these  gentlemen,  sent  the 
most  valuable  things.  Every  day 
one  or  two  packages  were  delivered  ; 
and,  on  opening  them,  Rosa  invaria- 
bly uttered  a  peculiar  scream  of  de- 
light, and  her  father  put  his  fingers 
in  his  ears  ;  yet  there  was  music  in 
this  very  scream  —  if  he  would  only 
have  listened  to  it  candidly,  instead 
of  fixing  his  mind  on  his  vague 
theory  of  screams  —  so  formed  was 
she  to  please  the  ear  as  well  as 
eye. 

At  last  came  a  parcel  she 
opened  and  stared  at,  smiling  :  and 
coloring  like  a  rose,  but  did  not 
scream,  being  too  dumb-foundered 
and  perplexed ;  forlo!  a  tea-put  of 
some  base  material,  but  .simple  and 
elegant  in  form,  being  an  exact  re- 
production of  a  melon  ;  and  inside 
this  tea-pot  a  canvas  hag  containing 
ten  guineas  in  silver,  and  a  wash- 
leather  bag  containing  twenty  guin- 
eas in  gold,  and  a  slip  of  paper, 
which  Rosa,  being  now  half  recov- 
ered from  her  stupefaction,  read  out 
to  her  father  and  Dr.  Staines. 

"  People  that  buy  presents  blind- 
fold give  duplicates  and  triplicates  ; 
and  men  seldom  choose  to  a  woman's 
taste:  so  be  pleased  to  accept  the 
enclosed  tea-leaves,  and  buy  for 
yourself.  The  tea-pot  you  can  put 
on  the  hob  ;  for  it  is  nickel." 

Rosa  looked  sore  puzzled  again. 
"Papa,"  said  she  timidly,  "have 
we  any  friend  that  is  —  a  little  — 
deranged  1 " 

"  A  lot." 

"  Oh,  then,  that  accounts  !  " 
i      "  Why    no,    love,"    said    Christo- 


SG 


A   SIMPLETON". 


plier.  "  I  have  heard  of  much 
learning  making  a  man  mad,  but 
never  of  much  good  sense." 

"  What !  Do  you  call  this  sensi- 
ble ?  " 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I'll  read  it  again,"  said  Rosa. 
"  Well  —  yes  —  I  declare  —  it  is 
not  so  mad  as  I  thought;  but  it  is 
very  eccentric." 

Lusignan  suggested  there  was 
nothing  so  eccentric  as  common- 
sense,  especially  in  time  of  wedding. 
"  This,"  said  he,  "  comes  from  the 
city.  It  is  a  friend  of  mine,  some 
old  fox:  he  is  throwing  dust  in 
your  eyes  witli  his  reasons.  His  real 
reason  was  that  his  time  is  money  ; 
it  would  have  cost  the  old  rogue  a 
band-red  pounds'  worth  of  time  — 
you  know  the  city,  Christopher  — 
to  go  out  and  choose  the  girl  a  pres- 
ent ;  so  he  has  sent  his  clerk  out 
with  a  check  to  buy  a  pewter  teapot, 
ami  till  it  with  specie." 

"  Pewter !  "  cried  Rosa.  "  No 
such  thing  !  It's  nickel.  What  is 
nickel,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  handwriting  afforded  no 
clew,  so  there  the  discussion  ended  : 
but  it  was  a  nice  little  mystery,  and 
very  convenient,  made  conversa- 
tion. Rosa  had  many  an  animated 
discussion  about  it  with  her  female 
friends. 

The  wedding-day  came  at  last. 
The  sun  shone — actual///,  as  Rosa 
observed.  The  carriages  drove  up. 
The  bridemaiils,  principally  old 
School-fellows  and  impassioned  cor- 
respondents of  Rosa,  were  pretty, 
and  dressed  alike,  and  delightfully  : 
but  the  bride  was  peerless ;  her 
southern  beauty  literally  shone  in 
that  white  satin  dress  and  veil,  and 
her  head  was  regal  with  the  crown 
of  orange  blossoms.  Another  crown 
she  had,  true  virgin  modesty.  A 
low  murmur  burst  from  the  men  the 
moment  they  saw  her  ;  the  old  wom- 
en forgave  her  beauty  on  the  spot, 
and  the  young  women  almost  par- 
doned it;    she   was  so    sweet   and 


womanly,  and  so  sisterly  to  her  own 
sex. 

When  they  started  for  the  church, 
she  began  to  tremble,  she  scarce 
knew  why  ;  and  when  the  solemn 
words  were  said,  and  the  ring  was 
put  on  her  finger,  she  cried  a  little, 
and  looked  half-imploriugly  at  her 
bridemaids  once,  as  if  scared  at 
leaving  them  for  an  untried  and 
mysterious  life  with  no  woman  near. 

They  were  married.  Then  came 
the  breakfast,  that  hour  of  uneasi- 
ness and  blushing  to  such  a  bride  as 
this ;  but  at  last  she  was  released. 
She  sped  up  stairs,  thanking  good- 
ness it  was  over.  Down  came  her 
last  box.  The  bride  followed  in  a 
plain  travelling  dress,  which  her  glo- 
rious eyes  and  brows  and  her  rich 
glowing  cheeks  seemed  to  illumine. 
She  was  handed  into  the  carriage  ; 
the  bridegroom  followed.  All  the 
young  guests  clustered  about  the 
door,  armed  with  white  shoes, — 
slippers  are  gone  by. 

They  started :  the  ladies  flung 
their  white  shoes  right  and  left  with 
l-eligious  impartiality,  except  that 
not  one  of  their  missiles  went  at  the 
object.  The  men,  more  skilful, 
sent  a  shower  on  to  the  roof  of  the 
carriage,  which  is  the  lucky  spot. 
The  bride  kissed  her  hand,  and 
managed  to  put  off  crying,  though 
it  cost  her  a  struggle.  The  party 
hurrahed.  Enthusiastic  youths  gath- 
ered fallen  shoes,  and  ran  and  hurled 
them  again  with  cheerful  yells  ;  and 
away  went  the  happy  pair,  the  bride 
leaning  sweetly  and  confidingly  with 
both  her  white  hands  on  the  bride- 
groom's shoulder,  while  he  dried  the 
tears  that  would  run  now  at  leaving 
home  and  parent  forever,  and 
kissed  her  often,  and  encircled  her 
with  his  strong  arm,  and  murmured 
comfort  and  love  and  pride  and 
joy  and  sweet  vows  of  life-long  ten- 
derness into  her  ears,  that  soon 
stole  nearer  his  lips  to  hear,  and 
the  fair  cheek  grew  softly  to  his 
shoulder. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


37 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Dr.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Staines 
visited  France,  Switzerland,  and 
the  Rhine,  and  passed  a  month  of 
Elysium,  before  they  came  to  London 
to  face  their  real  destiny  and  right 
the  battle  of  life. 

And  here,  methinks  a  reader  of 
novels  may,  perhaps,  cry  out  and 
say,  "  What  manner  of  man 
is  this,  who  marries  his  hero 
and  heroine,  and  then,  instead  of 
leaving  them  happy  for  life,  and  at 
rest  from  his  uneasy  pen,  and  all 
their  other  troubles,  flows  coolly  on 
with  their  adventures  ?  " 

To  this  I  can  only  repty  that  the 
old  English  novel  is  no  rule  to  me, 
and  life  is  ;  and  I  respectfully  pro- 
pose an  experiment  :  catch  eight 
old  married  people,  four  of  each 
sex,  and  say  unto  them,  "  Sir,"  or 
"  Madame,  did  the  more  remarka- 
ble events  of  your  life  come  to  you 
before  marriage  or  after  ?  "  Most 
of  them  will  say  "  after,"  and  let 
that  be  my  excuse  for  treating  the 
marriage  of  Christopher  Staines  and 
Rosa  Lusignan  as  merely  one  inci- 
dent in  their  lives,  —  an  incident 
which,  so  far  from  ending  their 
story,  led  by  degrees  to  more  strik- 
ing events  than  any  that  occurred 
to  them  before  they  were  man  and 
wife. 

They  returned  then  from  their 
honey-tour ;  and  Staines,  who  was 
methodical,  and  kejjt  a  diary,  made 
the  following  entry  therein  :  — 

"  We  have  now  a  lilc  of  endurance 
and  self  denial  and  economy  before 
08:  we  have  to  rent  a  house,  anil 
furnish  it,  and  live  in  it,  until  profes- 
sional income  shall  How  in  and  make 
all  things  easy  ;  ami  we  have  two 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds  left  to 
do  it  with." 

They  came  to  a  family  hotel ;  and 
Doctor  Staines  went  out,  directly 
after  breakfast,  to  look  for  a  house. 
Acting  on  a  friend's  advice,  he  visit- 
ed the  streets  and  places  north  of 
Oxford  Street,  looking    (or  a  good 


commodious  house  adapted  to  his 
business.  He  found  three  or  four  at 
fair  rents,  neither  cheap  nor  dear, 
the  district  being  respectable  ami 
rather  wealthy,  but  no  longer  fash- 
ionable. He  came  home  with  his 
notes,  and  found  Rosa,  beaming  in  a 
crisp  peignoir,  and  her  lovely  head  its 
natural  size  and  snaps,  high-bred  and 
elegant.  He  sat  down,  and  with  her 
hand  in  his,  proceeded  to  describe  the 
houses  to  her,  when  a  waiter  threw 
open  the  door  —  "Mrs.  John  Cole." 

"  Florence ! "  cried  Rosa,  starting 
up. 

In  flowed  Florence  :  they  both  ut- 
tered a  little  squawk  of  delight,  and 
went  at  each  other  like  two  little  ti- 
gresses, and  kissed  in  swift  alterna- 
tion with  a  singular  ardor,  drawing 
their  crests  back  like  snakes,  and 
then  darting  them  forward  and  in- 
flicting what,  to  the  male  philoso- 
pher looking  on,  seemed  hard  kisses, 
violent  kisses,  rather  than  the  tender 
ones  to  be  expected  from  two  tender 
creatures  embracing  each  other. 

"  Darling,"  said  Rosa,  "  I  knew 
you  would  be  the  first.  Didn't  I  tell 
you  so,  Christopher  ?  My  husband, 
my  darling  Florry !  Sit  down,  love, 
and  tell  me  every  thin<r  :  he  has  just 
been  looking  out  for  a  house.  Alt ! 
you  have  "0t  all  that  over  long  ago  : 
she  has  been  married  six  months. 
Florry,  you  are  handsomer  than  ev- 
er; and  what  a  beautiful  dress!  Ah, 
London  is  the  place.  Heal  Brussels, 
I  declare  ;  "  and  she  took  hold  of 
her  friend's  lace  and  gloated  on  it. 

Christopher  smiled  good-natured- 
ly, and  said,  "  I  dare  say  you  ladies 
have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each  oth- 
er." 

"  Oceans  !  "  said  Rosa. 

"  I  will  jro  and  hunt  houses  ajrain." 

"There's  a  jxnod  husband,"  said 
Mrs.  Cole,  as  soon  as  the  door  closed 
on  him;  "and  such  a  line  man. 
Why,  he  must  be  six  feet  I  Mine  is 
rather  short.  Rut  he  is  very  j^ood ; 
refuses  me  nothing.     My  will  is  law." 

"  That  is  all  rijrbt,  you  are  so  sen- 
sible ;  but  I  want  governing  a  little: 


3S 


A  SIMPLETON. 


and  I  like  it  —  actually.     Did  the 
dressmaker  find  it,  dear  1 " 

"Oil,  no  !  I  had  it  by  me.  I 
bought  it  at  Brussels,  on  our  wed- 
ding-tour :  it  is  dearer  there  than  in 
London." 

She  said  this,  as  if  "dearer"  and 
"  better  "  were  synonymous. 

"  But  about  your  house,  Rosie 
dear  ? " 

"  Yes,  darling,  I'll  tell  you  all 
about  it.  I  never  saw  a  moire  this 
shade  before ;  I  don't  care  for  them 
in  general;  but  this  is  so  distingue." 

Florence  rewarded  her  with  a  kiss. 

"  The  house,"  said  Rosa.  "  Oh  ! 
he  has  seen  one  in  Portman  Street, 
and  one  in  Gloucester  Place." 

"  Oh,  that  will  never  do  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Cole.  "  It  is  no  use  being  a 
physician  in  those  out-of-the-way. 
places.     He  must  be  in  Mayfair." 

"  Must  he  1  " 

"  Of  course.  Besides,  then  my 
Johnnie  can  call  him  in,  when  they 
are  just  going  to  die.  Johnnie  is  a 
general  prac,  and  makes  two  thou- 
sand a  year ;  and  he  shall  call  your 
one  in  :  but  he  must  live  in  Mayfair. 
Why,  Rosa,  you  would  not  be  such 
a  goose  as  to  live  in  those  places  ! 
they  are  quite  gone  by." 

"  I  shall  do  whatever  you  advise 
me,  dear.  Oh,  what  a  comfort  to 
have  a  dear  friend  !  and  six  months 
married,  and  knows  things.  How 
richly  it  is  trimmed  !  Why,  it  is 
nearly  all  trimmings  !  " 

"  That  is  the  fashion." 

"  Oh  !  " 

And,  after  that  big  word,  there  was 
no  more  to  be  said. 

These  two  ladies  in  their  conver- 
sation gravitated  toward  dress,  and 
fell  flat  on  it  every  half  minute. 
That  great  and  elevating  topic  held 
them  by  a  silken  cord  :  but  it  al- 
lowed them  to  flutter  upward  into 
other  topics  ;  and  in  those  intervals, 
numerous  though  brief,  the  lady  who 
had  been  married  six  months  found 
time  to  instruct  the  matrimonial  nov- 
ice with  great  authority,  and  even  a 
shade  of  pomposity.     "  My  dear,  the 


way  ladies  and  gentlemen  get  a 
house  —  in  the  first  place,  you  don't 
go  about  yourself  like  that,  and  you 
never  go  to  the  people  themselves, 
or  you  are  sure  to  be  taken  in,  but 
to  a  respectable  house-a^ent." 

"  Yes,  dear,  that  must  be  the  best 
way,  one  would  think." 

"  Of  course  it  is  ;  and  you  ask  for 
a  house  in  Mayfair;  and  he  shows 
you  several,  and  recommends  you 
the  best,  and  sees  you  are  not  cheat- 
ed." 

"  Thank  you,  love,"  said  Rosa  : 
"  now  I  know  what  to  do  ;  I'll  not 
forget  a  word.  And  the  train  is  so 
beautifully  shaped  !  Ah,  it  is  only 
in  London  or  Paris  they  can  make  a 
dress  flow  behind  like  that,"  &c., 
&c. 

Dr.  Staines  came  back  to  dinner 
in  good  spirits :  he  had  found  a 
house  in  Harewood  Square ;  good 
entrance  hall,  where  his  gratuitous 
patients  might  sit  on  benches ;  good 
dining-room,  where  his  superior  pa- 
tients might  wait,  and  good  library, 
to  be  used  as  a  consulting-room. 
Rent  only  £85  per  annum. 

But  Rosa  told  him  that  would 
never  do  ;  a  physician  must  be  in 
J;he  fashionable  part  of  the  town. 

"  Eventually,"  said  Christopher ; 
"  but  surely  at  first  starting ;  and 
you  know  they  say  little  boats  should 
not  go  too  far  from  shore." 

Then  Rosa  repeated  all  her  friend's 
arguments,  and  seemed  so  unhappy 
at  the  idea  of  not  living  near  her, 
that  Staines,  who  had  not  yet  said 
the  hard  word  "  No  "  to  her,  gave  in, 
consoling  his  prudence  with  the  re- 
flection that,  after  all,  Mr.  Cole  could 
put  many  a  guinea  in  his  way ;  for 
Mr.  Cole  was  middle-aged  —  though 
his  wife  was  young  —  and  had  really 
a  very  large  practice. 

So  next  day  the  newly-wedded 
pair  called  on  a  house-agent  in  May- 
fair,  and  his  son  and  partner  went 
with  them  to  several  places.  The 
rents  of  houses  equal  to  that  in  Hare- 
wood  Square  were  £300  a  year  at 
least,  and  a  premium  to  boot. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


39 


Christopher  told  him  these  were 
quite  beyond  the  mark.  "  Very 
well,"  said  the  agent.  "  Then  I'll 
show  you  a  Bijou." 

Rosa  clapped  her  hands.  "  That 
is  the  thing  for  us.  We  don't  want 
a  large  house,  only  a  beautiful  one, 
and  in  Mayfair." 

"  Then  the  Bijou  will  be  sure  to 
suit  you." 

He  took  them  to  the  Bijou. 

The  Bijou  had  a  small  dining- 
room  with  one  very  large  window  in 
two  sheets  of  plate-glass,  and  a  pro- 
jecting balcony  full  of  flowers';  a 
still  smaller  library,  which  opened 
on  a  square  yard  enclosed.  Here 
were  a  great  many  pots,  with  flow- 
ers dead  or  dying  from  neglect.  On 
the  first  floor  a  fair-sized  drawing- 
room,  and  a  tiny  one  at  the  back ; 
on  the  second  floor  one  good  bed- 
room, and  a  dressing-room,  or  little 
bedroom  ;   three  garrets  above. 

Rosa  was  in  ecstasies.  "  It  is  a 
nest,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  bank-note,"  said  the 
agent,  simulating  equal  enthusiasm, 
after  Ins  fashion,  "  You  can  always 
sell  the  lease  again  for  more  mon- 
ey." 

Christopher  kept  cool.  "I  don't 
want  a  house  to  sell,  but  to  live  in, 
and  do  my  business  ;  I  am  a  physi- 
cian. Now,  the  drawing-room  is 
built  over  the  entrance  to  a  mew. 
The  back-rooms  all  look  into  a 
mew  :  we  shall  have  the  eternal 
noise  and  smell  of  a  mew.  My 
wife's  rest  will  be  broken  by  the  car- 
riages rolling  in  and  out.  The  hall 
is  fearfully  small  and  stuffy.  The 
rent  is  abominably  high  ;  and  what 
is  the  premium  for,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Always  a  premium  in  Mayfair, 
>ir.  A  lease  is  property  here  :  the 
gentleman  is  not  acquainted  with 
this  part,  madam." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is!  "  said  Rosa,  as 
boldly  as  a  six  years'  wife;  "he 
knows  every  thing." 

"Then  he  knows  that  a  house  of 
this  kind  at  £130  a  year,  in  Mayfair, 
is  a  bank-note.'' 


Staines  turned  to  Rosa.  "  The 
poor  patients,  where  am  I  to  re- 
ceive them  ?  " 

"  In  the  stable,"  suggested  the 
house-agent.  > 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Rosa,  shocked. 

"  Well,  then,  the  coach-house. 
Why,  there's  plenty  of  room  for  a 
brougham  and  one  horse,  and  fifty 
poor  patients  at  a  time.  Beggars 
mustn't  be  choosers.  If  you  give 
them  physic  gratis,  that  is  enough  : 
you  ain't  bound  to  find  'cm  a  palace 
to  sit  down  in,  and  hot  coffee  and 
rump-steaks  all  around,  doctor." 

This  tickled  Rosa  so  that  she 
burst  out  laughing,  and  thencefor- 
ward giggled  at  intervals,  wit  of  this 
refined  nature  having  all  the  charm 
of  novelty  for  her. 

They  inspected  the  stables,  which 
were  indeed  the  one  redeeming  fea- 
ture in  the  horrid  little  Bijou  :  and 
then  the  agent  would  show  them  the 
kitchen  and  the  new  stove.  He  ex- 
patiated on  this  to  Mrs.  Staines. 
"  Cook  a  dinner  for  thirty  people, 
madam." 

"  And  there's  room  for  them  to 
eat  it,  — in  the  road,"  said  Staines. 

The  agent  reminded  him  there 
were  larger  places  to  be  had  by  a 
very  simple  process ;  namely,  pay- 
ing for  thetn. 

.Staines  thought  of  the  large  com- 
fortable house  in  llarewood  Square* 
".£130  a  year  for  this  pokey  little 
hole  1  "  he  groaned. 

"  Why,  it  is  nothing  at  all  for  a 
Bijou." 

"  But  it  is  too  much  for  a  band- 
box." 

Rosa  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
with  an  imploring  glance. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  submit  to 
the  rent,  but  I  really  cannot  give 
the  premium  ;  it  is  too  ridiculous. 
He  Otight  to  bribe  me  to  rent  it,  not 
I  him." 

"  Can't  be  done  without,  sir." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  .C10U.  and  no 
more." 

"  Impossible,  sir." 

"  Then  good-morning.    Now,  dear- 


40 


A  SIMPLETON. 


est,  just  come  and  see  the  house  at 
Harewood  Squa.e  ;  £85  and  no  pre- 
mium." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  with  your 
address,  doctor  I  "  said  the  agent. 

"  Dr.  Staines,  Moriey's  Hotel." 

And  so  they  left  Mayfair. 

Rosa  sighed,  and  said,  "  Oh,  the 
nice  little  place  !  and  we  have  lost  it 
for  £200." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  is  a  great 
deal  for  us  to  throw  away." 

"  Being  near  the  Coles  would  soon 
have  made  that  up  to  you :  and  such 
a  cosey  little  nest." 

"  Well,  the  house  will  not  run 
away." 

"But  somebody  is  sure  to  snap  it 
up.     It  is  a  Bijou."     She  was  disap- 

Eointed,  and  half-inclined  to  pout, 
lut  she  vented  her  feelings  in  a  let- 
ter to  her  beloved  Florry,  and  ap- 
peared at  dinner  as  sweet  as  usual. 

During  dinner,  a  note  came  from 
the  agent,  accepting  Dr.  Staines's 
offer.  He  glozed  the  matter  thus  : 
he  had  persuaded  the  owner  it  was 
better  to  take  a  good  tenant  at  a 
moderate  loss  than  to  let  the  Bijou 
be  uninhabited  during  the  present 
rainy  season.  An  assignment  of  the 
lease,  which  contained  the  usual 
covenants,  would  be  prepared  im- 
mediately ;  and  Doctor  Staines  could 
have  possession  in  forty-eight  hours, 
by  paying  the  premium. 

Ilosa  was  delighted  ;  and  as  soon 
as  dinner  was  over,  and  the  waiters 
gone,  she  came  and  kissed  Christo- 
pher. He  smiled,  and  said,  "  Well, 
you  are  pleased  ;  that  is  the  princi- 
pal thing.  I  have  saved  £200,  and 
that  is  something.  It  will  go  toward 
furnishing." 

"  La,  yes  ! "  said  Rosa ;  "  I  forgot. 
We  shall  have  to  get  furniture  now. 
How  nice  !  "  It  was  a  pleasure  the 
man  of  forecast  could  have  willingly 
dispensed  with ;  but  he  smiled  at 
her,  and  they  discussed  furniture. 
And  Christopher,  whose  retentive 
memory  had  picked  up  a  little  of 
every  thing,  said  there  were  wholesale 
upholsterers  in    the  city,  who   sold 


cheaper  than  the  West  End  houses  ; 
and  he  thought  the  best  way  was 
to  measure  the  rooms  in  the  Bijou, 
and  go  to  the  city  with  a  clear 
idea  of  what  they  wanted,  ask  the 
prices  of  various  necessary  articles, 
and  then  make  a  list,  and  demand 
a  discount  of  fifteen  per  cent  on  the 
whole  order,  being  so  considerable, 
and  paid  for  in  cash. 

Rosa  acquiesced,  and  told  Chris- 
topher he  was  the  cleverest  man  in 
England. 

About  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Cole 
came  in  to  condole  with  her  friend, 
and  heard  the  good  news.  When 
Rosa  told  her  how  they  thought  of 
furnishing,  she  said,  "  Oh,  no  !  you 
must  not  do  that ;  you  will  pay 
double  for  every  thing !  That  is  the 
mistake  Johnnie  and  I  made  ;  and, 
after  that,  a  friend  of  mine  took  me 
to  the  auction-rooms,  and  I  saw 
every  thing  sold.  Oh,  such  bargains ! 
—  half,  and  less  than  half,  their 
value.  She  has  furnished  her  house 
almost  entirely  from  sales ;  and 
she  has  the  loveliest  things  in  the 
world, — such  ducks  of  tables,  and 
jardinieres  and  things,  and  beauti- 
ful rare  china  :  her  house  swarms 
with  it,  for  an  old  song.  A  sale  is 
the  place,  and  then  so  amusing." 

"  Yes,  but,"  said  Christopher,  "  I 
should  not  like  my  wife  to  encoun- 
ter a  public  room." 

"  Not  alone,  of  course  ;  but  with 
me.  La  !  Dr.  Staines,  they  are  too 
full  of  buying  and  selling  to  trouble 
their  heads  about  us." 

"  O  Christopher !  do  let  me  go 
with  her.  Am  I  always  to  be  a 
child?" 

Thus  appealed  to  before  a  stran- 
ger, Staines  replied  warmly,  "  No, 
dearest,  no ;  you  cannot  please  me 
better  than  by  beginning  life  in 
earnest.  If  you  two  ladies  together 
can  face  an  auction-room,  go  by  all 
means  ;  only  I  must  ask  you  not  to 
buy  china,  or  ormolu,  or  any  thing 
that  will  break  or  spoil,  but  only 
solid,  good  furniture." 

"  Won't  you  come  with  us  ?  " 


A  SIMPLETON. 


41 


"  No,  or  yon  might  feel  yourself 
in  leading-strings.  Remember  the 
Bijou  is  a  small  house  :  ehoose  your 
furniture  to  tit  it ;  and  then  we  shall 
save  something  by  its  being  so 
small." 

This  was  Wednesday.  There  was 
a  weekly  sale  in  Oxford  Street  on 
Friday ;  and  the  ladies  made  the 
appointment  accordingly. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  Chris- 
topher was  silent  and  thoughtful  a 
while,  and  at  last  said  to  liosa,  "  I'll 
show  you  I  don't  look  on  you  as  a 
child  :  I'll  consult  you  on  a  delicate 
matter." 

Rosa's  eyes  sparkled. 
"  It  is  about  my  Uncle  Philip. 
He  has  been  very  cruel  :  he  has 
wounded  me  deeply  ;  he  has  wounded 
me  through  my  wife.  I  never 
thought  he  would  refuse  to  come  to 
our  marriage.'' 

"And  did  he?  You  never  showed 
me  his  letter." 

"  You  were  not  my  wife  then.  I 
kept  an  affront  from  you  ;  but  now, 
you  see,  I  keep  nothing." 
"  Dear  Christie  !  " 
"  I  am  so  happy,  I  have  got  over 
that  sting  — almost ;  and  the  mem- 
ory of  many  hind  acts  come  back  to 
me  ;  and  —  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
It  seems  ungrateful  not  to  visit  him  : 
it  seems  almost  mean  to  call." 

"I'll  tell  you  ;  take  me  to  sec  him 
directly.  He  won't  hate  us  forever, 
if  he  sees  us  often.  We  may  as  well 
begin  at  once.  Nobody  hates  me 
long." 

Christopher  was  proud  of  his 
wife's  eoarage  and  wisdom.  lie 
kissed  her,  Begged  her  to  put  on 
the  plained  dress  she  could  ;  and 
they  went  together  to  call  on  Uncle 
Philip. 

When  they  got  to  his  house  in 
Gloucester  Place,  1'ortman  Square, 
Rosa's  heart  began  to  qnake;  ami 
she  was  right  glad  when  the  servant 
said,  "  Not  at  home." 

They  left  their  cards  and  address  ; 
and  she  persuaded  Christopher  to  take 
her  to  the  salesroom  to  see  the  things. 


A  lot  of  brokers  were  there,  like 
vultures ;  and  one  after  another 
stepped  forward  and  pestered  them 
to  employ  him  in  the  morning.  Dr. 
Staines  declined  their  services  civilly 
but  firmly;  and  he  and  Rosa  looked 
over  a  quantity  of  furniture,  and 
settled  what  sort  of  things  to  buy. 

Another  broker  came  up,  and, 
whenever  the  couple  stopped  before 
an  article,  proceeded  to  praise  it  as 
something  most  extraordinary-. 
Staines  listened  in  cold,  satirical 
silence,  and  told  his  wife,  in  French, 
to  do  the  same.  Notwithstanding 
their  marked  disgust,  the  impudent, 
intrusive  fellow  stuck  to  them,  and 
forced  his  venal  criticism  on  them, 
and  made  them  uncomfortable,  and 
shortened  their  tour  of  observa- 
tion. 

"  I  think  I  shall  come  with  you 
to-morrow,"  said  Chrstopher,  "  or 
I  shall  have  these  blackguards  pes- 
tering you." 

"  ( )h,  Florry  will  send  them  to 
the  right  about !  She  is  as  brave  as 
a  lion?' 

Next  day  Dr.  Staines  was  sent 
for  into  the  city  at  twelve,  to  pay 
the  money,  and,  receive  the  lease  of 
the  Bijou";  and  this  and  the  taking 
possession  occupied  him  till  four 
o'clock,  when  he  came  to  his  hotel. 

Meantime,  his  wife  and  Mrs.  Cole 
had  gone  to  the  auction-room. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  a  good 
sprinkling  of  people,  but  not  crowded, 
except  about  the  table.  At  the  head 
Of  this  table,  full  twenty  feet  long, 
was  the  auctioneer's  pulpit ;  and 
the  lots  were  brought  in  turn  to  the 
other  end  of  the  pulpit  for  sig,ht  and 
sale. 

"  We  must  try  and  get  a  scat," 
said  the  enterprising  Mrs.  Cole,  and 
pushed  boldly  in.  The  timid  Rosa 
followed  strictly  in  he*  wake,  and  so 
evaded  the  human  waves  her  leader 
clove.  They  were  importuned  at 
every  step  by  brokers  thrusting  cat- 
aloging on  them,  with  oilers  of  their 
services,  yet  they  SOOn  got  to  the 
table.     A"   gentleman    resigned   one 


42 


A   SIMPLETON. 


chair,  a   broker  another,  and   they 
were  seated. 

Mrs.  Staines  let  down  half  her 
veil ;  but  Mrs.  Cole  surveyed  the 
company  point-blank. 

The  broker  who  had  given  up  his 
scat,  and  now  stood  behind  Rosa, 
offered  her  his  catalogue.  "No, 
thank  you,"  said  Rosa,  "  I  have 
one ;  "  and  she  produced  it,  and 
studied  it,  yet  managed  to  look  fur- 
tively at  the  company. 

There  were  not  above  a  dozen  pri- 
vate persons  visible  from  where 
Rosa  sat ;  perhaps  as  many  more 
in  the  whole  room.  They  were  easily 
distinguishable  by  their  cleanly  ap- 
pearance. The  dealers,  male  and 
female,  were  more  or  less  rusty, 
greasy,  dirty,  aquiline.  Not  even 
the  amateurs  were  brightly  dressed  : 
that  fundamental  error  was  confined 
to  Mesdamcs  Cole  and  Staines.  The 
experienced,  however  wealthy,  do 
not  hunt  bargains  in  silk  and  satin. 

The  auctioneer  called  "  Lot  7." 
Four  sauce-pans,  two  trays,  a  kettle, 
a  boot-jack,  and  a  towel-horse." 

These  were  put  up  at  two  shillings, 
and  speedily  knocked  down  for  five, 
to  a  fat  old  woman  in  a  greasy  vel- 
vet jacket ;  blind  industry  had  sewed 
bugles  on  it,  not  artfully,  but  agri- 
culturally. 

"  The  "lady  on  the  left !  "  said  the 
auctioneer  to  his  clerk.  That  meant, 
"  Get  the  money." 

The  old  lady  plunged  a  huge  paw 
into  a  huge  pocket,  and  pulled  out 
a  huge  handful  of  coin,  —  copper, 
silver,  and  gold,  and  paid  for  the 
lot ;  and  Rosa  surveyed  her  dirty 
hands  and  nails  with  innocent  dis- 
may. "  Oh,  what  a  dreadful  crea- 
ture !  "  she  whispered  ;  "  and  what 
can  she  want  with  those  old  rubbishy 
things  ?  I  saw  a  hole  in  one  from 
here."  The  broker  overheard,  and 
said,  "  She  is  a  dealer,  ma'am  ;  and 
the  things  were  given  away.  She'll 
sell  them  for  a  guinea,  easy." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Cole. 

Soon  after  this,  the  superior  lots 


came  on  ;  and  six  very  neat  bedroom 
chairs  were  sold  to  all  appearance 
for  fifteen  shillings. 

The  next  lot  was  identical ;  and 
Rosa  hazarded  a  bid,  "  Sixteen 
shillings." 

Instantly  some  dealer,  one  of  the 
hooked-nosed  that  gathered  round 
each  lot  as  it  came  to  the  foot  of  the 
table,  cried,  "  Eighteen  shillings." 

"  Nineteen,"  said  Rosa. 

"  A  guinea,"  said  the  dealer. 

"  Don't  let  it  go,"  said  the  bro- 
ker behind  her.  "  Don't  let  it  go, 
ma'am." 

She  colored  at  the  intrusion,  and 
left  off  bidding  directly,  and  ad- 
dressed herself  to  Mrs.  Cole.  "  Why 
should  I  give  so  much,  when  the  last 
were  sold  for  fifteen  shillings'.'  " 

The  real  reason  was,  that  the  first 
lot  was  not  bid  for  at  all  except  by 
the  proprietor.  However,  the  brok- 
er gave  her  a  very  different  solution  ; 
he  said,  "  The  trade  always  runs  up 
a  lady  or  a  gentleman.  Let  me  bid 
for  you  :  they  won't  run  me  up ; 
they  know  better." 

Rosa  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at 
Mrs.  Cole. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  that  lady,  "  you 
had  much  better  let  him  bid  for  you." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Rosa.  "  You 
can  bid  for  this  chest  of  drawers,  — 
Lot  25." 

When  Lot  25  came  on,  the  broker 
bid  in  the  silliest  possible  way,  if 
his  object  had  been  to  get  a  bargain  : 
he  began  to  bid  early  and  ostenta- 
tiously ;  the  article  was  protected  by 
somebody  or  other  there  present, 
who  now,  of  course,  saw  his  way 
clear.  He  ran  it  up  audaciously  ; 
and  it  was  purchased  for  Rosa  at 
about  the  price  it  could  have  been 
bought  for  at  a  shop. 

The  next  thing  she  wanted  was  a 
set  of  oak  chairs. 

They  went  up  to  twenty-eight 
pounds  ;  then  she  said,  "  I  shall  give 
no  more,  sir." 

"  Better  not  lose  them,"  said  the 
agent;  "they  are  a  great  bargain," 
and   bid  another  pound  for  her  on 


A  SIMPLETON. 


43 


his  own  responsibility.  They  were 
still  run  up  ;  and  Rosa  peremptorily 
refused  to  give  any  more.  She  lost 
them  accordingly,  by  good  luck. 
Her  faithful  broker  looked  blank; 
so  did  the  proprietor. 

But,  as  the  sale  proceeded,  she 
being  young,  the  competition, 
though  most  of  it  sham,  bjing  art- 
ful and  exciting,  and  the  traitor  she 
employed  constantly  pulling  every 
article,  she  was  drawn  into  wishing 
for  things,  and  bidding  by  her  feel- 
ings. 

Then  her  traitor  played  a  game 
that  has  been  played  a  hundred 
times,  and  the  perpetrators  never 
once  lynched,  as  they  ought  to  be, 
on  the  spot :  he  signalled  a  con- 
federate with  a  hooked  nose.  The 
Jew  rascal  bid  against  the  Christian 
scoundrel ;  and  so  they  ran  up  the 
more  enticing  things  to  twice  their 
value  und^r  the  hammer. 

Rosa  got  flushed;  and  her  eye 
gleamed  like  a  gambler's,  and  she 
bought  away  like  wild-fire.  In 
which  sport  she  caught  sight  of  an 
old  gentleman  with  little  black  eyes, 
that  kept  twinkling  at  her. 

She  complained  of  these  eyes  to 
Mrs.  Cole. 

"  Why  docs  he  twinkle  so  ?  I 
can  see  it  is  at  me,  I  am  doing 
something  foolish  —  I  know  I 
am." 

Mrs.  Cole  turned  and  fixed  a 
haughty  stare  on  the  old  gentleman. 
Would  you  believe  it  ?  Instead  of 
sinking  through  the  floor,  he  sat  his 
ground,  and  retorted  with  a  cool, 
clear  grin. 

But  now,  whenever  Rosa's  agent 
bid  for  her,  and  the  other  man  of 
straw  against  him,  the  black  eyes 
twinkled ;  and  Kosa's  courage  be- 
gat) to  ooze  away.  At  last  she 
said, — 

"  That  is  enough  for  one  day.  I 
shall  go.  Who  could  bear  those 
eyes  ? " 

The  broker  took  her  address ;  so 
did  the  auctioneer's  clerk.  The 
auctioneer  asked  her  for  no  deposit ; 


her  beautiful,  innocent,  and  high- 
bred face  was  enough  for  a  man 
who  was  always  reading  faces  and 
interpreting  them. 

And  so  they  retired. 

But  this  charming  sex  is  like  that 
same  auctioneer's  hammer,  it  can- 
not go  abruptly.  It  is  always  go- 
ing —  going  —  going  —  a  long  time 
before  it  is  gone.  I  think  it  would 
perhaps  loiter  at  the  door  of  a 
jail,  with  the  order  of  release  in 
its  hand,  after  six  years'  confine- 
ment. Getting  up  to  go  quenches 
in  it  the  desire  to  go.  So  these  la- 
dies, having  got  up  to  go,  turned 
and  lingered,  and  hung  fire  so  long 
that  at  last  another  set  of  oak  chairs 
came  up.  "Oh!  I  must  see  what 
those  go  for,"  said  Rosa,  at  the 
door. 

The  bidding  was  mighty  languid 
now  Rosa's  broker  was  not  stimu- 
lating it ;  and  the  auctioneer  was 
just  knocking  down  twelve  chairs 
—  oak  and  leather  —  and  two  arm- 
chairs, for  twenty  pounds,  when, 
casting  his  eyes  around,  he  caught 
sight  of  Rosa  looking  at  him  rather 
excited.  He  looked  inquiringly  at 
her.  She  nodded  slightly ;  he 
knocked  them  down  to  her  at  twenty 
guineas,  and  they  were  really  a 
great  bargain. 

"Twenty-two,"  cried  a  dealer. 

"  Too  late,"  said  the  auction- 
eer. 

"  I  spoke  with  the  hammer, 
sir." 

"  After  the  hammer,  Isaacs." 

"  S'help  me  God,  we  was  togeth- 
er." 

One  or  two  more  of  his  tribe  con- 
firmed this  pious  falsehood,  and 
clamored  to  have  them  put  up 
again. 

"Call  the  next  lot,"  said  the  auc- 
tioneer peremptorily.  "  Make  up 
your  mind  a  little  quicker  next  time, 
Mr.  Isaacs ;  you  have  been  long 
enough  at  it  to  know  the  value  of 
oak  and  morocco." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  her  friend  now 
started  for  Morley's  Hotel,  but  went 


44 


A  SIMPLETON. 


round  by  Recent  Street,  whereby 
they  got  glued  at  Peter  Robinson's 
window  and  nine  other  windows ; 
and  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when 
they  reached  Morley's.  As  they 
came  near  the  door  of  their  sitting- 
room,  Mrs.  Staines  heard  somebody 
laughing  and  talking  to  her  husband. 
The  laugh,  to  her  subtle  ears,  did 
not  sound  musical  and  genial,  but 
keen,  satirical,  unpleasant :  so  it  was 
with  some  timidity  she  opened  the 
door;  and  there  sat  the  old  chap 
with  the  twinkling  eyes.  Both  par- 
tics  stared  at  each  other  a  moment. 

"  Why,  it  is  them  !  "  cried  the 
old  gentleman  ;  "  ha  !  ha  !  ha !  ha  ! 
ha!" 

Rosa  colored  all  over,  and  felt 
guilty  somehow,  and  looked  mis- 
erable. 

"  Rosa  dear,"  said  Doctor  Staines, 
"  this  is  our  Uncle  Philip." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Rosa,  and  turned  red 
and  pale  by  turns :  for  she  had  a 
great  desire  to  propitiate  Uncle 
Philip. 

"  You  were  in  the  auction-room, 
sir,"  said  Mrs.  Cole  severely. 

"  I  was,  madam.     He  !  he  !  " 

"  Furnishing  a  house  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  I  go  to  a  dozen 
6ales  a  week ;  but  it  is  not  to  buy  :  I 
enjoy  the  humors.  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  Robert  Burton,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  No.  Yes,  a  great  traveller, 
isn't  he?  Discovered  the  Nile  —  or 
the  Niger  —  or  something." 

This  majestic  vagueness  stag- 
gered old  Crusty  at  first ;  but  he  re- 
covered his  equilibrium,  and  said, 
"  Why,  yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  you 
are  right ;  he  has  travelled  farther 
than  most  of  us  ;  for  about  two  cen- 
turies ago  he  visited  that  bourn 
Whence  no  traveller  returns.  Well, 
when  he  was  alive  —  he  was  a  stu- 
dent of  Christ  Church  — he  used  to 
go  down  to  a  certain  bridge  over  the 
Isis  and  enjoy  the  chaff  of  the  barge- 
men. Now  there  arc  no  bargemen 
left  to  speak  of:  the  mantle  of 
Bobby  Burton's  bargees  has  fallen 
on  the  Jews   and  deiui-scmi-Chris- 


tians,  that  buy  and  sell  furniture  at 
the  weekly  auctions  :  thither  I  re- 
pair, to  hear  what  little  coarse  wit  is 
left  us  :  used  to  go  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  but  they  are  getting  too 
civil  by  half  for  my  money.  Be- 
sides, characters  come  out  in  an  auc- 
tion. For  instance,  only  this  very 
day  I  saw  two  ladies  enter,  in  gor- 
geous attire,  like  heifers  decked  for 
sacrifice,  and  reduce  their  spolia- 
tion to  a  certainty  by  employing  a 
broker  to  bid.  Now,  what  is  a  bro- 
ker ?  A  fellow  who  is  to  be  paid  a 
shilling  in  the  pound  for  all  articles 
purchased.  What  is  his  interest  then? 
To  buy  cheap  %  Clearly  not.  He  is 
paid  in  proportion  to  the  dearness  of 
the  article." 

Rosa's  face  began  to  work  pite- 
ously. 

"  Accordingly,  what  did  the  bro- 
ker in  question  do  ?  He  winked  to 
another  broker,  and  these  two  bid 
against  one  another,  over  their  vic- 
tim's head,  and  ran  every  thing  she 
wanted  up  at  least  a  hundred  per 
cent  above  the  value.  So  open  and 
transparent  a  swindle  I  have  seldom 
seen,  even  in  an  auction-room.  Ha  ! 
ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

His  mirth  was  interrupted  by 
Rosa  going  to  her  husband,  hiding 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  meekly 
crying. 

Christopher  comforted  her  like  a 
man.  "Don't  you  cry,  darling," 
said  he  ;  "  How  should  a  pure  crea- 
ture like  you  know  the  badness  of 
the  world  all  in  a  moment  ?  If  it 
is  my  wife  you  are  laughing  at,  Un- 
cle Philip,  let  me  tell  you  this  is  the 
wrong  place.  I'd  rather,  a  thousand 
times,  have  her  as  she  is,  than  armed 
with  the  cunning  and  suspicions  of  a 
hardened  old  worldling  like  you." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Uncle 
Philip,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  could 
take  blows  as  well  as  give  them  ; 
"but  why  employ  a  broker?  why 
pay  a  scoundrel  five  per  cent  to 
make  you  pay  a  hundred  per  cent  ? 
why  pay  a  noisy  fool  a  farthing  to 
I  open  his  mouth  for  you  when  you 


A   SIMPLETON. 


45 


have  taken  the  trouhle  to  be  there 
yourself,  and  have  got  a  mouth  of 
your  own  to  bid  discreetly  with  1 
Was  ever  such  an  absurdity  ?  "  He 
began  to  get  angry. 

"  Do  you  want  to  quarrel  with 
me,  Uncle  Philip?"  said  Christo- 
pher firm":  up  ;  "  because  sneering 
at  my  Uosa  is  the  way,  and  the  only 
way,  and  the  sure  way." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Rosa  interposing. 
"  Uncle  Philip  was  right.  I  am 
very  foolish  and  inexperienced  ;  but 
I  am  not  so  vain  as  to  turn  from 
good  advice.  I  will  never  employ  a 
broker  again,  sir." 

Uncle  Philip  smiled,  and  looked 
pleased. 

Mrs.  Cole  caused  a  diversion  by 
taking  leave,  and  Rosa  followed  her 
down  stairs.  <)n  her  return  she 
(bund  Christopher  telling  his  uncle 
all  about  the  bijou,  and  how  he  had 
taken  it  for  £130  a  year  and  £100 
premium,  and  Uncle  Philip  staring 
fearfully. 

At  last  he  found  his  tongue.  "The 
bijou  !  "  said  he.  "  Why,  that  is 
a  name  they  gave  to  a  little  den  in 
Dear  Street,  May  fair.  You  haven't 
been  and  taken  that!     Built  over  a 

mews." 

Christopher  groaned.  "  That  is 
the  place,  I  fear." 

"  Why,  the  owner  is  a  friend  of 
mine  ;  an  old  patient.  Stables 
stunk  him  out.  Let  it  to  a  man  ; 
I  forget  bis  name.  Stables  stunk 
him  out.  lie  said,  'I  shall  go.' 
'Von  can't,' said  my  friend;  'you 
have    taken     a   lease.'      '  Lease  be 

d d,'  said    the    other;    'I  never 

took  your  house  ;  line's  quite  a  large 
stench  not  specified  in  your  descrip- 
tion of  the  property  :  it  eomft  be  (m 
game  place:  Hung  the  base  at  his 
head,  and  cut  like  the  wind  to  Foreign 
parts  Lets  udoi  il'erous.  I'd  have  got 
you  the  hole  for  ninety  ;  but  you  are 
like  your  wife,  you  must  go  BO  an 
agent.  What  !  don't  you  know  that 
an   agent   is   a    man   acting  for  you 

with  an  interest  opposed  to  years  1 

Employing  an  agent.     It  is   like  u 


Trojan  seeking  the  aid  of  a  Greek. 
You  needn't  cry,  Mrs.  Staines;  your 
husband  has  been  let  in  deeper  than 
you  have.  Now  you  are  young  peo- 
ple beginning  life  :  I'll  give  you  a 
piece  of  advice.  Employ  others  to 
do  what  you  can't  do,  and  it  must 
be  done ;  but  never  to  do  any  thing 
you  can  do  better  for  yourselves. 
Agent!  the  word  is  derived  from  a 
Latin  word,  '  agere,'  to  do :  and 
agents  act  up  to  their  etymology ; 
for  they  invariably  do  the  nincom- 
poop that  employs  them,  or  deals 
with  them  in  any  mortal  way.  I'd 
have  got  you  that  beastly  little  bijou 
for  £90  a"  year." 

Uncle  Philip  went  away  crusty, 
leaving  the  young  couple  finely  mor- 
tified and  discouraged. 

This  did  not  last  very  long.  Chris- 
topher noted  the  experience  and 
Uncle  Phil's  wisdom  in  his  diary, 
and  then  took  his  wife  on  his  knee, 
and  comforted  her,  and  said,  "  Never 
mind  ;  experience  is  worth  money, 
and  it  always  has  to  be  bought. 
Those  who  cheat  us  will  die  poorer 
than  we  shall,  if  we  are  honest  and 
economical.  I  have  observed  that 
people  are  seldom  ruined  by  the  vices 
of  others  ;  these  may  hurt  them,  of 
course  ;  but  it  is  only  their  own  faults 
and  follies  that  can  destroy  them." 

"  Ah,  Christie  !  "  said  Rosa,  "you 
are  a  man.  Oh,  the  comfort  of  bring 
married  to  a  man  .'  A  man  sees  the 
best  side.  I  adore  men.  Dearest,  I 
will  waste  no  more  of  your  money.  I 
will  go  to  no  move  sales." 

Christopher  saw  she  was  deeply 
mortified  ;  and  be  said  quietly,  "  <  >n 
ibe  contrary,  you  will  go  to  the  very 
next.  Only  take  Uncle  Philip's  ad- 
vice ;  employ  no  broker,  and  watch 
the  prices  things  fetch  when  you  are 
not  bidding,  and  keep  cool." 

She  caressed  his  ears  with  both  her 
white  hands,  and  thanked  him  for 
giving  her  another  trial.  So  that 
trouble  melted  in  the  sunshine  of 
contstgal  love. 

Notwithstanding  the  agent's  sol- 
emn assurance,  the  bijou  was  out  of 


46 


A  SIMPLETON. 


repair.  Doctor  Staines  detected  in- 
ternal odors,  as  well  as  those  that 
flowed  in  from  the  mews.  He  was 
not  the  man  to  let  his  wife  perish  by 
miasma;  so  he  had  the  drains  all  up 
and  actually  found  brick  drains  and 
a  cesspool ;  he  stopped  that  up,  and 
laid  down  new  pipe-drains,  with  a 
good  fall,  and  properly  trapped. 
The  old  drains  were  hidden,  after 
the  manner  of  builders.  He  had 
the  whole  course  of  his  new  drains 
marked  upon  all  the  floors  they 
passed  under  and  had  several  stones 
and  boards  hinged,  to  faciliate  ex- 
amination at  any  period. 

But  all  this,  with  the  necessary 
cleaning,  whitewashing,  painting, 
and  papering,  ran  away  with  money. 
Then  came  Rosa's  purchases,  which, 
to  her  amazement,  amounted  to 
£190,  and  not  a  carpet,  curtain,  or 
bed,  among  the  lot.  Then  there 
was  the  carriage  home  from  the 
auction-room,  an  expense  one  avoids 
by  buying  at  a  shop,  and  the  broker 
claimed  his  shilling  in  the  pound. 
This,  however,  Staines  refused.  The 
man  came  and  blustered.  Rosa, 
who  was  there,  trembled.  Then, 
for  the  first  time,  she  saw  her  hus- 
band's brow  lower  ;  he  seemed  trans- 
figured, and  looked  terrible.  "  You 
scoundrel,"  said  he,  "  you  set  another 
villain  like  yourself  to  bid  against 
you,  and  you  betrayed  the  innocent 
lady  that  employed  you.  I  could 
indict  you  and  your  confederate  for 
a  conspiracy  :  I  take  the  goods  out 
of  respect  of  my  wife's  credit,  but 
you  shall  gain  nothing  by  swindling 
her.  Be  off,  you  heartless  miscreant, 
or  I'll  "  — 

"  I'll  take  the  law  if  you  do." 

"  Take  it,  then  :  I'll  give  yon 
something  to  howl  for ; "  and  he 
seized  him  with  a  grasp  so  tremen- 
dous that  the  fellow  cried  out  in 
dismay,  "  Oh  !  don't  hit  me  sir ; 
pray  don't." 

On  this  abject  appeal,  Staines 
tore  the  door  open  with  his  left  hand, 
and  spun  the  broker  out  into  the 
passage  with  his  right.     Two  move- 


ments of  the  angry  Hercules,  and 
the  man  was  literally  whirled  out  of 
sight  with  a  rapidity  and  swiftness 
almost  ludicrous;  it  was  like  a  trick 
in  a  pantomime  :  a  clatter  on  the 
stairs  betrayed  that  he  had  gone 
down  the  first  steps  in  a  wholesale 
and  irregular  manner,  though  he  had 
just  managed  to  keep  his  feet. 

As  for  Staines,  he  stood  there  still 
lowering  like  thunder,  and  his  eyes 
like  hot  coals ;  but  his  wife  threw 
her  arms  around  him,  and  begged 
him  consolingly  not  to  mind. 

She  was  trembling  like  an  as- 
pen. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Christopher, 
with  a  ludicrous  change  to  marked 
politeness  and  respect ;  "  I  forgot 
you  in  my  righteous  indignation." 
Next  he  becomes  uxurious.  "  Did 
they  frighten  her,  a  duck-?  Sit  on. 
my  knee,  darling,  and  pull  my  hair 
for  not  being  more  considerate  — 
there  —  there." 

This  was  followed  by  the  whole 
absurd  soothing  process  as  practised 
by  manly  husbands  upon  quivering 
and  somewhat  hysterical  wives ;  and 
ended  with  a  formal  apology.  "  You 
must  not  think  that  I  am  passionate ; 
on  the  contrary,  I  am  always  practis- 
ing self-government.  My  maxim  is, 
Aninutm  irrje.  qui  nisi  paret  imprint  ; 
and  that  means,  Make  your  temper 
your  servant,  or  else  it  will  be  your 
master.  But  to  ill-use  my  dear  lit- 
tle wife,  it  is  unnatural,  it  is 
monstrous,  it  makes  my  blood 
boil." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  don't  go  into  another. 
It  is  all  over.  I  can't  bear  to  see 
you  in  a  passion  ;  you  are  so  terri- 
ble, so  beautiful.  Ah !  they  are 
fine  things,  courage  and  strength. 
There  is  nothing  I  admire  so 
much." 

"  Why,  they  are  as  common  as 
dirt.  What  I  admire  is  modesty, 
timidity,  sweetness ;  the  sensitive 
cheek  that  pales  or  blushes  at  a  word, 
the  bosom  that  quivers,  and  clings 
to  a  fellow  whenever  any  thing  goes 


A  SIMPLETON. 


47 


"  Oh,  that  is  what  you  admire,  is 
it  ?  "  said  Rosa  dryly. 

"  Admire  it  ?  said  Christopher, 
not  seeing  the  trap  ;  "  I  adore 
it." 

"  Then,  Christie  dear,  you  arc  a 
simpleton  :  that  is  all.  And  we  are 
made  for  one  another." 

The  house  was  to  he  furnished 
and  oeeupied  as  soon  as  possible ;  so 
Mrs.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Cole  went  to 
another  sale-room.  Mrs.  Staines  re- 
membered all  Uncle  Philip  had  said, 
and  went  plainly  dressed ;  but  her 
friend  declined  to  sacrifice  her  showy 
dress  to  her  friend's  interests.  Rosa 
thought  that  a  little  unkind,  but 
said  nothing. 

In  this  auction-room  they  easily 
got  a  place  at  the  table:  but  they 
did  not  find  it  heaven  ;  for  a  num- 
ber of  second-hand  carpets  were  in 
the  sale,  and  these,  brimful  of  dust, 
were  all  shown  on  the  table,  and 
the  dirt  choked  and  poisoned  our 
fair  friends.  Brokers  pestered 
them,  until,  at  last,  Rosa,  smarting 
under  her  late   exposure,  addressed 

the  auctioneer  quietly,  in  her  silvery 

tones  :  "  Sir,     these  gentlemen  are 

annoying  me  by  forcing  their  services 
on  me.       I  do  not  intend   to   buy 

at  all  unless  I  can  be  allowed  to  bid 

for  myself." 

When  Rosa,  blushing  and  amazed 

at  her  own   boldness,  uttered  these 

words,  she  little  foresaw  their  effect. 

She  had  touched  a  popular  sore. 
"  You  are  right,  madam,"  said  a 

respectable  tradesman  opposite  her. 

"  What  right  have  these  dirty  fellows, 

without  a   shilling  in    their  pocket, 

to    go    and    force    themselves    on    a 

lady  against  her  will "?  " 

"  It    has   been  complained    of  in 

the   paj)crs  again   and  again,"  said 

another. 

"  What,  mayn't  we  live  as  well  as 

you?"  retorted  a  broker* 

"  Yes,  but  not  to  force  yourself  on 

a    lady.      Why,   she'd    give  you    in 

charge  of  the  police  if  you    tried   it 

on  outside." 


Then  there  was  a  downright  clam- 
mor  of  discussion  and  chaff. 

Presently  uprises  very  slowly  a 
countryman  so  colossal  that  it  seem- 
ed as  if  he  never  would  have  done 
getting  up,  and  gives  his  experien- 
ces. He  informed  the  company,  in  a 
broad  Yorkshire  dialect,  that  he 
did  a  bit  in  furniture,  and  at  first 
startiti":  these  brokers  buzzed  about 
him  like  flies,  and  pestered  him. 
"  Ah  damned  'em  pretty  hard," 
said  he,  "  but  they  didn't  heed  any. 
So  then  ah  spoke  'em  civil,  and  ah 
said,  '  Well,  lads,  ah  dinna  come  fra 
Yorkshire  to  sit  like  a  dummy  and 
let  you  buy  wi'  my  brass  :  the  first 
that  pesters  me  again  ah'll  just  fell 
him  on  t'  plaace,  like  a  caulf,  and 
ah'm  not  very  sure  he'll  get  up 
again  in  a  hurry.'  So  they  dropped 
me  like  a  hot  potato  ;  "never  pestered 
me  again.  But  if  they  won't  give 
over  pestering  you,  mistress,  ah'll 
come  round,  and  just  stand  behind 
your  chair,  and  bring  neive  with  me," 
showing  a  fist  like  a  leg  of  mutton. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  auctioneer, 
"  that  will  not  do.  I  will  have  no 
disturbance  here.  Call  the  police- 
man." 

While  the  clerk  went  to  the  door 
for  the  bobby,  a  gentleman  reminded 
the  auctioneer  that  the  journals  had 
repeatedly  drawn  attention  to  the 
nuisance. 

"Fault  of  the  public,  not  mine, 
sir.  Policeman,  stand  behind  that 
lady's  chair,  and,  if  anybody  annoys 
her,  put  him  quietly  into  the  street." 
"This  auction-room  will  be  to  let 
soon,"  said  a  voice  at  the  end  of  the 
table. 

"  This  nuction-room,"  said  the 
auctioneer,  master  of  the  gay  or 
grave  at  a  moment's  notice,  "is 
supported  by  the  public  and  the 
trade;  it  is  not  supported  by 
paupers." 

A  Jew  upholsterer  put  in  his  word. 
"  I  do  my  own  business  ;  but  I  like 
to  let  a  poor  man  live." 

"Jonathan,"  said  the  auctioneer 
to  one  of  his  servants,  "  after  this 


48 


A   SIMPLETON. 


sale  you  may  put  up  the  shutters ; 
we  have  gone  and  offended  Mr. 
Jaeobs.  He  keeps  a  shop  in  Blind 
Allev,  Whitechapel.  Now  then, 
Lot  69." 

ltosa  bid  timidly  for  one  or  two 
lots,  and  bought  them  cheap. 

The  auctioneer  kept  looking  her 
way,  and  she  had  only  to  nod. 

The  obnoxious  broker  got  oppo- 
site her,  and  ran  her  up  a  little  out 
of  spite;  but  as  he  had  only  got 
half  a  crown  about  him,  and  no 
means  of  doubling  it,  he  dared  not 
go  far. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  was 
a  figure  to  which  Rosa's  eyes  often 
turned  with  interest :  a  fair  young 
boy  about  twelve  years  old  ;  he  had 
golden  hair,  and  was  in  deep  mourn- 
ing. His  appearance  interested 
Kosa,  and  she  wondered  how  he 
came  there,  and  why :  he  looked 
like  a  lamb  wedged  in  among  wolves, 
a  flower  among  weeds.  As  the  lots 
proceeded,  the  boy  seemed  to  get 
uneasy  ;  and  at  last,  when  Lot  73 
was  put  up,  anybody  could  see  in 
his  poor  little  face  that  he  was  there 
to  bid  for  it. 

"  Lot  73,  an  arm-chair  covered  in 
morocco.  An  excellent  and  most 
useful  article.  Should  not  be  at  all 
surprised  if  it  was  made  by  Gillow." 

"  Gillow  would,  though,"  said 
Jacobs,  who  owed  him  a  turn. 

Chorus  of  dealers.  —  "  Haw  ! 
haw  !  " 

The  auctioneer.  —  "I  like  to  hear 
some  people  run  a  lot  down  ;  shows 
they  are  going  to  bid  for  it  in  ear- 
nest. Well,  name  your  own  price. 
Five  pounds  to  begin  ?  " 

Now,  if  nobody  had  spoken,  the 
auctioneer  would  have  gone  on, 
"  Well,  four  pounds  then,  three, 
two,  whatever  you  like,"  and  at 
last  obtained  a  bona  fide  offer  of 
thirty  shillings;  but  the  moment 
he  said,  "  Five  pounds  to  begin," 
the  boy  in  black  lifted  up  his  child- 
ish treble,  and  bid  thus,  "Five 
pound  ten,"  —  "  six  pounds,"  — 
"six  pound  ten," — "seven  pounds," 


—  "  seven  pound  ten,"  —  "  eight 
pouuds,"  —  "eight  pound  ten,"  — 
"  nine  pounds,"  —  "  nine  pound 
ten,"  —  "ten  pounds!"  without 
interruption,  and  indeed,  almost  in 
a  breath. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  of 
amazement,  and  then  an  outburst 
of  chaff. 

"  Nice  little  boy  !  " 

"  Didn't  he  say  his  lesson  well  ?  " 

"Favor  us  with  your  card,  sir. 
You  are  a  gent  as  knows  how  to 
buy." 

"  What  did  he  stop  for  1  If  it's 
worth  ten,  it  is  worth  a  hundred." 

"  Bless  the  child  !  "  said  a  female 
dealer  kindly,  "  what  made  you  go 
on  like  that?  Why,  there  was  no 
bid  against  you !  you'd  have  got  it 
for  two  pounds,  —  a  rickety  aid 
thing." 

Young  master  began  to  whimper. 
"  Why,  the  gentleman  said,  '  Five 
pounds  to  bet/in.'  It  was  the  chair 
poor  grandpapa  always  sat  in,  and 
all  the  things  are  sold,  and  mamma 
said  it  would  break  her  heart  to  loso 
it.  She  was  too  ill  to  come,  so  she 
sent  me.  She  told  me  I  was  not  to 
let  it  be  sold  away  from  us  for  less 
than  ten  pounds,  or  she  sh  —  should 
be  m  —  m  —  miserable,"  and  the 
poor  little  fellow  began  to  cry.  Kosa 
followed  suit  promptly  but  unobtru- 
sively. 

"  Sentiment  always  costs  money," 
said  Mr.  Jacobs  gravely. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Cohen.  "  Have  you  got  any  on 
hand  "?  I  uever  seen  none  at  your 
shop." 

Some  tempting  things  now  came 
up,  and  Mrs.  Staines  bid  freely  ;  but 
all  of  a  sudden  she  looked  down  the 
table,  and  there  was  Uncle  Philip 
twinkling  as  before.  "  Oh,  dear  ! 
what  am  I  doing  now  ?  "  thought 
she.     "  I  have  got  no  broker." 

She  bid  on,  but  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling because  of  those  twinkling 
eyes.  At  last  she  mustered  cour- 
age, wrote  on  a  leaf  of  her  pocket- 
book,  and  passed  it  down  to  him. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


49 


"  It  would  be  only  kind  to  warn  me. 
What  am  I  doing  wrong  1 " 

He  sent  her  back  a  line  directly  : 
"Auctioneer  running  you  up  him- 
self. Follow  his  eye  when  he  bids  ; 
you  will  see  there  is  no  bona  Jide 
bidder  at  your  prices." 

Rosa  did  so,  aud  found  that  it 
was  true. 

She  nodded  to  Uncle  Philip  ;  and, 
with  her  expressive  face,  asked  him 
what  she  should  do. 

The  old  boy  must  have  his  joke. 
So  he  wrote  back,  "  Tell  him,  as  you 
Bee  he  has  a  fancy  for  certain  arti- 
cles, you  would  not  be  so  discourte- 
ous as  to  bid  against  him." 

The  next  article  but  one  was  a 
drawing-room  suit  Rosa  wanted ; 
but  the  auctioneer  bid  against  her; 
so,  at  eighteen  pounds,  she  stopped. 

"  It  is  against  you,  madam,"  said 
the  auctioneer. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rosa ;  "  but  as 
yon  are  the  only  bidder,  and  you 
have  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  would 
not  think  of  opposing  you." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of 
her  mouth  when  they  were  greeted 
with  a  roar  of  Homeric  laughter  that 
literally  shook  the  room,  and  this 
time  not  at  the  expense  of  the  inno- 
cent speaker. 

"  That's  into  your  mutton,  gov- 
ernor." 

"  Sharp's  the  word  this  time." 

"  I  say,  governor,  don't  you  want 
a  broker  to  bid  for  ye  1  " 

"  Wink  at  me  next  time,  sir;  I'll 
do  the  oitice  for  you." 

"  No  gri i 'idioms  left  now." 

"That  lady  won't  give  a  ten-pound 
note  for  her  grandfather's  arm- 
chair." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,  if  it's  Stuffed 
with  bank-notes  !  " 

"  Put  the  next  lot  up  with  the 
owner's  name  aud  the  reserve  price. 
Open  business." 

"  And  sing  a  psalm  at  starting." 

"  A  little  less  noise  in  Jud.ea,  if 
you  please,"  said  the  auctioneer, 
who  had  now  recovered  from  the 
blow.     "  Lot  97." 


This  was  a  very  pretty  marque- 
terie  cabinet ;  it  stood  against  the 
wall,  and  Rosa  had  set  her  heart 
upon  it.  Nobody  would  bid.  She 
had  muzzled  the  auctioneer  effectu- 
ally. 

"  Your  own  price." 

"  Two  pounds,"  said  Rosa. 

A  dealer  offered  guineas,  and  it 
advanced  slowly  to  four  pounds  and 
half  a  crown,  at  which  it  was  about 
to  be  knocked  down  to  Rosa,  when 
suddenly  a  new  bidder  arose  in  the 
broker  Rosa  had  rejected.  They 
bid  slowly  and  sturdily  against  each 
other,  until  a  line  was  given  to  Rosa 
from  Uncle  Philip. 

"  This  time  it  is  your  own  friend, 
the  snipe-nosed  woman.  She  tele- 
graphed a  broker." 

Rosa  read,  and  crushed  the  note. 
"  Six  guineas,"  said  she. 

"  Six-ten." 

"  Seven." 

"  Seven-ten." 

"Eight." 

"  Eight-ten." 

"  Ten  guineas,"  said  Rosa ;  and 
then,  with  feminine  cunning,  steal- 
ing a  sudden  glance,  caught  her 
friend  leaning  back  and  signalling 
the  broker  not  to  give  in. 

"  Eleven  pounds." 

"  Twelve. ' 

"  Thirteen." 

"Fourteen." 

"  Sixteen." 

"  Eighteen." 

"Twenty." 

"  Twenty  guineas." 

"  It  is  yours,  my  faithful  friend," 
said  Rosa,  turning  suddenly  round 
on  Mrs.  Cole  with  a  magnificent 
glance  no  one  would  have  thought 
her  capable  of. 

Then  she  rose,  and  stalked  away. 

Duinfounilered  )br  the  moment, 
Mrs.  Cole  followed  her,  and  stopped 
her  at  the  door. 

"  Why,  Hosie  dear,  it  is  the  only 
thing  I  have  bid  for.  There  I've 
sat  by  your  side  like  a  mouse." 

Rosa  turned  gravely  toward  her. 
"  You  know  it  is   not  that.     You 


50 


A  SIMPLETON. 


had  only  to  tell  me  you  wanted  it. 
I  would  never  have  been  so  mean  as 
to  bid  against  you." 

"  Mean,  indeed  !  "  said  Florence, 
tossing  her  head. 

"  Yes,  mean ;  to  draw  back  and 
hide  behind  the  friend  you  were  with, 
and  employ  the  very  rogue  she  had 
turned  off.  But  it  is  my  own  fault. 
Cecilia  warned  me  against  you. 
She  always  said  you  were  a  treach- 
erous girl." 

"  And  I  say  you  are  an  impudent 
little  minx.  Only  just  married,  and 
going  about  like  two  vagabonds, 
and  talk  to  me  like  that ! " 

"  We  are  not  going  about  like 
two  vagabonds.  We  have  taken  a 
house  in  Mayfair." 

"  Say  a  stable." 

"  It  was  by  your  advice,  you  false- 
hearted creature." 

"  You  are  a  fool." 

"  You  arc  worse  :  you  are  a  trait- 
ress." 

"  Then  don't  you  have  any  thing 
to  do  with  me." 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  should.  You 
treacherous  thing.  " 

"  You  insolent  —  insolent  —  I 
hate  you." 

"  And  I  despise  you." 

"  I  always  hated  you  at  bottom." 

"That's  why  you  pretended  to 
love  me,  you  wretch." 

"  Well,  I  pretend  no  more.  I  am 
your  enemy  for  life. 

"  Thank  you.  You  have  told 
the  truth  for  once  in  your  life." 

"I  have.  And  he  shall  never 
call  in  your  husband ;  so  you  may 
leave  Mayfair  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  Not  to  please  you,  madam.  We 
can  get  on  without  traitors." 

And  so  they  parted,  with  eyes 
that  gleamed  like  tigers. 

Rosa  drove  home  in  great  agita- 
tion, and  tried  to  tell  Christopher, 
but  choked,  and  became  hysterical. 
The  husband  physician  coaxed  and 
and  scolded  her  out  of  that;  and 
presently  in  came  Uncle  Philip,  full 
of  the  humors  of  the  auction-room. 
He  told  about  the  little  boy  with  a 


delight  that  disgusted  Mrs.  Staines ; 
and  then  was  particularly  merry  on 
female  friendships.  "  Fancy  a  man 
going  to  a  sale  with  his  friend,  and 
bidding  against  him  on  the  sly." 

"  She  is  no  friend  of  mine.  We 
are  enemies  for  life." 

"  And  you  were  to  be  friends  till 
death,"  said  Staines  with  a  sigh. 

Philip  inquired  who  she  was. 

'•  Mrs".  John  Cole." 

"  Not  of  Curzon  Street  1  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  have  quarrelled  with 
her  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  but  her  husband  is  a 
general  practitioner." 

"  She  is  a  traitress." 

"  But  her  husband  could  put  a 
good  deal  of  money  in  Christopher's 
way." 

"  I  can't  help  it.  She  is  a  trait- 
ress." 

"  And  you  have  quarrelled  with 
her  about  an  old  wardrobe." 

"  No,  for  her  disloyalty,  and  her 
base  good-for-nothingness.  Oh !  oh  ! 
oh!" 

Uncle  Philip  got  up,  looking  sour. 
"  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Christo- 
pher," said  he  very  dryly. 

Christopher  accompanied  him  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

Wcll,Christopher,"  said  he,  "  mat- 
rimony is  a  blunder  at  the  best ; 
and  you  have  not  done  the  thing  by 
halves.  You  have  married  a  simple- 
ton.    She  will  be  your  ruin." 

"  Uncle  Philip,  since  you  only 
come  here  to  insult  us,  I  hope  in 
future  you  will  stay  at  home." 

"  Oh  !  with  pleasure,  sir.  Good- 
by." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Christopher  Staines  came  back 
looking  pained  and  disturbed. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  I  feared  it  would 
come  to  this.  I  have  quarrelled  with 
Uncle  Philip." 

"Oh  !  how  could  you?" 


A   SIMPLETON. 


51 


"  lie  affronted  me." 
"What  about?" 

"  Never  you  mind.  Don't  let  us 
say  any  thing  more  about  it,  darling. 
It  is  a  pity,  a  sad  pity  —  he  was  a 
good  friend  of  mine  once." 

He  paused,  entered  what  had 
passed  in  his  diary,  and  then  sat 
down  with  a  gentle  expression  of 
sadness  on  his  manly  features.  Rosa 
hung  about  him,  soft  and  pitying, 
till  it  cleared  away,  at  all  events  for 
the  time. 

Next  day  they  went  together  to 
clear  the  goods  Rosa  had  purchased. 
While  the  list  was  being  made  out 
in  the  office,  in  came  the  fair-haired 
boy  with  a  ten-pound  note  in  his 
very  hand.  Rosa  caught  sight  of  it, 
and  turned  to  the  auctioneer  with  a 
sweet,  pitying  face  :  "  <  )h  !  sir,  sure- 
Iv  you  will  not  take  all  that  money 
from  him,  poor  child,  for  a  rickety 
old  chair." 

The  auctioneer  stared  with  amaze- 
ment at  her  simplicity,  and  said, 
"  What  would  the  vendors  say  to 
me  '  " 

She  looked  distressed,  and  said, 
"  Well,  then,  really  we  ought  to 
raise  a  subscription,  poor  thing  !  " 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  the  auction- 
eer, "he  i^n't  hurt:  the  article  be- 
longed to  his  mother  and  her  sister; 
the  brother-in-law  isn't  on  good 
terms;  so  he  demanded  a  public 
sale.  She  will  get  hack  lour  pun 
ten  out  of  it.''  Here  the  clerk  put 
in  his  word.  "And  there's  five 
pounds  paid,  I  forgot  to  tell  you." 

"Oh!  left  a  deposit,  did  he  '." 

"  No,  sir.  Hut  the  Laughing  Hy- 
ena gave  you  five  pounds  at  the  end 
of  the  sale." 

"  The  Laughing  Hyena,  Mr. 
Jones '  " 

"Oh!  beg  pardon:  that  is  what 

we  call  him  in  the  room.  lie  has 
got  such  a  curious  laugh." 

"Oh!  1  know  the  gent.  He  is  a 

retired    doctor.      I    wish    he'd    laugh 

uid  buy  more:  and  he  gav<  you 

five  pounds  toward  the  young  (jen- 

tleman's  arm  chair  !     Well,  I  should 


as  soon  have  expected  blood  from  a 
flint.  You  have  got  rive  pounds  to 
pay,  sir:  so  now  the  chair  will  cost 
your  mamma  ten  shillings.  Give 
him  the  order  and  the  change,  Mr. 
Jones." 

Christopher  and  Rosa  talked  this 
over  in  the  room  while  the  men 
were  looking  out  their  purchases. 
"  Come,"  said  Rosa ;  "  now  I  for- 
give him  sneering  at  me:  his  heart 
is  not  really  hard,  you  see."  Staines, 
on  the  contrary,  was  very  angry. 
"  What !  "  he  cried,  "  pity  a  hoy  who 
made  one  bad  bargain,  that,  after  all, 
was  not  a  very  bad  bargain  ;  ami  he 
had  no  kindness,  nor  even  common 
humanity,  for  my  beautiful  Rosa,  in- 
experienced as  a  child,  and  buying 
for  her  husband,  like  a  good,  affec- 
tionate, honest,  creature,  among  a  lot 
of  sharpers  and   hard-hearted  cynics 

—  like  himself." 

"  It  was  cruel  of  him,"  said  Rosa, 
altering  her  mind  in  a  moment,  and 
half  inclined  to  cry. 

This  made  Christopher  furious. 
"  The  ill-natured,  crotchety,  old  — 
The     fact     is,  he  is  a  misogynist." 

"Oh,  the  wretch!"  said"  Rosa 
warmly.     "  And  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  woman-hater." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?     Why,  so  do  I 

—  after  that  Florence  Cole.  Wo- 
men are  mean,  heartless  things. 
Give  me  men !  they  are  loyal  and 
true." 

"All  of  them?"  inquired  Chris- 
topher a  little  satirically.  "Read 
the  papers:" 

"  Every  soul  of  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Staines,  passing  loftily  over  the  pro- 
posed test.  "That  is,  all  the  ones 
/  care  about ;  and  that  is  my  own, 
own  one." 

Disagreeable  creatures  to  havo 
about  one — these  simpletons! 

Mrs.  Siaines  took  Christopher  to 
mops  to  buy  the  remaining  requi- 
sites: and  in  three  days  more  the 
house  was  furnished,  two  female  ser- 
vants engaged,  and  the  couple  took 
their  llf_"_ra'_re  over  to  the  BijOU. 

Ro  a    was   excited   and    happy  at 


'52 


A  SIMPLETON. 


the  novelty  of  possession  and  au- 
thority, and  that  close  sense  of  house 
proprietorship  which  belongs  to  wo- 
man. By  dinner-time  she  could 
have  told  you  how  many  shelves 
there  were  in  every  cupboard,  and 
knew  the  Bijou  by  heart  in  a  way 
that  Christopher  never  knew  it.  All 
this  ended,  as  running-  about  and  ex- 
citement generally  does,  with  my 
lady  being  exhausted,  and  lax  with 
fatigue.  So  then  he  made  her  lie 
down  on  a  little  couch,  while  he 
went  through  his  accounts. 

When  he  had  examined  all  the 
bills  carefully  he  looked  very  grave, 
and  said,  "  Who  would  believe  this ? 
We  began  with  £3000.  It  was  to 
last  us  several  years  —  till  I  got  a 
good  practice.  Rosa,  there  is  oidy 
£1440  left."  Oh,  impossible  !  "  said 
llosa.  "  Oh  dear !  why  did  I  ever 
enter  a  sale-room  ?  " 

"No,  no,  my  darling;  you  were 
bitten  once  or  twice,  but  you  made 
some  good  bargains  too.  Remem- 
ber there  was  £400  set  apart  for  my 
life  policy." 

"  What  a  waste  of  money ! " 

"  Your  father  did  not  think  so. 
Then  the  lease ;  the  premium ;  re- 
pairs of  the  drains  that  would  have 
poisoned  my  Rosa;  turning  the 
coach-house  into  a  dispensary;  paint- 
ing, papering  and  furnishing;  china 
and  linen  and  every  thing  to  buy. 
We  must  look  at  this  seriously. 
Only  £1440  left.  A  slow  profes- 
sion. No  friends.  I  have  quar- 
relled with  Uncle  Philip  :  you  with 
Mrs.  Cole;  and  her  husband  would 
have  launched  me." 

"  And  it  was  to  please  her  we  set- 
tled here.  Oh,  I  could  kill  her: 
nasty  cat ! " 

"  Never  mind  ;  it  is  not  a  case  for 
despondency,  but  it  is  for  prudence. 
Ail  we  have  to  do  is  to  look  the  thing 
in  the  face,  and  be  very  economical 
in  every  thing.  I  had  better  give 
you  an  allowance  for  housekeeping ; 
and  I  earnestly  beg  you  to  buy  things 
yourself  while  you  are  a  poor  man's 
wife,  and  pay  ready  money  for  every 


thing.  My  mother  was  a  great 
manager,  and  she  always  said, 
'  There  is  but  one  way  ;  be  your  own 
market-woman,  and  pay  on  the 
spot ;  never  let  the  tradesmen  get 
you  on  their  books,  or  what  with 
false  weight,  double  charges,  and 
the  things  your  servants  order  that 
never  enter  the  house,  you  lose  more 
than  a  hundred  a  year  by  cheat- 
ing.' " 

Rosa  yielded  a  languid  assent  to 
this  part  of  his  discourse,  and  it 
hardly  seemed  to  enter  her  mind ; 
but  she  raised  no  objection,  and  in 
due  course  he  made  her  a  special  al- 
lowance for  housekeeping. 

It  soon  transpired  that  medical 
advice  was  to  be  had  gratis  at  the 
Bijou  from  eight  till  ten,  and  there 
was  generally  a  good  attendance. 
But  a  week  passed,  and  not  one  pa- 
tient came  of  the  class  this  couple 
must  live  by.  Christopher  set  this 
down  to  what  people  call  the  "  Tran- 
sition period  :  "  his  Kent  patients 
had  lost  him ;  his  London  patients 
not  found  him.  He  wrote  to  all  his 
patients  in  the  country,  and  many 
of  his  pupils  at  the  university,  to  let 
them  know  where  he  was  settled  ■ 
and  then  he  waited. 

Not  a  creature  came. 

Rosa  bore  this  very  well  for  a 
time,  so  long  as  the  house  was  a 
novelty  ;  but,  when  that  excitement 
was  worn  out,  she  began  to  be  very 
dull,  and  used  to  come  and  entice 
him  out  to  walk  with  her :  he  would 
look  wistfully  at  her,  but  object  that 
if  he  left  the  house  he  should  be 
sure  to  lose  a  patient. 

"  Oh,  they  won't  come  any  more  for 
our  staying  in  —  tiresome  things  ! " 
said  Rosa. 

But  Christopher  would  kiss  her, 
and  remain  firm,  "  My  love,"  said 
he,  "  you  do  not  realize  how  hard  a 
fight  there  is  before  us.  How  should 
you  1  You  are  very  young.  No, 
for  your  sake,  I  must  not  throw  a 
chance  away.  Write  to  your  female 
friends  :  that  will  while  away  an 
hour  or  two." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


53 


"What,  after  that  Florence 
Cole  ? " 

"  Write  to  those  who  have  not 
made  such  violent  professions." 

"  80  I  will,  dear.  Especially  to 
those  that  are  married  and  come  to 
London.  Oh,  and  I'll  write  to  that 
cold  blooded  th'ng,  Lady  Cicely  Tre- 
herne !  Why  do  you  shake  your 
head  % " 

"  Did  I  ?  I  was  not  aware.  Well, 
dear,  if  ladies  of  rank  were  to  come 
here,  I  fear  they  might  make  you 
discontented  with  your  lot." 

"  All  the  women  on  earth  could 
not  do  that.  However,  the  chances 
are  she  will  not  come  near  me  ;  she 
left  the  school  quite  a  big  girl,  an 
immense  girl,  when  I  was  only 
twelve.  She  used  to  smile  at  my 
capriceios,  and  once  she  kissed  me 
—  actually.  She  was  an  awful 
Sawney,  though,  and  so  aflected.  I 
think  I  will  write  to  her." 

These  letters  brought  just  one 
lady,  a  .Mrs.  Turner,  who  talked  to 
Rosa  very  glibly  about  herself,  and 
amused  Rosa  twice :  at  the  third 
visit  Rosa  tried  to  change  the  con- 
versation. Mrs.  Turner  instantly 
got  up  and  went  away.  She  could 
not  bear  the  sound  of  the  human 
voice,  unless  it  was  talking  about 
her  and  her  affairs. 

And  now  Staines  began  to  feel 
downright  uneasy.  Income  was 
steadily  going  out :  not  a  shilling 
coming  in.  The  lame,  the  blind, 
and  the  sick  frequented  bis  dispen- 
sary, ami  got  his  skill  out  of  him 
gratis,  and  sometimes  a  little  physic, 
a  little  wine,  and  other  things  that 
cost  him  money  :  but  of  the  patients 
that  pay,  not  one  came  to  bis  front- 
door. 

He  walked  round  and  round  his 
little  yard,  like  a  hyena  in  its  cage, 
waiting,  waiting,  waiting  :  and  oh  ! 
how  be  envied  the  lot  of  those  who 

can  hunt  for  work,  instead  of  hav- 
ing to  stay  at  home,  and  wait  for 
others  to  come,  whose  will  they  can 
not  influence.  Hi>  liearl  began  to 
sicken  with  hope  deferred  and  dim 

5* 


forebodings  of  the  future;  and  he 
saw,  with  grief,  that  his  wile  was 
getting  duller  and  duller,  and  that 
her  days  dragged  more  heavily  far 
than  his  own  ;  for  he  could  study. 

At  last  his  knocker  began  to  show 
signs  of  life  :  his  visitors  were  phy- 
sicians. His  lectures  on  "Diagno- 
sis "  were  well  known  to  them ;  and 
one  after  another  found  him  out. 
They  were  polite,  kind,  even  friend- 
ly; but  here  it  ended:  these  gentle- 
men, of  course,  did  not  resign  their 
patients  to  him ;  and  the  inferior 
class  of  practitioners  avoided  his 
door  like  a  pestilence. 

Mrs.  Staines,  who  had  always 
lived  for  amusement,  could  strike 
out  no  fixed  occupation ;  her  time 
hung  like  lead  ;  the  house  was  small ; 
and  in  small  houses  the  faults  of 
servants  ran  against  the  mistress, 
and  she  can't  help  seeing  them,  and 
all  the  worse  for  her.  It  is  easier  to 
keep  things  clean  in  the  country, 
and  Rosa  had  a  high  standard,  which 
her  two  servants  could  never  quite 
attain.  This  annoyed  her,  and  she 
began  to  scold  a  little.  They  an- 
swered civilly,  but,  in  other  re- 
spects,  remained  imperfect  beings : 
they  laid  out  every  shilling  they 
earned  in  finery ;  and  this,  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  irritated  Mrs. 
Staines,  who  was  wearing  out  her 
wedding  garments,  and  had  no  ex- 
cuse for  buying]  and  Staines  bad 
be<nj'ed  her  to  be  economical.  Tho- 
rn ore  they  dressed,  the  more  she 
scolded  ;  they  began  to  answer.  Shu 
gave  the  cook  warning;  the  other, 
though  not  on  good  terms  with  the 
cook,  had  a  gush  of  rs/nit  (In  corps 
directly,  and  gave  Mrs.  Staines 
warning. 

Mis  Staines  told  her  husband  all 
this:  be  took  her  part, though  with- 
out openly  interfering  ;  and  they  bad 
two  new  servants,  not  as  good  as  the 
last. 

This  worried  Rosa  sadly;  but  it 
was  a  flea-bite  to  the  deeper  nature 
and  more  forecasting  mind  of  lu  r 
husband,  still  doomed   10   pace   that 


m 


A  SIMPLETON. 


miserable  yard,  like  a  hyena,  chafing, 
Becking,  longing  for  the  patient  that 
never  came. 

Rosa  used  to  look  out  of  his  dress- 
ing-room window,  and  see  him  pace 
the  yard.  At  first  tears  of  pity 
stood  in  her  eyes.  By  and  by  she 
got  angry  with  the  world ;  and  at 
last,  strange  to  say,  a  little  irritated 
with  him.  It  is  hard  for  a  weak 
woman  to  keep  up  all  her  respect  for 
the  man  that  fails. 

One  day,  after  watching  him  a 
long  time  unseen,  she  got  excited, 
put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and 
ran  down  to  him.  She  took  him  by 
the  arm  :  "  If  you  love  me,  come 
out  of  this  prison,  and  walk  with 
me ;  we  are  too  miserable.  I  shall 
be  your  first  patient  if  this  goes  on 
much  longer."  He  looked  at  her, 
saw  she  was  very  excited,  and  had 
better  be  humored  ;  so  he  kissed  her, 
and  just  said,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  How  poor  are  they  that 
have  not  patience  !  "  Then  lie  put 
on  his  hat,  and  walked  in  the  Park 
and  Kensington  Gardens  with  her. 
The  season  was  just  beginning. 
There  were  carriages  enough,  and 
gay  Amazons  enough,  to  make  poor 
Kosa  sigh  more  than  once. 

Christopher  heard  the  sigh,  and 
pressed  her  arm,  and  said,  "  Cour- 
age, love  :  I  hope  to  see  you  among 
them  yet." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  she 
a  little  hardly. 

"And,  meantime,  which  of  them 
all  is  as  beautiful  as  you  1 " 

"All  I  know  is,  they  are  more  at- 
tractive. Who  looks  at  me  ?  walk- 
ing tamely  by." 

Christopher  said  nothing :  but 
these  words  seemed  to  imply  a  thirst 
for  admiration,  and  made  him  a 
little  uneasy. 

By  and  by  the  walk  put  the  swift- 
changing  Rosa  in  spirits,  and  she 
began  to  chat  gayly,  and  hung  prat- 
tling and  beaming  on  her  husband's 
arm,  when  they  entered  Curzon 
Street.  Here,  however,  occurred 
an  incident,  trifling  in  itself,  but  un- 


pleasant. Dr.  Staines  saw  one  of 
his  best  Kentish  patients  get  feebly 
out  of  his  carriage,  and  call  on  Dr. 
Bar.  He  started,  and  stopped. 
Kosa  asked  what  was  the  matter. 
He  told  her.  She  said,  "  We  are 
unfortunate." 

Staines  said  nothing;  he  only 
quickened  his  pace,  but  he  was 
greatly  disturbed.  She  expected  him 
to  complain  that  she  had  dragged 
him  out,  and  lost  him  that  first 
chance.  But  he  said  nothing. 
When  they  got  home  he  asked  the 
servant  had  anybody  called. 

"  No,  Sir." 

"  Surely  you  are  mistaken,  Jane. 
A  gentleman  in  a  carriage  !  " 

"  Not  a  creature  have  been  since 
you  went  out,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  dearest,"  said  he 
sweetly,  "we  have  nothing  to  re- 
proach ourselves  with."  Then  he 
knit  his  brow  gloomily.  "It  is  worse 
than  I  thought.  It  seems  even  one's 
country  patients  go  to  another  doc- 
tor when  they  visit  London.  It  is 
hard.     It  is  hard." 

Rosa  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  curled  round  him,  as  one 
she  would  shield  against  the  world's 
injustice;  but  she  said  nothing; 
she  was  a  little  frightened  at  his  eye 
that  lowered,  and  his  noble  frame 
that  trembled  a  little,  with  ire  sup- 
pressed. 

Two  days  after  this  a  brougham 
drove  up  to  the  door,  and  a  tallish, 
fattish,  pasty-faced  man  got  out,  and 
incpiircd  for  Dr.  Staines. 

He  was  shown  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  told  Jane  he  had  come  to 
consn.t  the  doctor. 

Rosa  had  peeped  over  the  stairs, 
all  curiosity  ;  she  glided  noiselessly 
down,  and  with  love's  swift  foot  gol 
into  the  yard  before  Jane.  "  He  is 
come!  he  is  come!     Kiss  me." 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  first,  and 
then  asked  who  was  come. 

"  Oh,  nobody  of  any  consequence  ! 
Only  the  first  patient.  Kiss  me 
again." 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  again,  and 


A  SIMPLETON. 


55 


then  was  for  going  to  the  first  pa- 
tient. 

"  No,"  said  she ;  "  not  yet.  I  met 
a  doctor's  wife  at  Dr.  Mayne's,  and 
she  told  me  things.  Yon  must  al- 
ways keen  them  waiting,  or  else 
they  think  nothing  of  you.  Such  a 
funny  woman!  'Treat  'em  like 
dogs,  my  dear,'  she  said.  But  I  told 
her  they  wouldn't  come  to  be  treated 
like  dogs  or  any  other  animal." 

"  You  had  better  have  kept  that 
to  yourself,  I  think." 

•'  Oh  !  if  you  are  going  to  be  dis- 
agreeable,  good-by.  You  can  go  to 
your  patient,  sir.  Christie  dear,  if 
he  is  very,  very  ill  —  and  I'm  sure  I 
hope  he  is  — oh,  how  wicked  I  am  ! 

—  may  I  have  a  new  bonnet?  " 
"  If  you  really  want  one." 

On  the  patient's  card  was  "Mr. 
Pettigrew,  47  Manchester  Square." 

As  soon  as  Staines  entered  the 
room  the  first  patient  told  him  who 
and  what  he  was,  a  retired  civilian 
from  India;  but  he  had  got  a  son 
there  still,  a  very  rising  man  ;  want- 
ed to  be  a  parson,  but  he  would  not 
stand  that :  bad  profession  ;  don't 
rise  by  merit ;  very  hard  to  rise  at 
all  —  no,  India  was  the  place.  "  As 
lor  me,  I  made  my  fortune  there  in 
ten  years.     Obliged   to  leave  it  now 

—  invalid  this  many  years;  no 
tone.  Tried  two  or  three  doctors  in 
this  neighborhood  ;  heard  there  was 
a  new  one,  had  written  a  book  on 
something.  Thought  I  would  try 
him." 

To  stop  him,  Staines  requested  to 
feel    his    pulse,     and    examine     his 

tongue  atld  eye. 

"  You  are  suffering  from  indiges- 
tion," said  he.  "I  will  write  you 
a  prescription ;  but,  if  you  want  to 
gel  well,  you  must  simplify  your 
diet  very  much." 

While  he  was  writing  the  pre- 
scription, olf  went    this    patient's 

tongue,  and  ran  through  the  topics 
ol  th  •  day,  and  into  his  family  his- 
tory again. 

StainCS      listened       politely.  lie 

could  afford  it,  having  only  thif  one-. 


At  last  the  first  patient,  having 
delivered  an  octavo  volume  of  noth- 
ing, rose  to  go ;  but  it  seems  that 
speaking  an  infinite  deal  of  noth- 
ing exhausts  the  body,  though 
it  does  not  att'ect  the  mind  ;  for  the 
first  patient  sank  down  in  his  chair 
again.  "  I  have  excited  myself  too 
much  —  feel  rather  faint." 

Staines  saw  no  signs  of  coming 
syncope;  he  rang  the  bell  quietly, 
and  ordered  a  decanter  of  sherry  to 
be  brought;  the  first  patient  filled 
himself  a  glass;  then  another; 
and  went  off,  revived,  to  chatter 
elsewhere.  But  at  the  door  he  said, 
"  I  had  always  a  running  account 
with  Dr.  Mivar.  I  suppose  you 
don't  object  to  that  system.  Dou- 
ble fee  the  first  visit,  single  after- 
ward." 

Dr.  Staines  bowed  a  little  stiffly; 
he  would  have  preferred  the  money. 
However,  he  looked  at  the  Blue- 
Book,  and  lbtmd  his  visitor  lived  at 
47  Manchester  Square  ;  so  that  re- 
moved his  anxiety. 

The  first  patient  called  every  other 
day,  chattered  nineteen  to  the  dozen, 
was  exhausted,  drank  two  glasses  of 
sherry,  and  drove  away. 

Soon  after  this  a  second  patient 
called.  This  one  was  a  deputy  pa- 
tient—  Collett,  a  retired  butler  — 
kept  a  lodging-house,  and  waited  at 
parties;  he  lived  close  by,  but  had 
a  married  daughter  in  Chelsea. 
Would  the  doctor  visit  her,  and  he 
would  lie  responsible  ? 

Staines  paid  the  woman  a  visit  or 
two,   and   treated   her  so    effectually 

thai  Boon   hervisits  were    paid    to 

him.      She   was  cured,  and    Staines, 
who    by    this    time   wanted    to     see 

money,  sent  to   Collett. 

Collett  did  not  answer. 
Staines  wrote  warmly. 
Colletl   dead  silent. 
Staines  employed  a  solicitor. 

<  lollett  said  he.  had  recommended 

the    patient,   that    was  all;     he    had 
never  said    he  would  pay   her  debts. 
That  was  her  husband's  business. 
Now,  her  husband  was  the  mate 


m 


A  SIMPLETON. 


of  a  ship ;  would  not  be  in  England 
for  eighteen  months. 

The  woman,  visited  by  lawyer's 
clerk,  cried  bitterly,  and  said  she 
and  her  children  had  scarcely 
enough  to  eat. 

Lawyer  advised  Staines  to  aban- 
don the  case,  and  pay  him  two 
pounds  fifteen  shillings,  expenses. 
He  did  so. 

"  This  is  damnable,"  said  he.  "  I 
must  get  it  out  of  Pettigrew  :  by 
the  by,  he  has  not  been  here  this  two 
days." 

He  waited  another  day  for  Petti- 
grew, and  then  wrote  to  him.  No 
answer.  Called.  Pettigrew  gone 
abroad.  House  in  Manchester 
Square  to  let. 

Staines  went  to  the  house-agent 
with  his  tale.  Agent  was  impene- 
trable at  first,  but  at  last,  won  by 
the  doctor's  manner  and  his  unhap- 
piness,  referred  him  to  Pettigrew's 
solicitor;  the  solicitor  was  a  respect- 
able man,  and  said  he  would  for- 
ward the  claim  to  Pettigrew  in 
Paris. 

But  by  this  time  Pettigrew  was 
chatting  and  guzzling  in  Berlin  ; 
and  thence  he  got  to  St.  Petersburg. 
In  that  stronghold  of  gluttony  he 
gormandized  more  than  ever,  and, 
being  unable  to  chatter  it  off  the 
stomach,  as  in  other  cities,  had  apo- 
plexy, and  died. 

But,  long  before  this,  Staines  saw 
his  money  was  as  irrecoverable  as 
his  sherry;  and  he  said  to  Rosa.  "I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  live  to 
curse  the  human  race  ? 

"Heaven  forbid!"  said  Rosa. 
"  Oh  !  they  use  you  cruelly,  my  poor, 
poor  Christie'?  " 

Thus  for  months  the  young  doc- 
tor's patients  bled  him,  and  that 
was  all. 

And  Rosa  got  more  and  more 
moped  at  being  in  the  house  so 
touch,  and  pestered  Christopher  to 
take  her  out,  and  he  declined  ;  and, 
being  a  man  bard  to  beat,  took  to 
writing  on  medical  subjects,  in 
hopes  of  getting  seme  money  from 


the  various  medical  and  scientific 
publications ;  but  he  found  it  as 
hard  to  get  the  wedge  in  there  as  to 
get  patients. 

At  last  Rosa's  remonstrance  be- 
gan to  rise  into  something  that 
sounded  like  reproaches.  One  Sun- 
day she  came  to  him  in  her  bonnet, 
and  interrupted  his  studies  to  say  he 
miglft  as  well  lay  down  the  pen  and 
talk.  Nobody  would  publish  any 
tiling  he  wrote. 

Christopher  frowned,  but  con- 
tained himself;  and  laid  down  the 
pen. 

"  I  might  as  well  not  be  married 
at  all  as  to  be  a  doctor's  wife.  You 
are  never  seen  out  with  me,  not 
even  to  church.  Do  behave  like  a 
Christian,  and  come  to  church  with 
me  now." 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  miss  church 
for  all  the  world.  Any  excitement 
is  better  than  always  moping. 
Come  over  the  water  with  me. 
The  time  Jane  and  I  went,  the  cler- 
gyman read  a  paper  that  Mr.  Brown 
had  fallen  down  in  a  fit.  There 
was  such  a  rush  directly,  and  I'm 
sure  fifty  ladies  went  out — fancy, 
all  Mrs.  Browns!  Wasn't  that 
fun  ? " 

"  Fun  ?  I  don't  sec  it.  WTcll, 
Rosa,  your  mind  is  evidently  better 
adapted  to  diversion  than  mine  is. 
Go  you  to  church,  love;  and  I'll 
continue  my  studies." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is,  I  wish  I 
was  back  in  my  father's  house. 
Husband!  friend!  companion!  — 
I  have  none." 

Then  she  burst  out  crying  vio- 
lently ;  and  being  shocked  at  what 
she  had  said,  and  at  the  agony  it 
had  brought  into  her  husband's  lace, 
she  went  off  into  hysterics;  and  as 
his  heart  wotdd  not  let  him  bellow 
at  her,  or  empty  a  bucket  on  her  as 
he  could  on  another  patient,  she  had 
a  good  long  bout  of  them,  and  got 
her  way  ;  for  she  broke  up  his  stud- 
ies for  that  day,  at  all  events. 

Even  after  the  hysterics  were  got 


A  SIMPLETON. 


57 


under,  she  continued  to  moan  and 
sigh  very  prettily,  with  her  lovely, 
languid  head  pillowed  on  her  hus- 
band's arm;  in  a  word,  though  the 
hysterics  were  real,  yet  this  inno- 
cent young  person  had  the  presence 
of  mind  to  postpone  entire  convales- 
cence, and  lay  herself  out  to  be 
petted  all  day.  But  fate  willed  it 
otherwise.  While  she  was  sighing 
and  moaning,  came  to  the  door  a 
scurrying  of  feet,  and  then  a  sharp, 
persistent  ringing  that  meant  some- 
thing. The  moaner  cocked  eve  and 
car,  and  said,  in  her  c  very-day 
voice,  which,  coming  so  suddenly, 
sounded  very  droll,  "  What  is  that, 
1  wonder  ?  " 

Jane  hurried  to  the  street-door,  and 
Rosa  recovered  by  magic;  and,  pre- 
ferring gossip  to  hysterics,  in  an  al- 
most gleeful  whisper  ordered  Chris- 
topher to  open  the  door  of  the  study 
The  Bijou  was  so  small  that  the 
following  dialogue  rang  in  their 
ears  :  — 

A  boy  in  buttons  gasped  out, 
"  Oh  !  if  you  please,  will  you  ast  the 
doctor  to  come  round  directly? 
there's  a  haecident." 

"  La,  bless  me  !  "  said  Jane  ;  and 
never  budged. 

"  Yes,  miss.  It's  our  missus's 
little  girl  fallen  right  off  an  i  chair, 
and  cut  her  head  dreadful,  and 
smothered  in  blood." 

"  La,  to  be  sure  !  "  Ami  she  wait- 
ed steadily  for  more. 

"  Ay,  and  nii>>us  she  fainted 
right  olf  ;  and  I've  been  to  the  reg- 
ler  doctor,  which  he's  out  ;  and 
Sarah,  the  house-maid,  said  I  had 
better  come  here  :  you  was  only 
just  gel  up,  she  said  ;  you  wouldn't 
have  mi  much  to  do,  says  she." 

"  That  is  all  the  knows,"  said 
.lane.  "  Why,  our  master  they 
nulla  him  in  pieces  which  is  to  have 
him  fust." 

"  What  an  awful  liar!  "  "  Oh, 
you  good  girl  !  "  whispered  Dr. 
Staines  and  Rosa  in  one  breath. 

"  Ah,  well  !  "  Buid  Buttons,  "any 
way,  Sarah  says  she   knows  you  are 


clever,  cos  her  little  girl  as  lives 
with  her  mother,  and  calls  Sarah 
aunt,  has  bin  to  your  'spensary 
with  ringworm,  and  you  cured 
her  right  off." 

"  Ay,  and  a  good  many  more,"  said 
Jane  loftily.  She  was  a  house- 
maid of  imagination ;  and  while 
Staines  was  putting  some  lint  and 
an  instrument  into  his  pocket,  she 
proceeded  to  relate  a  number  of 
miraculous  cures.  Doctor  Staines 
interrupted  them  by  suddenly 
emerging,  and  inviting  Buttons  to 
take  him  to  the  house. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  so  pleased  with 
Jane  for  cracking  up  the  doctor, 
that  she  gave  her  five  shillings  ;  and 
alter  that  used  to  talk  to  her  a 
great  deal  more  than  to  the  cook, 
which  in  due  course  set  all  three  by 
the  ears. 

Buttons  took  the  doctor  to  a  fine 
house  in  the  same  street,  and  told 
him  his  mistress's  name  on  the  way, 
—  Mrs.  Lucas.  He  was  taken  up 
to  the  nursery,  and  found  Mrs. 
Lucas  seated,  crying  and  lament- 
ing, and  a  woman  holding  a  little 
girl  of  about  seven,  whose  brow  had 
been  cut  ojxm  by  the  tender,  on 
which  she  had  fallen  from  a  chair ; 
it  looked  very  ugly,  and  was  even 
now  bleeding. 

Dr.  Staines  lost  no  time;  he  ex- 
amined the  wound  keenly,  and  then 
said  kindly  to  Mrs.  Lueas,  "  1  am 
happy  to  tell  you  it  is  not  serious." 
lie  then  asked  for  a  large  basin  and 
some  tepid  water,  and  bathed  it  so 
softly  and  soothingly  that    the   child 

soon  became  composed ;  and  the 
mother  discovered  the  artist  at  once. 
He  compressed  the  wound,  and  ex- 
plained to  Mis.  Lucas  that  the  prin- 
cipal thing  really  was  to  avoid  an 
Ugly  scar.  "There  is  no  danger," 
said  he.  He  then  bound  the  wound 
neatly  up,  and  had  the  girl  put  to 
lied.  "  Von  will  not  wake  her  at 
any  particular  hour,  nurse.  Let 
her  sleep.  Have  a  little  Btrong 
beef  tea  remly,  and  give  it  her  at 
any  hour,  night  or  day,  she  asks  lor 


5S 


A   SIMPLETON. 


it.  But  do  not  force  it  on  her,  or 
you  will  do  her  more  barm  than 
good.  She  had  better  sleep  before 
she  eats." 

Mrs.  Lucas  begged  him  to  come 
every  morning ;  and,  as  he  was  go- 
ing,  she  shook  bands  with  him,  and 
the  soft  palm  deposited  a  hard  sub- 
stance wrapped  in  paper.  He  took 
it  with  professional  gravity  and 
seeming  unconsciousness;  but,  once 
outside  the  house,  went  home  on 
wings.  He  ran  up  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  found  his  wife  seated, 
and  playing  at  reading.  He  threw 
himself  on  his  knees,  and  the  fee 
into  her  lap  ;  and,  while  she  unfolded 
the  paper  with  an  ejaculation  of 
pleasure,  he  said,  "  Darling,  the 
first  real  patient  —  the  first  real  fee. 
It  is  yours  to  buy  the  new  bonnet." 
"Ob,  I'm  so  glad!"  said  she, 
with  her  eves  glistening.  ''  But  I'm 
afraid  one  can't  get  a  bonnet  fit  to 
wear —  for  a  guinea." 

Dr.  Staines  visited  his  little  pa- 
tient every  day,  and  received  his 
guinea.  Mrs.  Lucas  also  called  him 
in  for  her  own  little  ailments,  and 
they  were  the  best  possible  kind  of 
ailments  :  being  almost  imaginary, 
there  was  no  limit  to  them. 

Then  did  Mrs.  Staines  turn  jealous 
of  her  husband.  "  They  never  ask 
me,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  am  moped  to 
death." 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  Christopher 
sadly.  "  But  have  a  little  patience. 
Society  will  come  to  you  long  before 
practice  comes  to  me." 

About  two  o'clock  one  afternoon 
a  carriage  and  pair  drove  up,  and  a 
gorgeous  footman  delivered  a  card, 
"  Lady  Ciceiy  Treherne." 

Of  course  Mrs.  Staines  was  at 
home,  and  only  withheld  by  propri- 
ety from  bounding  into  the  passage 
to  meet  her  school-fellow.  However, 
she  composed  herself  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  presently  the  door  was 
opened,  and  a  very  tall  young  wo- 
man, richly  but  not  gayly  dressed, 
drifted  into  the  room,  and  stood 
there  a  statue  of  composure. 


Rosa  had  risen  to  fly  to  her  ;  but 
the  reverence  a  girl  of  eighteen 
strikes  into  a  child  of  twelve  hung 
about  her  still ;  and  she  came  timid- 
ly forward,  blushing  and  sparkling, 
a  curious  contrast  in  color  and 
mind  to  her  visitor;  for  Lady 
Cicely  was  Languor  in  person  — 
her  hair  white-brown,  her  face  a 
fincoval,  but  almost  colorless;  her 
eyes  a  pale  gray,  her  neck  and  hands 
incomparably  white  and  beautiful  — 
a  lymphatic  young  lady,  a  live  anti- 
dote to  emotion.  However,  Rosa's 
beauty,  timidity,  and  undisguised 
atfeetionateuess  were  something  so 
different  from  what  she  was  used  to 
in  the  world  of  fashion  that  she  ac- 
tually smiled,  and  held  out  both  her 
hands  a  little  way.  Eosa  seized 
them  and  pressed  them ;  they  let 
her,  and  remained  passive  and 
limp. 

"0  Lady  Cicely!"  said  Eosa, 
"how  kind  of  you  to  come  !  " 

"How  kind  of  yon  to  send  to 
me,"  was  the  polite  but  perfectly 
cool  reply.  "  But  how  you  are 
gwown,  and — may  I  say  impwoved  ? 
—  you  la  petite  Lusignan  !  It  is 
incwediblc,"  lisped  her  ladyship 
very  calmly. 

"  I  was  only  a  child,"  said  Eosa. 
"  You  were  always  so  beautiful  and 
tall,  and  kind  to  a  little  monkey 
like  me.  Oh,  pray  sit  down,  Lady 
Cicely,  and  talk  of  old  times." 

She  drew  her  gently  to  the  sofa, 
and  they  sat  down  hand  in  hand; 
but  Lady  Cicely's  high-bred  reserve 
made  her  a  very  poor  gossip  al  >out 
any  thing  that  touched  herself  and 
her  family;  so  Eosa,  though  no 
egotist,  was  drawn  into  talking 
about  herself  more  than  she  would 
have  done  had  she  deliberately 
planned  the  conversation.  But 
here  was  an  old  school-fellow,  and  a 
singularly  polite  listener ;  and  so 
out  came  her  love,  her  genuine  hap- 
piness,  her  particular  griefs,  and  es- 
pecially the  crowning  grievance,  no 
society,  moped  to  death,  &c. 
Lady  Cicely  could  hardly  under- 


A   SIMPLETON. 


59 


stand  the  sentiment  in  a  woman 
who  so  evidently  loved  her  husband. 
"  Society  !  "  said  she,  after  due  re- 
flection, ''  why,  it  is  a  DDa."  (And 
here  I  may  as  well  explain  that 
Lady  Cicely  spoke  certain  words 
falsely,  and  odiers  allectedly ;  and 
as  for  the  letter  r,  she  could  say  it 
if  she  made  a  hearty  effort,  but  was 
generally  too  lazy  to  throw  her  leg 
over  it.)  "Society!  I'mdwenched 
to  death  with  it.  If  I  could  only 
catch  fiah  like  other  women,  and 
love  somebody,  I  would  rather  have 
a  tete-a  tile  with  him,  than  to  go 
teawing  about  all  day  and  all  night, 
from  one  unintwisting  cwowd  to 
another.  To  be  sure,"  said  she, 
puzzling  the  matter  out,  "  you  are 
a  beauty,  and  would  be  more  looked 
at." 

"  The  idea  !  anri,  —  oh,  no  !  no !  it 
is  not  that.  But  even  in  the  coun- 
try we  had  always  some  society." 

"  Well,  dyali  believe  me,  with 
your  appeawanee,  you  can  have  as 
much  society  as  you  please  ;  but  it 
will  boa  you  to  death,  as  it  does  me, 
and  then  you  will  long  to  be  left 
quiet  with  a  sensible  man  who  loves 
you." 

Said  Eosa,  "  When  shall  I  have 
another  tetp-a  tete  witli  yo'i,  I  won- 
der i  oh,  it  lias  been  such  a  com- 
fort to  me !  Bless  you  for  coining. 
There  —  I  wrote  to  Cecilia,  and 
Emily,  and  .Mr-.  Hosanquest  that  i< 
now,  and  all  my  sworn  friends,  and 
to  think  of  you  being  the  one  to 
come,  —  you  that  never  kissed  me 
but  once,  ami  an  earl's  daughter 
into  the  bargain." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  "  Lady  Cicely 
actually  laughed  for  one"  in  a  way, 
and  she  did  not  lee!  the  effort.  '  As 
for  kissing,"  said  she,  "  if  I  fall 
shawt,   fawgive    me.      I    was    nevaa 

vewy  demonstrative." 

"No;  ami  I  have  had  a  lesson. 
That  Florence  Cole  —  Florence 
Whiting  that  was,  you  know  —  was 
always  kissing  me,  and  she  has 
turned  out  a  traitor.  I'll  I'll  you 
all  about  her."     Ami  she  did. 


Lady  Cicely  thought  Mrs.  Staines 
a  little  too  unreserved  in  her  con- 
versation, but  was  so  charmed  with 
her  sweetness  and  freshness  that  she 
kept  up  the  acquaintance,  and  called 
on  her  twice  a  week  during  the  sea- 
son. At  first  she  wondered  that  In  r 
visits  were  not  returned  ;  but  Rosa 
let  out  that  she  was  ashamed  to 
call  on  loot  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

Lady  Cicely  shrugged  her  beauti- 
ful shoulders  a  little  at  that ;  but 
she  continued  to  do  the  visiting, 
and  to  enjoy  the  simple,  innocent  rap- 
ture with  which  she  was  receiv- 
ed. 

This  lady's  pronunciation  of  many 
words  was  false  or  affected.  She 
said  " good-murning "  for  "good- 
morning,"  and  turned  other  vowels 
into  diphthongs,  and  played  two  or 
three  pranks  with  her  "r's."  But 
we  cannot  be  all  imperfection : 
with  her  pronunciation  her  folly 
came  to  a  full  stop.  I  really  be- 
lieve she  lisped  less  nonsense  and 
bad  taste  in  a  year,  than  some  of  us 
articulate  in  a  clay.  To  be  sure, 
folly  is  generally  uttered  in  a  hurry, 
and  she  was  too  deplorably  la/.y 
to  speak  fast  on  any  occasion  what- 
ever. 

<  me  day  Mrs.  Staines  took  her  up 
stairs,  and  showed  her  from  the 
back  window  her  husband  pacing 
the  yard  wailing  for  patients.  Lady 
Cicely  folded  her  arms,  and  contem- 
plated him  at  first  with  a  sort  of  zo- 
ological curiosity.  Gentleman  pa- 
cing back  yard  like  hyena  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

At  last  she  opened  her  mouth  in  a 
whisper,  "  What  is  he  doing  !  " 

"  Waiting  lor  patients." 
"  Oli !  Waiting— for— patients  1 " 
"For  patients  thai  never  come, 
and  never  will  come." 

"  Cuwious  !  —  How  little  I  know 

Of   life!" 

"  It  is  that  all  day,  dear,  or  else 
writing  " 

Lady  Cicely,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  Staines,  made  a  motion  with  her 
band  thai  she  was  attending. 


CO 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  And  they  won't  publish  a  word 
he  writes." 

"  Poor  man  !  " 

"  Nice  for  me,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  said 
Lady  Cicely  quietly,  and  soon  after 
retired  with  her  invariable  compo- 
sure. 

Meantime  Dr.  Staines,  like  a  good 
husband,  had  thrown  out  occasional 
hints  to  Mrs.  Lucas  that  he  had  a 
wife,  beautiful,  accomplished,  moped. 
More  than  that,  he  went  so  far  as  to 
regret  to  her  that  Mrs.  Staines,  be- 
ing  in  a  neighborhood  new  to  him, 
saw  so  little  society  ;  the  more  so  as 
she  was  formed  to  shine,  and  had 
not  been  used  to  seclusion. 

All  these  hints  fell  dead  on  Mrs. 
Lucas.  A  handsome  and  skilful 
doctor  was  welcome  to  her :  his 
wife  —  that  was  quite  another  mat- 
ter. 

But  one  day  Mrs.  Lucas  saw  Lady 
Cicely  Trehcrne's  carriage  standing 
at  the  door.  The  style  of  the  whole 
turn-out  impressed  her.  She  won- 
dered whose  it  was. 

On  another  occasion  she  saw  it 
drive  up,  and  the  lady  get  out.  She 
recognized  her;  and  the  very  next 
day  this  parvenus  said  adroitly, 
"  Now,  Dr.  Staines,  really  you  can't 
t)2  allowed  to  hide  your  wife  in  this 
way."  (Staines  stared.)  "Why 
not  introduce  her  to  me  next  Wednes- 
day ?  It  is  my  night.  I  would  give 
a  dinner  expressly  for  her,  but  I 
don't  like  to  do  that  while  my  hus- 
band is  in  Naples." 

When  Staines  carried  the  invita- 
tion to  his  wife  she  was  delighted, 
and  kissed  him  with  childish  frank- 
ness. 

But  the  very  next  moment  she 
became  thoughtful,  uneasy,  de- 
pressed. "  Oh,  dear  !  I've  nothing 
to  wear." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Rosa !  Your 
wedding  outfit." 

"  The  idea !  I  can't  go  as  a 
bride.     It's  not  a  masquerade." 

"  But  you  have  other  dresses." 

"All  j£one  by,  more  or   less;  or 


not  fit  for  such  parties  as  site  gives. 
A  hundred  carriages ! " 

"  Bring  them  down,  and  let  me  see 
them." 

"Oh,  yes!"  And  the  lady  who 
had  nothing  to  wear  paraded  a  very 
fair  show  of  dresses. 

Staines  saw  something  to  admire 
in  all  of  them  "  Mrs.  Staines  found 
more  to  object  to  in  each. 

At  last  he  fell  upon  a  silver-gray 
silk,  of  superlative  quality. 

"  That  !  It  is  as  old  as  the 
hills,"  shrieked  Rosa. 

"It  looks  just  out  of  the  shop. 
Come,  tell  the  truth :  how  often 
have  you  worn  it 1  " 

"I  wore  it  before  I  was  mar- 
ried." 

"  Ay,  but  how  often  1  " 

"  Twice.  Three  times,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  is  as  good  as 
new." 

"  But  I  have  had  it  so  long  by 
me.  I  had  it  two  years  bclbre  I 
made  it  up." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  Do 
you  think  the  people  can  tell  how 
long  a  dress  has  been  lurking  in 
your  wardrobe  1  This  is  childish, 
Rosa.  There,  with  that  dress  as 
good  as  new,  and  your  beauty,  you 
will  be  as  much  admired,  and  per- 
haps hated,  as  your  heart  can  de- 
sire." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Rosa 
naively.  "Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had 
known  a  week  ago  !  " 

"  I  am  very  thankful  you  did  not," 
said  Staines  dryly. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Staines  was 
nearly  dressed  ;  at  quarter  past  ten 
she  demanded  ten  minutes  ;  at  half 
past  ten  she  sought  a  reprieve ;  at 
a  quarter  to  eleven,  being  assured 
that  the  street  was  full  of  carriages 
which  had  put  down  at  Mrs.  Lucas's 
she  consented  to  emerge  ;  and  in  a 
minute  they  were  at  the  house. 

They  were  shown  first  into  a  cloak- 
room, and  then  into  a  tea-room,  and 
then  mounted  the  stairs.     One  ser- 


A   SIMPLETON. 


61 


vant  took  their  names,  and  bawled 
them  out  to  another  four  yards  off, 
he  to  another  about  as  near,  and  so 
on  ;  and  they  edged  themselves  into 
the  room,  not  yet  too  crowded  to 
move  in. 

They  had  not  taken  many  steps, 
on  the  chance  of  finding  their  hos- 
tess, when  a  slight  buzz  arose,  and 
seemed  to  follow  them. 

Rosa  wondered  what  that  was, 
but  only  for  a  moment ;  she  observed 
a  tall,  stout,  aquiline  woman  fix  an 
eye  of  bitter,  diabolical,  malignant 
hatred  on  her  ;  and,  as  she  advanced 
ugly  noses  were  cocked  disdainfully, 
and  scraggy  shoulders  elevated  at 
the  risk  of  sending  the  bones  through 
the  leather,  and  a  titter  or  two  shot 
after  her.  A  woman's  instinct  gave 
her  the  key  at  once ;  the  sexes  had 
complimented  her  at  sight,  each  in 
its  way — the  men  with  respectful 
admiration,  and  the  women  with 
their  inflammable  jealousy,  and  ready 
hatred  in  another  of  the  quality 
they  value  most  in  themselves.  But 
the  country  girl  w  is  too  many  for 
them  :  lor  she  would  neither  sec  nor 
h  ar,  but  moved  sedately  on,  and 
calmly  crushed  them  with  her  south- 
ern beauty.  Their  dry  powdered 
faces  would  not  live  by  the  side  of 
her  glowing  skin,  with  Nature's  del- 
icate gloss  upon  it,  and  the  rich  blood 
mantling  below  it.  The  got-up 
beauties  —  >'.  c,  the  majority  — 
seemed  literally  to  fade  and  wither  as 
she  passed. 

Mrs.  Lucas  got  to  her,  suppressed 
a  slight  maternal  pang,  having 
daughters  to  marry,  and  took  her 
line  in  a  moment  ■  here  was  a  de- 
coy-duck. Mrs.  Lucas  was  all  gra- 
ciousness,  made  acquaintance,  and 
took  a  little  turn  with  her,  introdu- 
cing her  to  one  or  two  persons; 
among  the  rest,  to  the  malignant 
woman,  Mrs.  Barr.  Mrs.  Barr,  on 
this,  ceased  to  look  daggers,  and 
substituted  icicles;  hut,  on  the  hate- 
ful beauty  moving  away,  dropped 
the  icicles,  and  resumed  the  poniards. 

The    rooms    filled  ;    the    beat    bc- 

I) 


came  oppressive,  and  the  mixed 
odors  of  flowers,  scents,  and  per- 
spiring humanity,  sickening.  Some, 
unable  to  bear  it,  trickled  out  of  the 
room,  and  sat  all  down  the  stairs. 

llosa  began  to  feel  faint.  Up 
came  a  tall,  sprightly  girl,  whose 
pertness  was  redeemed  by  a  certain 
bonhomie,  and  said,  "Mrs.  Staines, 
I  believe  ?  I  am  to  make  myself 
agreeable  to  you.  That  is  the  or- 
der from  head-quarters." 

"  Miss  Lucas,"  said  Staines. 

She  jerked  a  little  off-hand  bow 
to  him,  and  said,  "  Will  you  trust 
her  to  me  for  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  Certainly."  But  he  did  not 
much  like  it. 

Miss  Lucas  carried  her  oft',  and 
told  Dr.  Staines,  over  her  shoulder, 
now  he  could  flirt  to  his  heart's 
content. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  dryly. 
"  I'll  await  your  return." 

"  Oh  !  there  are  some  much 
greater  flirts  here  than  I  am,"  said 
the  ready  Miss  Lucas  ;  and,  whis- 
pering something  in  Mrs.  Staines's 
ear,  suddenly  glided  with  her  be- 
hind a  curtain,  pressed  a  sort  of 
button  fixed  to  a  looking-glass  door. 
The  door  opened,  and  behold  they 
were  in  delicious  place,  for  which  I 
can  hardly  find  a  word,  since  it  was 
a  boudoir  and  a  conservatory  in 
one :  a  large  octagon,  the  walls 
lined  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 
looking-glasses  of  moderate  width 
at  intervals,  and  with  creepers  that 
covered  the  intervening  spaces  of 
the  wall,  and  were  trained  so  as  to 
break  the  outline  of  the  glasses 
without  greatly  clouding  the  reflec- 
tion. Ferns,  in  great  variety,  were 
grouped  in  a  deep  crescent,  and  in 
the  bight  of  this  green  bay  were  a 
small  table  and  chairs.  As  there 
were  no  hot-house  plants,  the  tem- 
perature was  very  cool,  compared 
with  the  reeking  oven  they  had  es- 
caped; and  a  little  fountain  bub- 
bled and  fed  a  little  meandering 
gutter  that  trickled  away  among 
the  ferns  ;  it  ran  crystal  clear  over 


G2 


A   SIMPLETON. 


little  bright  pebbles  and  shells.  It 
did  not  always  run,  you  understand  ; 
but  Miss  Lucas  turned  a  secret  tap, 
and  started  it. 

"  Oh,  how  heavenly  !  "  said  Rosa, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "and  how 
good  of  you  to  bring  me  here  !  " 

"  Yes  :  by  rights  I  ought  to  have 
waited  till  you  fainted  ;  but  there 
is  no  making  acquaintance  among 
all  those  people.  Mamma  will  ask 
such  crowds ;  one  is  like  a  fly  in  a 
glue-pot." 

Miss  Lucas  had  good  nature, 
smartness,  and  animal  spirits  ; 
hence  arose  a  vivacity  and  fluency 
that  were  often  amusing,  and  passed 
for  very  clever.  Reserve  she  hid 
none ;  would  talk  about  strangers 
or  friends,  herself,  her  mother,  her 
God,  and  the  last  buffoon  singer,  in 
a  breath.  At  a  hint  from  Rosa  she 
told  her  who  the  lady  in  the  pink 
dress  was,  and  the  lady  in  the  vio- 
let velvet,  and  so  on  ;  for  each  lady 
was  defined  by  her  dress,  and,  more 
or  less,  quizzed  by  the  show  -woman, 
not  exactly  out  of  malice,  but  be- 
cause it  is  smarter  and  more  natu- 
ral to  decry  than  to  praise,  and  a 
little  m&lisance  is  the  spice  to  gossip, 
belongs  to  it,  as  mint-sauce  to  lamb. 
So  they  chattered  away,  and  were 
pleased  with  each  other,  and  made 
friends,  and  there,  in  cool  grot, 
quite  forgot  the  sufferings  of  their 
fellow-creatures  in  the  adjacent 
Turkish  bath,  yclept  Society.  It 
was  Rosa  who  first  recollected  her- 
self. "  Will  not  Mrs.  Lucas  be  an- 
gry with  me  if  I  keep  you  all  to 
myself?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  but  I  am  afraid  we 
must  go  into  the  hothouse  again. 
I  like  the  greenhouse  best,  with 
such  a  nice  companion." 

They  slipped  noiselessly  into  the 
throng  again,  and  wriggled  about, 
Miss  Lucas  presenting  her  new 
friends  to  several  ladies  and  gentle- 
men. 

Presently  Staines  found  them, 
and  then  Miss  Lucas  wri^lcd 
away  ;  and,  in  due  course,  the  room 


was  thinned  by  many  guests  driv- 
ing off  home,  or  to  balls  and  other 
receptions,  and  Dr.  Staines  and 
Mrs.  Staines  went  home  to  the 
Bijou.  Here  the  physician  pre- 
scribed bed;  but  the  lady  -would 
not  hear  of  such  a  thing  until  she 
had  talked  it  over.  So  they  com- 
pared notes,  and  Rosa  told  him 
how  well  she  had  got  on  with  Miss 
Lucas  and  made  a  friendship. 
'•  But  for  that,"  said  she,  "  I  should 
be  sorry  I  went  among  those  people, 
such  a  dowdy." 

"  Dowdy  !  "  said  Staines.  "  Why, 
you  stormed  the  town  ;  you  were 
the-  great  success  of  the  night,  and, 
for  all  I  know,  of  the  season." 
The  wretch  delivered  this  with  un- 
becoming indifference. 

"  It  is  too  bail  to  mock  me, 
Christie.     Where  were  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  To  the  best  of  my  recollection 
they  were  one  on  each  side  of  my 
nose." 

"  Yes,  but  some  people  are  eyes, 
and  no  eyes." 

"  I  scorn  the  imputation  ;  try 
me." 

"  Very  well.  Then,  did  you  see 
that  lady  in  sky-blue  silk,  embroid- 
ered with  flowers  and  flounced 
with  white  velvet,  and  the  corsage 
point  lace;  and  oh!  such  emer- 
alds ? " 

"I  did;  a  tall,  skinny  woman, 
with  eyes  resembling  her  jewels  in 
color,  though  not  in  brightness." 

"Nevermind  her  eyes;  it  is  her 
dress  I  am  speaking  of.  Exqui- 
site; and  what  a  coiffure!  Well, 
did  you  see  her  in  the  black  velvet, 
trimmed  so  deep  with  Chan  til  ly 
lace,  wave  on  wave,  and  her  head- 
dress of  crimson  flowers,  and  such  a 
riviere  of  diamonds ;  oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  !  " 

"  I  did,  love.  The  room  was  an 
oven,  but  her  rubicund  face  and 
suffocating  costume  made  it  seem  a 
furnace." 

"Stuff!  Well,  did  you  see  the 
lady  in  the  corn-colored  silk,  and 
poppies  in  her  hair  ?  " 


A   SIMPLETON. 


63 


"Of  course  I  did.  Ceres  in  per- 
son. She  made  me  feel  very  hot 
too;  but  I  cooled  myself  at  her  pale, 
sickly  face." 

"  Never  mind  their  faces  ;  that  is 
not  the  point." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me  !  it  is  always  a 
point  with  us  benighted  males,  all 
eyes  and  no  eyes." 

"  Well,  then,   the  lady  in    white, 

with    cherry   velvet    bands,    and     a 

white    tunic    looped    with   crimson, 

ami  head-dress  of  white  illusion  a  la 

,  I  think  they  call  it." 

"  it  was  very  refreshing,  and 
adapted  to  that  awful  atmosphere. 
It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  nu- 
dity I  ever  saw,  even  among  fash- 
ionable  people." 

"  It  was  lovely ;  and  then,  that 
superb  figure  in  white  illusion  and 
gold,  with  all  those  narrow  flounces 
over  her  slip  of  white  silk  glace  and 
a  wreath  of  white  flowers,  with  ^rold 
wheat-cars  among  them,  in  her  hair ; 
and  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  her  pearls,  Orien- 
tal, and  as  big  as  almonds  !  " 

"And  oh!  oh!  oh!  her  nose! 
reddish,  and  as  long  as  a  wood- 
cock-" 

"Noses!  noses!  stupid!  That  is 
not  what  strikes  you  first  in  a 
woman  dressed  like  an  angel." 

"  Well,  if  you  were  to  run  up 
against  that  one,  as  I  nearly  did,  her 
nose  would  he  the  thing  that  would 
strike  you  first.  Nose!  it  was  a 
rostrum  !  the  spear  head  of  Goliath." 

"Now  don't,  Christopher.  Tins 
is  no  laughing  matter.  Do  you 
mi, in  \ou  were  not  ashamed  of 
your  wile  '      1   was." 

"  No,  I  was  not  :  you  had  bill 
one  rival — a  very  young  lady,  wise 
I)  ifore  her  age,  a  blonde,  with  violet  i 
eyes,  sin-  was  dressed  in  light 
mauve-colored  -ilk,  without  a  sin- 
gle flounce,  or  any  other  tomfoolery 
to  fritter  away  the  sheen  and  color 
of  an  exquisite  material  j  her  gunny 

hair  was  another  wave  of  color, 
wreathed  with  a  thin  line  of  white. 
jasmine  flowers  closely  woven,  that 
scented  the  air.     This  girl  was   the 


moon  of  that  assembly,  and  you 
were  the  sun." 

"  I  never  even  saw  her." 

"  Eyes,  and  no  eyes.  She  saw 
you,  and  said,  '  Oh,  what  a  beautiful 
creature  !  '  for  I  heard  her.  As  for 
the  old  stagers,  whom  you  admire 
so,  their  faces  were  all  clogged  with 
powder,  the  pores  stopped  up,  the 
true  texture  of  the  skin  abolished. 
They  looked  downright  nasty  when- 
ever you  or  that  young  girl  passed 
by  them.  Then  it  was  you  saw  to 
what  a  frightful  extent  women  are 
y;ot  up  in  our  day,  even  young 
women,  and  respectable  women. 
No,  Rosa,  dress  can  do  little  for  you  ; 
you  have  beauty —  real  beauty." 

"Beauty!  That  passes  unnoticed 
unless  one  is  well  dressed." 

"  Then  what  an  obscure  pair 
the  Apollo  Belvidere  and  the  Venus 
de  Medicis  must  be  !" 

"  Oh  !  they  are  dressed  —  in 
marble." 

Christopher  Staines  then  smiled. 

"  Well  done,"  said  he  admiring- 
ly. "  Tli.it  is  a  knock-down  blow. 
So  now  you  have  silenced  your 
husband,  go  you  to  bed  directly.  I 
can't  afford  you  diamonds;  so  I 
will  take  care  of  that  little  insignifi- 
cant trifle,  your  beamy." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Lucas  ex- 
changed calls,  and  soon  .Mrs.  Staines 
could  no  longer  complain  she  was 
out  of  the  world.  Airs.  Lucas  in- 
vited her  to  every  party,  because  her 
beauty  was  an  instrument  of  attrac- 
tion she  knew  how  to  use ;  and  Miss 
Lucas  took  a  downright  fancy  to  her  ; 
drove  her  in  the  Park,  and  on  Sun- 
days to  the  Zoological  Gardens, 
ju>-t  beginning  to  be  fashionable. 

The  Lucases  rented  a  box  at  the 
opera  ;  and  it'  it  was  not  let  at  the 
library  by  six  o'clock,  and  if  other 

engagements  permitted,  word  was 
sent  round  to  .Mrs.  Staines,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  ami  she  was  taken 
to  the  opera.  She  began  almost  to 
live    at     the     Lucases,    and     to    be 

oftcner  fatigued  than  moped. 


04 


A  SIMPLETON. 


The  usual  order  of  things  was  in- 
verted ;  the  maiden  lady  educated 
the  matron  ;  for  Miss  Lucas  knew 
all  about  everybody  in  the  Park, 
honorable  or  dishonorable  ;  all  the 
scandals,  and  all  the  flirtations ; 
and  whatever  she  knew,  she  related 
point-blank.  Being  as  inquisitive 
as  voluble,  she  soon  learned  how 
Mrs.  Staines  and  her  husband  were 
situated.  She  took  upon  her  to  ad- 
vise her  in  many  things,  and  espe- 
cially impressed  upon  her  that  Dr. 
Staines  must  keep  a  carriage  if  he 
wanted  to  get  on  in  medicine. 
This  piece  of  advice  accorded  so 
well  with  Rosa's  wishes  that  she 
urged  it  on  her  husband  again  and 
again. 

lie  objected  that  no  money  was 
coming  in,  and  therefore  it  would 
be  insane  to  add  to  their  expenses. 
Rosa  persisted,  and  at  last  worried 
Staines  with  her  importunity.  He 
began  to  give  rather  short  answers. 
Then  she  quoted  Miss  Lucas  against 
him.  He  treated  the  authority 
with  marked  contempt ;  and  then 
Rosa  tired  up  a  little.  Then 
Staines  held  bis  peace  ;  but  did  not 
buy  a  carriage  to  visit  his  no 
patients. 

So  at  last  Rosa  complained  to 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  and  made  her 
the  judge  between  her  husband  and 
herself. 

Lady  Cicely  drawled  out  a  prompt 
hut  polite  refusal  to  play  that  part. 
All  that  could  be  elicited  from  her, 
and  that  with  difficulty,  was,  "  Why 
quail  with  your  husband  about  a 
cawwige?     He  is  your  best  friend." 

"  Ah,  that  he  is ! "  said  Rosa ;  "  but 
Miss  Lucas  is  a  good  friend,  and  she 
knows  the  world.  We  don't;  neither 
Christopher  nor  I." 

So  she  continued  to  nag  at  her 
husband  about  it,  and  to  say  that 
he  was  throwing  his  only  chance 
away. 

(jailed  as  he  was  by  neglect,  this 
was  iritating,  and,  at  last,  he  could 
not  help  telling  her  she  was  unrea- 
fconable.     "  You  live  a  gay  life,  and  I 


I  a  sad  one.  I  consent  to  this,  and 
let  you  go  about  with  these  Lucases, 
because  you  were  so  dull ;  but  you 
shouid  not  consult  them  in  our  pri- 
vate affairs.  Their  interference  is 
indelicate  and  improper.  I  will  not 
set  up  a  carriage  till  I  have  patients 
to  visit.  I  am  sick  of  seeing  our 
capital  dwindle,  and  no  income  creat- 
ed. I  will  never  set  up  a  carriage 
till  I  have  taken  a  hundred-guinea 
fee." 

"  Oh  !  Then  we  shall  go  splash- 
ing through  the  mud  all  our  days." 

"  Or  ride  in  a  cab,"  said  Christo- 
pher, with  a  quiet  doggedness  that 
left  no  hope  of  his  yielding. 

One  afternoon  Miss  Lucas  called 
for  Mrs.  Staines  to  drive  in  the  Park, 
but  did  not  come  up  stairs ;  it  was 
an  engagement,  and  she  knew  Mrs. 
Staines  would  be  ready,  or  nearly. 
Mrs.  Staines,  not  to  keep  her  wait- 
ing, came  down  rather  hastily,  and, 
in  the  very  passage,  whipped  out  of 
her  pocket  a  little  glass,  and  a  little 
powder-puff,  and  puffed  her  (ace  all 
over  in  a  trice.  She  was  then  soing 
out;  but  her  husband  called  her  into 
the  study.  "  Rosa,  my  dear,"  said 
he,  "  you  were  going  out  with  a  dirty 
face." 

"  Oh,"  cried  she,  "  give  me  a 
glass  !  " 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that.  All 
you  want  is  a  basin  and  some  nice 
rain-water.  I  keep  a  little  reservoir 
of  it." 

He  then  handed  her  the  same  with 
great  politeness.  She  looked  in  his 
eye,  and  saw  he  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  She  complied  like  a  lamb, 
and  the  heavenlyr  color  and  velvet 
gloss  that  resulted  were  admirable. 

He  kissed  her,  and  said,  "  Ah  ! 
now  you  are  my  Rosa  again. 
Oblige  me  by  handing  over  that 
powder-puff  to  me."  She  looked 
vexed,  but  complied.  "  When  you 
come  back  I  will  tell  you  why." 

"  You    are    a    pest,"    said    Mrs. 
Staines,  and  so  joined  her  friend, 
rosy  with  rain  water  and  a  rub. 
"  Dear  me,  how   handsome  you 


A  SIMPLETON. 


65 


look  to  day  !  "  was  Miss  Lucas's  first 
remark. 

Rosa  never  dreamed  that  rain- 
water and  a  rub  could  be  the  cause 
of  her  looking  so  well. 

"  It  is  ray  tiresome  husband,"  said 
she.  "  He  objects  to  powder,  and  he 
has  taken  away  my  puff." 

"  And  you  s"tood  that  %  " 

"  Obliged  to." 

"  Why,  )'ou  poor-spirited  little 
creature.  I  should  like  to  see  a 
husband  presume  to  interfere  with 
me  in  those  things.  Here,  take 
mine." 

Rosa  hesitated  a  little.  "  Well  — 
no' —  I  think  not." 

Miss  Lucas  laughed  at  her,  and 
quizzed  her  so  on  her  allowing  a  man 
to  interfere  in  such  sacred  things  as 
dress  and  cosmetics  that  she  came 
back  irritated  with  her  husband, 
and  gave  him  a  short  answer  or  two. 
Then  he  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  You  treat  me  like  a  child  —  tak- 
ing away  my  very  puff.?' 

"  I  treat  you  like  a  beautiful  flower 
that  no  bail  gardener  shall  wither 
while  I  am  here." 

"  What  nonsense  !  How  could 
that  wither  me  ?  It  is  only  violet 
powder — what  they  put  on  babies." 

"  And  who  are  the  llerods  that 
put  it  on  babies  1  " 

"  Their  own  mothers,  that  love 
them  ten  times  more  than  the  fathers 

do." 

"  And  kill  a  hundred  of  them  for 
one  a  man  ever  kills.  Mothers!  — 
the  most  wholesale  homicides  in  the 
nation.  We  will  examine  your  vio- 
let powder.     Bring  it  down  here." 

VVhile  she  was  gone,  he  sent  for  a 

breakfast-cupful  of  Hour;  and  when 

Bhecame  bark  he  had  his  scales  out, 

and  begged  her  to  put  a  teaspoonftil 

of  lluur  into  one  scale,  and  of  vio- 
let powder  into  another.  The  flour 
kicked  the  beam,  as  Homer  expr 

himself 

"  Put  another  spoonful  of  flour." 
The  one  spoonful  of  violet  powder 
outweighed  the  two  of  (lour. 

"  Now,"  said   Staines,  "  does  not 

0* 


that  show  you  the  presence  of  a  min- 
eral in  your  vegetable  powder  ?  I 
suppose  they  tell  you  it  is  made  of 
white  violets  dried,  and  triturated  in 
a  diamond  mill.  Let  us  find  out 
what  metal  it  is.  Wc  need  not  go 
very  deep  into  chemistry  for  that." 
He  then  applied  a  simple  test,  and 
detected  the  presence  of  lead  in  large 
quantities.  Then  he  lectured  her : 
"  Invisible  perspiration  is  a  process 
of  nature  necessary  to  health  and  to 
life.  The  skin  is  made  porous  for 
that  purpose.  You  can  kill  anybody 
in  an  hour  or  two  by  closing  the 
pores.  A  certain  infallible  ass,  called 
Tope  Leo  XII.,  killed  a  little  boy  in 
two  hours  by  gilding  him  to  adorn 
the  pageant  of  his  first  procession  as 
pope.  But  what  is  death  to  the 
whole  body  must  be  injurious  to  a 
part.  What  madness,  then,  to  clog 
the  pores  of  so  large  and  important 
a  surface  as  the  face,  and  check  the 
invisible  perspiration  :  how  much 
more  to  insert  lead  into  your  system 
every  day  of  your  life  :  accumulative 
poison,  and  one  so  deadly  and  mi 
subtle  that  the  Sheffield  file-cutters 
die  in  their  prime  from  merely  ham- 
mering on  a  leaden  anvil.  ^\ihI 
what  do  you  gain  by  this  suicidal 
habit?  No  plum  has  a  sweeter 
bloom  or  more  delicious  texture  than 
the  skin  of  your  young  face  ;  but 
this  mineral  tilth  hides  that  delicate 
texture,  and  substitutes  a  dry,  uni- 
form appearance,  more  like  a  certain 
kind  of  leprosy  than  health.  Na- 
ture made  your  face  the  rival  of 
peaches,  rosc<,  lilies;  and  you  say, 
'  No  ;  I  know  better  than  my  Crea- 
tor and  my  God  ;  my  face  shall  he 
like  a  dusty  miller's.  Go  into  any 
flour-mill,  and  there  you  shall  see 
men  with  faces  exactly  like  your 
friend  Mi>s  Lucas's.  I'.nt  before  a 
miller  goes  to  bis  sweetheart,  he  al- 
ways washes  his  f.\ci\  You  ladies 
would  never  get  a  miller  down  to 
your  level  in  brains.     It  is  a  miller's 

dirty  face  our  monomaniacs  of  wo- 
men imitate,  not  the  face  a  miller 
goes-a-eourting  with." 


GG 


A   SIMPLETON. 


"  La !  what  a  fuss  about  noth- 
ing !  " 

"  About  nothing  !  Is  your  health 
nothing  ?  Is  your  beauty  nothing  ? 
Well,  then,  it  will  cost  you  nothing 
to  promise  me  never  to  put  powder 
on  your  face  again." 

"  Very  well,  I  promise.  Now, 
what  will  you  do  for  me  ?  " 

"  Work  for  you  —  write  for  you 
—  suffer  for  you  —  be  self-denying 
for  you  —  and  even,  give  myself  the 
pain  of  disappointing  you  now  and 
then  —  looking  forward  to  the  time 
when  I  shall  be  able  to  say  'Yes' 
to  every  thing  you  ask  me.  Ah, 
child  '  you  little  know  what  it  costs 
me  to  say  '  No  '  to  you." 

Rosa  put  her  arms  around  him, 
and  acquiesced.  She  was  one  of 
those  who  go  with  the  last  speaker  ; 
but,  for  that  very  reason,  the  eternal 
companionship  of  so  flighty  and 
flirty  a  girl  as  Miss  Lucas  was  injuri- 
ous to  her. 

One  day  Lady  Cicely  Treherne 
was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Staines,  smil- 
ing languidly  at  her  talk,  and  occa- 
sionally drawling  out  a  little  plain 
good  sense,  when  in  came  Miss  Lu- 
cas, with  her  tongue  well  hung,  as 
usual,  and  dashed  into  twenty  topics 
at  once. 

This  young  lady,  in  her  discourse, 
was  like  those  oily  little  beetles  you 
see  in  small  ponds,  whose  whole  life 
is  spent  in  tacking  —  confound  them  ! 
—  generally  at  right  angles.  What 
they  are  in  navigation  was  Miss  Lu- 
cas in  conversation  :  tacked  so  eter- 
nally from  topic  to  topic  that  no  man 
on  earth,  and  not  every  woman, 
could  follow  her. 

At  the  sight  and  sound  of  her, 
Lady  Cicely  congealed  and  stiffened. 
Easy  and  unpretending  with  Mrs. 
Staines,  she  was  all  dignity,  and  even 
majesty,  in  the  presence  of  this  chat- 
terbox ;  and  the  smoothness  with 
which  the  transfiguration  was  accom- 
plished marked  that  accomplished 
actress  the  high-bred  woman  of  the 
World. 

Rosa,  better  able  to  estimate  the 


change  of  manner  than  Miss  Lucas 
was,  who  did  not  know  how  little 
this  Sawney  was  afflicted  with  mis- 
placed dignity,  looked  wistfully  and 
distressed  at  her.  Lady  Cicely  smiled 
kindly  in  reply,  rose,  without  seem- 
ing to  hurry  —  catch  her  condescend- 
ing to  be  rude  to  Charlotte  Lucas  — 
and  took  her  departure,  with  a  pro- 
found and  most  gracious  courtesy  to 
the  lady  who  had  driven  her  away. 

Mrs.  Staines  saw  her  down  stairs, 
and  said  ruefully,  "  I  am  afraid  you 
do  not  like  my  friend  Miss  Lucas. 
She  is  a  great  rattle,  but  so  good-na- 
tured and  clever." 

Lady  Cicely  shook  her  head. 
"  Clevaa  people  don't  talk  so  much 
nonsense  before  stangaas." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Rosa.  "  I  was 
in  hopes  you  would  like  her." 

"  Do  you  like  her." 

"  Indeed  I  do  ;  but  I  shall  not,  if 
she  drives  an  older  friend  away." 

"  My  dyah,  I'm  not  easily  dwiven 
from  those  I  esteem.  But  you  un- 
darstand  that  is  not  a  woman  for  me 
to  mispwonowncc  my  '  all's '  befaw 

NOR    FOR    YOU    TO    MAKE    A    BO- 
SOM friend  of  —  Rosa  Staines." 

She  said  this  with  a  sudden  mater- 
nal solemnity  and  kindness  that  con- 
trasted nobly  and  strangely  with  her 
yea-nay  style,  and  Mrs.  Staines  re- 
membered the  words  years  after  they 
were  spoken. 

It  so  happened  that,  after  this, 
Mrs.  Staines  received  no  more  visits 
from  Lady  Cicely  for  some  time,  and 
that  vexed  her.  She  knew  her  sex 
enough  to  be  aware  that  they  are 
very  jealous,  and  she  permitted  her- 
self to  think  that  this  high-minded 
Sawney  was  jealous  of  Miss  Lucas. 

This  idea,  founded  on  a  general 
estimate  of  her  sex,  was  dispelled  by 
a  few  lines  from  Lady  Cicely,  to  say 
her  family  and  herself  were  in  deep 
distress :  her  brother,  Lord  Aycough, 
lay  dying  from  an  accident. 

Then  Rosa  was  all  remorse,  and 
ran  down  to  Staines  to  tell  him. 
She  found  him  with  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand.     It  was  from  Or.  Barr, 


A   SIMPLETON-. 


67 


and  on  the  same  subject.  The  doc- 
tor, who  had  always  been  friendly 
to  him,  invited  him  to  come  down 
at  once  to  Hallowtree  Hall,  in 
Huntingdonshire,  to  a  consultation. 
There  was  a  friendly  intimation  to 
start  at  once,  as  the  patient  might 
die  any  moment. 

Husband  and  wife  embraced  each 
other  in  a  tumult  of  surprised  thank- 
fulness. A  few  necessaries  were 
thrown  into  a  carpet-bag,  and  Dr. 
Staines  was  soon  whirled  into  Hunt- 
ingdonshire. Having  telegraphed 
beforehand,  he  was  met  at  the  sta- 
tion by  the  earl's  carriage  and  peo- 
ple, and  driven  to  the  Hall.  He 
was  received  by  an  old  silver-haired 
butler,  looking  very  sad,  who  con- 
ducted him  to  a  boudoir,  and  then 
went  and  tapped  gently  at  the  door 
of  the  patient's  room.  It  was 
opened  ami  shut,  very  softly,  and  La- 
dy Cicely,  dressed  in  black,  and  look- 
ing pajer  than  ever,  came  into  the 
room. 

"  Dr.  Staines,  I  think  ?  " 

He  bowed. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  so 
promptly.  Dr.  Barr  is  gone.  I  fear 
he  thinks  —  he  thinks — O  Dr. 
Staines,  no  sign  of  life  but  in  his 
poor  hands,  that  keep  moving  day 
and  night." 

Staines  looked  very  grave  at  that. 

Lady  Cicely  observed  it,  and, 
faint  at  heart,  could  say  no  more, 
but  led  the  way  to  the  sick-room. 

There,  in  a  spacious  chamber, 
lighted  by  a  grand  oriel-window  and 
two  side  windows,  lay  rank,  title, 
wealth,  and  youth,  stricken  down  in 
a  moment  by  a  common  accident. 
The  sufferer  a  face  was  bloodless  his 
eyes  fixed,  and  no  signs  of  life  but 
in  his  thumbs,  and  they  kept  work- 
ing with  strange  regularity. 

In  the  room  were  a  nurse  and 
the  surgeon  ;  the  neighboring  physi- 
cian, who  had  called  in  Dr  Hair, 
had  just  paid  his  visit  and  gone 
away. 

Lady  Cicely  introduced  Dr 
Staines  and   Mr    White,  and   then 


Dr  Staines  stood  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  patient  in  profound  silence. 

Lady  Cicely  scanned  his  counte- 
nance searekingly,  and  was  struck 
with  the  extraordinary  power  and 
intensity  it  assumed  in  examining 
the  patient ;  but  the  result  was  not 
encouraging.  Dr.  Staines  looked 
grave  and  gloomy. 

At  last,  without  removing  his  eye 
from  the  recumbent  figure,  he  said 
quietly  to  Mr.  White,  "  Thrown 
from  his  horse,  sir  ?  " 

"  Horse  fell  on  him,  Dr.  Staines." 

"  Any  visible  injuries  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Severe  contusions,  and  a 
rib  broken  and  pressed  upon  the 
lungs.  I  replaced  and  set  it.  Will 
you  see  ? " 

"  If  you  please." 

He  examined  and  felt  the  pa- 
tient, and  said  it  had  been  ably 
done. 

Then  he  was  silent  and  search- 
ing. 

At  last  he  spoke  again.  "  The 
motion  of  the  thumbs  corresponds 
exactly  with  his  pulse." 

"  Is  that  so,  sir  i  " 

"It  is.  The  case  is  without  a 
parallel.  How  long  has  he  been 
so  !  " 

"  Nearlv  a  week." 

"  Impossible  1" 

"It  is  so,  sir." 

Lady  Cicely  confirmed  this. 

"All  the  better,"  said  Staines, 
upon  reflection.  "  Well,  sir,"  said 
lie,  "  the  visible  injuries  having  been 
ably  relieved,  I  shall  look  another 
way  for  the  cause."  Then,  after 
another  pause,  "  I  must  have  his 
head  shaved." 

Lady  Cicely  demurred  a  little  to 
this;  but  Dr.  Staines  stood  linn, 
and  his  lordship's  valet  undertook 
th  •  job. 

Staines    directed     him    where     to 

begin  ;  and  when  he  had  made  a 
circular  tonsure  on  the  top  of  the 
bead,  had  it  sponged  with  tepid 
water 

••  I  thought  so,"  said  be.  "  Here 
is  the  mischief;  "and  he  pointed  to  a 


GS 


A  SIMPLETON. 


very  slight  indentation  on  the  left 
side  of  the  pia  mater.  "  Observe," 
said  he,  "  there  is  no  corresponding 
indentation  on  the  other  side.  Un- 
derneath this  trifling  depression  a 
minute  piece  of  bone  is  doubtless 
pressing  on  the  most  sensitive  part 
of  the  brain.    He  must  be  trephined." 

Mr.  White's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  You  are  a  hospital  surgeon, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Staines.  I  have  no 
fear  of  the  operation." 

"  Then  I  hand  the  patient  over 
to  you.  The  case  at  present  is 
entirely  surgical." 

White  was  driven  home,  and  soon 
returned  with  the  requisite  instru- 
ments. The  operation  was  neatly 
performed,  and  then  Lady  Cicely 
was  called  in.  She  came  trembling ; 
her  brother's  fingers  were  still  work- 
ing, but  not  so  regularly. 

"  That  is  only  habit,"  said  Staines  ; 
"  it  will  soon  leave  off,  now  the  cause 
is  gone." 

And  truly  enough,  in  about  five 
minutes  the  fingers  became  quiet. 
The  eyes  became  human  next,  and 
within  half  an  hour  after  the  opera- 
tion the  earl  gave  a  little  sigh. 

Lady  Cicely  clasped  her  hands, 
and  uttered  a  little  cry  of  delight. 

"  This  will  not  do,"  said  Staines. 
"  I  shall  have  you  screaming  when 
he  speaks." 

"  O  Dr.  Staines !  will  he  ever 
speak  .-" 

"  I  think  so  ;  and  very  soon.  So 
be  on  your  guard." 

This  strange  scene  reached  its 
climax  soon  after  by  the  earl  say- 
ing quietly,  — 

"  Are  her  knees  broke,  Tom  1  " 

Lady  Cicely  uttered  a  little 
scream,  hut  instantly  suppressed  it. 

'•No,  my  lord,"  said  Staines 
smartly  ;  "  only  rubbed  a  bit.  You 
can  go  to  sleep,  my  lord.  I'll  take 
care  of  the  mare." 

"  All  rii^ht,"  said  his  lordship, 
and  composed  himself  to  slumber. 

Dr.  Staines,  at  the  earnest  request 
of  Lady    Cicely,   staid    all    night ; 


and  in  course  of  the  day  advised 
her  how  to  nurse  the  patient,  since 
both  physician  and  surgeon  had  done 
with  him. 

He  said  the  patient's  brain  might 
be  irritable  for  some  days,  and  no 
women  in  silk  dresses,  or  crinoline, 
or  creaking  shoes,  must  enter  the 
room.  He  told  her  the  nurse  was 
evidently  a  clumsy  woman,  and 
would  be  letting  things  fall.  She 
had  better  get  some  old  soldier  used 
to  nursing.  "And  don't  whisper 
in  the  room,"  said  he;  "  nothing  ir- 
ritates them  worse;  and  don't  let 
anybody  play  a  piano  within  hear- 
ing ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  you  may 
try  him  with  slow  and  continuous 
music  on  the  flute  or  violin,  if  you 
like.  Don't  touch  his  bed  suddenly  ; 
don't  sit  on  it  or  lean  on  it.  Dole 
sunlight  into  his  room  by  degrees  ; 
and  ,when  he  can  bear  it,  drench  him 
with  it.  Never  mind  what  the  old 
school  tell  you.  About  theso.  things 
they  know  a  good  deal  less  than 
nothing." 

Lady  Cicely  received  all  this  like 
an  oracle. 

The  cure  was  telegraphed  to  Dr. 
Barr,  and  he  was  requested  to  settle 
the  fee.  He  was  not  the  man  to 
undersell  the  profession,  and  was 
jealous  of  nobody,  having  a  large 
practice  and  a  very  wealthy  wife. 
So  he  telegraphed  back  —  "  Fifty 
guineas,  and  a  guinea  a  mile  from 
London." 

So,  as  Christopher  Staines  sat  at 
an  early  breakfast,  with  the  carriage 
waiting  to  take  him  to  the  train,  two 
notes  were  brought  him  on  a 
salver. 

They  were  both  directed  by  Lady 
Cicely  Trchcrne.  One  of  them 
contained  a  few  kind  and  feeling 
words  of  gratitude  and  esteem  ;  the 
other  a  check,  drawn  by  the  earl's 
steward,  for  one  hundred  and 
thirty  guineas. 

He  bowled  up  to  London,  and 
told  it  all  to  Rosa.  She  sparkled 
with  pride,  affection,  and  joy. 

"  Now,  who  says  you  are  not   a 


A  SIMPLETON. 


69 


genius  ?  "  she  cried.  "  A  hundred 
and  thirty  guineas  for  one  fee ! 
Now,  it'  you  love  your  wife  as  she 
loves  you,  you  will  set  up  a 
brougham." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Dr.  Staines  begged  leave  to  dis- 
tinguish :  he  had  not  said  he  would 
set  up  a  carriage  at  the  first  one 
hundred  guinea  fee,  but  only  that 
he  would  not  set  up  one  before. 
Th  re  are  misguided  people  who 
would  call  this  logic;  but  Rosa 
said  it  was  equivocating,  and 
urged  him  so  warmly  that  at  last  he 
burst  out,  "  Who  can  go  on  forever 
saying  '  No '  to  the  only  creature  he 
loves?"  —  and  caved."  In  forty- 
ei^ht  hours  more,  a  brougham 
waited  at  Mrs.  Staines's  door.  The 
servant  engaged  to  drive  it  was  An- 
drew Pearmin,  a  bachelor,  and 
hiih;rto  an  iindergroom.  He  read- 
ily consented  to  be  coachman,  and 
do  certain  domestic  work,  as  well. 
So  Mrs.  Staines  ha  1  a  man-servant 
as  well  a?  a  carriage. 

Ere  long  three  or  four  patients 
called  or  wrote,  one  after  the  other. 
These  Rosa  set  down  to  brougham, 
and  crowed.  She  even  crowed  to 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  to  whose  in- 
fluence, and  not  to  brougham's, 
every  one  of  these  patients  was 
Owing.  Lady  Cicely  kissed  her, 
and  demurely  enjoyed  the  poor  soul's 
self-satisfaction. 

Stain  as  himself,  while  he  drove 
to  or  from  these  patients,  felt  more 
san- nine,  and,  buoyed  as  lie  was  by 

the  consciousness  of  ability,  began 

to  hope  that  he  had  turned  the  cor- 
ner. 

II  ■  sent  an  account  of  Lord  Ay- 
coogh's  case  to  a  medical  magazine; 

and  SO  full  is  the  world  of  llunkyisni 
that  this  article,  though  he  with- 
held the  name,  retaining  only  the 
title,  ant  th"  literary  wedge  in  for 
him  at  once;  and  in  due  course  he 


became  a  paid  contributor  to  two 
medical  organs,  and  used  to  study 
and  write  more,  and  indent  the  little 
stone  yard  less,  than  heretofore. 

It  was  about  this  titne;  circumstan- 
ces made  him  acquainted  with  Phoebe 
Dale.  Her  intermediate  history  I 
will  dispose  in  fewer  words  than  it  de- 
serves. Her  Ruin,  Mr.  Reginald 
Falcon,  was  dismissed  from  his  club 
for  marking  high  cards  on  the  back 
with  his  nail.  This  stopped  his  re- 
maining resource  —  borrowing ;  so 
he  got  more  and  more  out  at  elbows 
till  at  last  he  came  down  to  hang- 
ing about  billiard-rooms,  and  mak- 
ing a  little  money  by  concealing  his 
game ;  from  that,  however,  he  rose 
to  be  a  marker. 

Having  culminated  to  that,  he 
wrote  and  proposed  marriage  to 
Miss  Dale,  in  a  charming  letter. 
She  showed  it  to  her  father  with 
pride. 

Now  if  his  vanity,  his  disloyalty, 
his  falsehood,  his  ingratitude,  and 
his  other  virtues,  had  not  stood  in 
the  way,  he  would  have  done  this 
three  years  ago,  and  been  jumped 
at. 

But  the  offer  came  too  late ;  not 
for  Phu'be  — she  would  have  taken 
him  in  a  moment  —  but  for  her 
friends.  A  bated  hook  is  one  thine;, 
a  bare  hook  is  another.  Farmer 
Dale,  had  long  discovered  where 
Phoebe's  money  went  :  he  said  not 
a  word  to  her,  but  went  up  to  town 
like  a  shot;  found  Falcon  out,  and 
told  him  he  mustn't  think  to  eat 
his  daughter's  bread.  She  should 
marry  a  man  who  could  make  a 
decent  livelihood  ;  and  if  she  W8S 
to  run  away  with  him,  why  they'd 
starve;  together.  The  farmer  was 
resolute,  and  spoke  very  loud,  like 

one  that  expects  opposition,  and 
comes  prepared  to  quarrel.  Instead 
of  that,  this  artful  rogue  addressed 
him  with  deep  respect  and  an  affect- 
ed veneration  that  quite  puzzled  the 
old  man  ;  acquiesced  in  every  word, 
expressed  contrition  lor  his  past 
misdeeds,   and    told   the    farmer  he 


70 


A   SIMPLETON". 


had  quite  determined  to  labor  with 
his  hands.  "  You  know,  farmer," 
said  he,  "  I  am  not  the  only  gentle- 
man who  has  come  to  that  in  the 
present  day.  Now,  all  my  friends 
who  have  seen  my  sketches  assure 
me  I  am  a  born  painter;  and  a 
painter  I'll  be  —  for  love  of 
Phome." 

The  farmer  made  a  wry  face. 
"Painter!  that  is  a  sorry  sort  of 
a  trade." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  It's  the 
best  trade  going.  There  are  gen- 
tlemen making  their  thousands  a 
year  by  it " 

"Not  in  our  parts,  there  hain't. 
Stop  a  bit.  What  be  ye  going  to 
paint,  sir  1     Housen,  or  folk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  it !  not  houses.  Fig- 
ures, landscapes." 

"  Well,  ye  might  just  make  a  shift 
at  it,  I  suppose,  with  here  and  there 
a  signboard.  They  are  the  best 
paid,  our  way ;  but,  Lord  bless  ye, 
they  wants  head-piece!  Well,  sir, 
let  me  see  your  work.  Then  we'll 
talk  further." 

"I'll  go  to  work  this  afternoon," 
said  Falcon  eagerly  ;  then,  with  af- 
fected surprise,  "  Bless  me !  I  for- 
got. I  have  no  palette,  no  canvas, 
no  colors.  You  couldn't  lend  me  a 
couple  of  sovereigns  to  buy  them, 
could  you  ? "' 

"  Ay,  sir,  I  could,  but  I  won't. 
I'll  lend  ye  the  things,  though,  if 
you  have  a  mind  to  go  with  me  and 
buy  'em." 

Falcon  agreed,  with  a  lofty  smile, 
and  the  purchases  were  made. 

Mr.  Falcon  painted  a  landscape 
or  two  out  of  his  imagination.  The 
dealer  to  whom  he  took  them  de- 
clined them  ;  one  advised  the  gen- 
tleman painter  to  color  tea-boards  ; 
"That's  your  line,"  said  he. 

"  The  world  has  no  taste,"  said 
the  gentleman  painter;  "but  it  has 
got  lots  of  vanity  :  I'll  paint  por- 
traits." 

He  did — and  formidable  ones. 
His  portraits  were,  amazingly  like 
the  people,  and  yet  unlike  men  and 


women,  especially  about  the  face. 
One  thing,  he  didn't  trouble  with 
lights  and  shades,  but  went  slap  at 
the  features. 

His  brush  would  never  have  kept 
him  :  but  he  carried  an  instrument 
in  the  use  of  which  he  was  really  an 
artist,  viz.,  his  tongue.  By  wheed- 
ling and  underselling  —  for  he  only 
charged  a  pound  tor  the  painted 
canvas  —  he  contrived  to  live  ;  then 
he  aspired  to  dress  as  well  as  live. 
With  this  second  object  in  view,  he 
hit  upon  a  characteristic  expedient. 

He  used  to  prowl  about ;  and 
when  he  saw  a  young  woman  sweep- 
ing the  afternoon  streets  with  a  long 
silk  train,  and,  in  short,  dressed  to 
ride  in  the  park,  yet  parading  the 
streets,  he  would  take  his  hat  off  to 
her  with  an  air  of  profound  respect, 
and  ask -permission  to  take  her  por- 
trait. Generally  he  met  a  prompt 
rebuff;  but  if  the  fair  was  so  unlucky 
as  to  hesitate  a  single  moment,  he 
told  her  a  melting  tale  :  he  had  once 
driven  his  four-in-hand,  but  by  in- 
dorsing his  friend's  bills  was  reduced 
to  painting  likenesses  —  admirable 
likenesses  in  oils,  only  a  guinea 
each. 

His  piteous  tale  provoked  more 
jibes  than  pity ;  but  as  he  had  no 
shame,  the  rebuffs  went  for  nothing. 
He  actually  did  get  a  few  sitters  by 
his  audacicy,  and  some  of  the  sitters 
actually  took  the  pictures  and  paid 
for  them  ;  others  declined  them  with 
fury  as  soon  as  they  were  finished. 
These  he  took  back  with  a  piteous 
sigh  that  sometimes  extracted  half 
a  crown.  Then  he  painted  over  the 
rejected  one,  and  let  it  dry  ;  so  that 
sometimes  a  paid  portrait  would 
present  a  beauty  enthroned  on  the 
drills  of  two  or  three  rivals,  and 
that  is  where  few  beauties  would  ob* 
ject  to  sit. 

All  this  time  he  wrote  nice  letters 
to  Phoebe,  and  adopted  the  tone  of 
the  struggling  artist,  and  the  true 
lover,  who  wins  his  bride  by  patience, 
perseverance,  and  indomitable  indus- 
try; a  babbled  of  "Self-help." 


A   SIMPLETON. 


71 


Meantime  Phoebe  was  not  idle ; 
an  excellent  business  woman,  she 
took  immediate  advantage  of  a  new 
station  that  was  built  near  the  farm 
to  send  up  milk,  butter,  and  eggs  to 
London.  Being  genuine,  they  sold 
like  wild-fire.  Observing  that,  she 
extended  her  operations  by  buying 
of  other  farmers  and  forwarding  to 
London ;  and  then,  having,  of 
course,  an  eye  to  her  struggling  art- 
ist, she  told  her  father  she  must 
have  a  shop  in  London,  and 
somebody  in  it  she  could  depend 
upon. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  wench,"  said 
he ;  "  but  it  must  not  be  thou.  I 
can't  spare  thee." 

"  May  I  have  Dick,  father?  " 

"  Dick  !     He  is  rather  young." 

"  But  he  is  very  quick,  father, 
and  minds  every  word  I  tell  him." 

"  Ay,  he  is  as  fond  of  thee  as  ever 
a  cow  was  of  a  calf.  Well,  you 
can  try  him." 

So  the  love-sick  woman  of  busi- 
ness set  up  a  little  shop,  and  put  her 
brother  Dick  in  it,  and  all  to  see 
more  of  her  struggling  artist.  She 
staid  several  days,  to  open  the  little 
shop  and  start  the  business.  She 
advertised  pure  milk,  and  challenged 
scientific  analysis  of  everv  tiling  she 
sold.  This  came  of  her  being  a 
reader.  She  knew,  by  the  journals, 
that  we  live  in  a  sinful  and  adulter- 
ating generation;  and  any  thing 
pin-''  must  be  a  Godsend  to  the  poor 
poisoned  public. 

Now  Dr.  Staines,  thoucrh  known 
to  the  profession  as  a  diagnost,  was 

also  an  analyst,  and  this  challenge 
brought  him  down  on  Phoebe  Dale. 
He  told  her  he  was  a  physician,  and 
in  search  of  pore  food  for  his  own 
family  —  would  she  really  submit 
the  milk  to  analysis  ? 

Phoebe  smiled  an  honest  country 
smile,  ami  said,  "  Surely,  sir.''  She 
trave  him  every  facility,  and  he  ap- 
plied those  simple  tests  which  are 
commonly  used  in  France,  though 
hardly  known  in  England. 

lie  found  it   perfectly  pure,  and 


told  her  so  ;  and  gazed  at  Phtebe 
for  a  moment,  as  a  phenomenon. 

She  smiled  again  at  that,  her 
broad  country  smile.  "  That  is  a 
wonder  in  London,  I  dare  say.  It's 
my  belief  half  the  children  that  die 
here  are  perished  with  watered  milk. 
AVell,  sir  we  sha'n't  have  that  on 
our  souls,  father  and  I :  he  is  a 
farmer  in  Essex.  This  comes  a 
many  miles,  this  milk." 

Staines  looked  in  her  face  with 
kindly  approval  marked  on  his  own 
eloquent  features.  She  blushed  a 
little  at  so  fixed  a  regard.  Then  he 
asked  her  if  she  would  supply  him 
with  mdk,  butter,  and  eggs. 

"  Why,  if  you  mean  sell  you  them, 
yes,  sir,  with  pleasure.  But  for 
sending  them  home  to  you  in  this 
big  town,  as  some  do,  1  can't,  for 
there's  only  brother  Dick  and  me: 
it  is  an  experiment  like." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Staines  .  "  I 
will  send  for  them." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir  I  hopo 
you  won't  be  offended,  sir ;  but  we 
only  sell  for  ready  money." 

"  All  the  better :  my  order  at 
home  is,  no  bills." 

When  he  was  gone,  Phcebe,  assum- 
ing vast  experience,  though  this  was 
only  her  third  day,  told  Dick  that 
was  one  of  the  right  sort.  "And 
O  Dick  !  "  said  she,  "  did  you  notice 
his  eye  ?  " 

"Not  partieklar,  sister." 

"There,  now!  the  boy  is  blind. 
Why,  'twas  like  a  jewel.  Such  an 
eye  I  never  saw  in  a  man's  head, 
nor  a  woman's  neither." 

Staines  told  his  wife  about  Phoebe 
and  her  brother,  and  spoke  of  her 
with  a  certain  admiration  that  raised 
Uosa's  curiosity,  and  even  that  sort 
of  vague  jealousy  thaNires  at  bare 
prai>e.  "I  should  like  to  see  this 
phenomenon,''  said  she.  "You 
shall,"  said  he-  "I  have,  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Manly.  She  lives  near.  I 
will  drop  you  at  the  little  shop,  and 
come  back  for  you." 

lie  did  so.  anil  that  pave  Bosa  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  make  her  pur- 


72 


A  SIMPLETON. 


chases.  When  he  came  back  he 
found  her  conversing  with  Phoebe 
as  if  they  were  old  friends,  and  Dick 
glaring  at  his  wife  with  awe  and 
admiration.  He  could  hardly  get 
her  away. 

She  was  far  more  extravagant  in 
her  praises  than  Dr.  Staines  had 
been.  "  What  a  good  creature !  " 
said  she.  "  And  how  clever !  To 
think  of  her  setting  up  a  shop  like 
that  all  by  herself;  for  her  Dick  is 
only  seventeen." 

Dr.  Staines  recommended  the 
little  shop  wherever  ho  went,  and 
even  extended  its  operations.  He 
asked  Phoebe  to  get  her  own  wheat 
ground  at  home,  and  send  the  flour 
up  in  bushel  bags.  "  These  assas- 
sins, the  bakers,"  said  he,  *"  are  put- 
ting copper  into  the  flour  now  as 
well  as  alum.  Pure  flour  is  worth  a 
fancy  price  to  any  family.  With 
that  we  can  make  the  bread  of  life. 
What  you  buy  in  the  shops  is  the 
bread  of  death." 

Dick  was  a  good,  sharp  boy, 
devoted  to  his  sister.  He  stuck  to 
the  shop  in  London,  and  handed  the 
money  to  Phoebe  when  she  came  for 
it.  She  worked  far  it  in  Essex,  and 
extended  her  country  connection  for 
supply  as  the  retail  business 
increased. 

Staines  wrote  an  article  on  pure 
food,  and  incidentally  mentioned 
the  shop  as  a  place  where  flour, 
milk,  and  butter  were  to  be  had 
pure.  This  article  was  published 
in  the  Lancet,  and  caused  quite  a 
run  upon  the  little  shop.  By  and 
by  Ph<ebe  enlarged  it,  for  which 
there  were  great  capabilities,  and 
made  herself  a  pretty  little  parlor, 
and  there  she  and  Dick  sat  to  Fal- 
con for  their  portraits  ;  here,  too, 
she  hung  his  rejected  landscapes. 
They  were  fair  in  her  eyes  ;  what 
mutter  whether  tiny  were  like  na- 
ture ?  his  hand  had  painted  them. 
She  knew  from  him  that  everybody 
else  had  rejected  them.  With  all 
the  more  pride  and  love  did  she 
have  them  framed  in  gold,  and  hung 


up  with  the  portraits  in   her  little 
sanctum. 

For  a  few  months  Phcebe  Dale 
was  as  happy  as  she  deserved  to  be. 
Her  lover  was  working,  and  faithful 
to  her  —  at  least  she  saw  no  reason 
to  doubt  it.  He  came  to  see  her 
every  evening,  and  seemed  devoted 
to  her ;  would  sit  quietly  with  her,  or 
walk  with  her,  or  take  her  to  a  play, 
or  a  music-hall  —  at  her  expense. 

She  now  lived  in  a  quiet  ehsium, 
with  a  bright  and  rapturous  "dream 
of  the  future ;  for  she  saw  she  had 
hit  on  a  good  vein  of  business,  and 
should  soon  be  independent,  and 
able  to  indulge  herself  with  a  hus- 
band, and  ask  no  man's  leave. 

She  sent  to  Essex  for  a  dairy- 
maid, and  set  her  to  churn  milk 
into  butter,  coram  populo,  at  a  cer- 
tain hour  every  morning.  This 
made  a  new  sensation.  At  other 
times  the  woman  was  employed  to 
deliver  milk  and  cream  to  a  few 
favored  customers. 

Mrs.  Staines  dropped  in  now  and 
then,  and  chatted  with  her.  Her 
sweet  face  and  her  naivete  won 
Pluebe's  heart;  and  one  day,  as 
happiness  is  apt  to  be  communica- 
tive, she  let  out  to  her,  in  reply  to  a 
feeler  or  two  as  to  whether  she  was 
quite  alone,  that  she  was  engaged 
to  be  married  to  a  gentleman ;  "  but 
he  is  not  rich,  ma'am,"  said  Phoebe 
plaintively;  "he  has  had  trouble  — 
obliged  to  work  for  his  living,  like 
me  ;  he  painted  these  pictures,  every 
one  of  them.  If  it  was  not  making 
too  free,  and  you  could  spare  a 
guinea  —  he  charges  no  more  for 
the  picture,  only  you  must  go  to 
the  expense  of  the  frame." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Rosa 
warmly,  "  I'll  sit  for  it  here  any  day 
you  like." 

Now,  Rosa  said  this  out  of  her 
ever-ready  kindness,  not  to  wound 
Phoebe ;  but,  having  made  the 
promise,  she  kept  clear  of  the  place 
for  some  days,  hoping  Phoebe  would 
forget  all  about  it.  Meantime  she 
sent  her  husband  to  buy. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


73 


In  about  a  fortnight  she  called 
again,  primed  with  evasions  if  she 
should  be  asked  to  sit ;  but  nothing 
of  the  kind  was  proposed,  Phuebe 
was  dealing  when  she  went  in.  The 
customers  disposed  of,  she  said  to 
Mrs.  Staines,  "  0  ma'am !  I  am 
glad  you  arc  come.  I  have  some- 
thing I  should  like  to  show  you." 
She  took  her  into  the  parlor,  and 
made  her  sit  down  ;  then  she  opened 
a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  very 
small  substance  that  looked  like  a 
tear  of  ground  glass,  and  put  it  on 
the  table  before  her.  "  There, 
ma'am,"  said  she,  "that  is  all  he 
has  had  for  painting  a  friend's 
picture." 

"  Oh  !  what  a  shame !  " 

"  His  friend  was  going  abroad  — 
to  Natal ;  to  his  uncle  that  farms 
out  there,  and  does  very  well.  It  is 
a  first-rate  part,  if  you  take  out  a 
little  stock  with  you,  and  some 
money ;  so  my  one  gave  him  credit, 
and  when  the  letter  came  with  that 
postmark  he  counted  on  a  five-pound 
note ;  but  the  letter  only  said  he 
had  got  no  money  yet,  but  sent  him 
something  as  a  keepsake  ;  and  there 
was  this  little  stone.  Poor  fellow  ! 
he  flung  it  down  in  a  passion;  he 
was  so  disappointed." 

Phoebe's  great  gray  eyes  filled; 
and  Rosa  gave  a  little  coo  of  sym- 

fiathy  that  was  very  womanly  and 
ovable. 

Phoebe  leaned  her  cheek  on  her 
hand  and  said  thoughtfully,  "  I 
picked  it  up,  and  brought  it  away ; 
for,  after  all,  don't  you  think, 
ma'am,  it  is  very  strange  that  a 
friend  should  send  it  all  that  way  if 
it  \\a<  worth  nothing  at  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible,  lie  could  not 
be  so  heartless." 

"And  do  you  know,  ma'am, when  I 
take  it  up  in  my  fingers  it  doesn't  feel 
like  a  thing  that  is  worth  nothing." 
"No  more  it  does  ;  it  makes  my 
fingers  tremble.  May  I  take  it  home 
and  show  it  to  my  husband?  he  is 
a  great  physician  and  knows  every 
thing." 

7 


"  I  am  sure  I  should  be  much 
obliged  to  you,  ma'am." 

Rosa  drove  home  on  purpose  to 
show  it  to  Christopher.  She  ran 
into  his  study.  "  O  Christopher  ! 
please  look  at  that.  You  know  that 
good  creature  we  have  our  flour  and 
milk  and  things  of.  She  is  engaged, 
and  he  is  a  painter.  Oh,  such  daubs  ! 
He  painted  a  friend,  and  the  friend 
sent  that  home  all  the  way  from 
Natal ;  and  he  dashed  it  down,  and 
she  picked  it  up,  and  what  is  it  ? 
ground  glass,  or  a  pebb'e,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Humph !  by  its  shape,  and  the 
great  —  brilliancy,  — and  refraction 
of  light  upon  this  angle,  where  the 
stone  has  got  polished  by  rubbing 
other  stones  in  the  course  of  ages, 
I'm  inclined  to  think  it  is  —  a  dia- 
mond." 

"  A  diamond  !  "  shrieked  Rosa. 
"  No  wonder  my  fingers  trembled. 
Oh  !  can  it  be  ?  Oh,  you  good,  cold- 
blooded Christie!  Poor  thing! 
Come  along,  Diamond !  Oh,  you 
beauty  !     Oh,  you  duck ! " 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  I 
only  said  I  thought  it  was  a  dia- 
mond. Let  me  weigh  it  against 
water,  and  then  I  shall  know." 

He  took  it  to  his  little  laboratory, 
and  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
said,  "  Yes.  It  is  just  three  times 
and  a  half  heavier  than  water.  It 
is  a  diamond.'' 

"  Are  you  positive  ?  " 

"  I'll  stake  my  existence." 

"  What  is  it  worth  1  " 

"My  dear,  I'm  not  a  jeweller; 
but  it  is  very  large  and  pear-shaped, 
and  I  see  no  flaw  :  I  don't  think  you 
could  buy  it  for  less  than  three  hun- 
dred pounds." 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  !  It  is 
worth  £300." 

"  ( )r  sell  it  for  more  than  .£l">o." 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  !  It  is 
worth  E150." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  one  would 
think  you  had  invented  '  the  dia- 
mond.1 Show  me  how  to  crystal- 
lize carbon,  and  I  will  share  "your 
enthusiasm." 


74 


A   SIMPLETON. 


"  Oh !  I  leave  you  to  carbonize 
crystal.  I  prefer  to  gladden  hearts; 
and  1  will  do  it  this  minute,  with 
my  diamond." 

"  Do,  dear ;  and  I  will  take  that 
opportunity  to  finish  my  second  ar- 
ticle on  Adulteration." 

Rosa  drove  oil'  to  Phoebe  Dale. 

Now,  Phoebe  was  drinking  tea 
with  Reginald  Palcon,  in  her  little 
parlor.  "  Who  is  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 
she  said,  when    the   carriage   drew 

UP-      . 

Reginald  drew  back  a  corner  of 

the   gauze  curtain  which   had  been 

drawn   across  the   little  glass   door 

leading  from  the  shop. 

"  It  is  a  lady,  and  a  beautiful  — 
Oh  !  let  me  get  out.  "  And  he 
rushed  out  at  the  door  leading  to 
the  kitchen,  not  to  be  recognized. 

This  sot  Phcebc  all  in  aflutter; 
and  the  next  moment  Mrs.  Staines 
tapped  at  the  little  door,  then  open- 
ed it;'  and  peeped.  "  Good  news ! 
may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  said  Phoebe,  still 
troubled  and  confused  by  Reginald's 
strange  agitation. 

"there!  It  is  a  diamond!" 
screamed  Rosa.  "  My  husband 
knew  it  directly.  He  knows  every 
thing.  If  ever  you  are  ill,  go  to 
him  and  nobody  else — by  the  re- 
fraction, and  the  angle,  and  its  be- 
ing three  times  and  a  half  as  heavy 
as  water.  It  is  worth  £300  to  buy, 
and  .£150  to  sell." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  So  don't  you  go  throwing  it 
away,  as  he  did."  (In  a  whisper) 
"  Two  tea-cups  !  Was  that  him  ? 
I  have  driven  him  away.  I  am  so 
sorry.  I'll  go ;  and  then  you  can 
tell  him.     Poor  fellow  ! " 

"0  ma'am,  don't  go  yet!"  said 
Phfebc,  trembling.  "  I  haven't  half 
thanked  you." 

"  ( )h,  bother  thanks !  Kiss  me  : 
that  is  the  way." 

"  May  I  ?  " 

"  You  may,  and  must.  There  — 
and  there  —  and  there.  Oh,  dear, 
what  nice  things  good    luck   and 


happiness  are,  and    how  sweet   to 
bring  them  lor  once  !  " 

Upon  this  Phoebe  and  she  had  a 
nice  little  cry  together,  and  Mrs. 
Staines  went  off  refreshed  thereby, 
and  as  gay  as  a  lark,  pointing  siyly 
at  the  door,  and  making  faces  to 
Phcebe  that  she  knew  he  was  there, 
and  she  only  retired,  out  of  her  admi- 
rable discretion,  that  they  might  en- 
joy the  diamond  together. 

When  she  was  gone,  Reginald, 
whose  eye  and  ear  had  been  at  the 
key-hole,  alternately  gloating  ou  the 
face  and  drinking  the  accents  of  the 
only  woman  he  had  ever  really 
loved,  came  out,  looking  pale  and 
strangely  disturbed,  and  sat  down 
at  Jie  table  without  a  word. 

Phoebe  came  back  to  him  full  of 
the  diamond,  "  Did  you  hear  what 
she  said,  my  dear '?  It  is  a  diamond  ; 
it  is  worth  £150  at  least.  Why, 
what  ails  you  ?  Ah !  to  be  sure  ! 
you  know  the  lady." 

"  I  have  cause  to  know  her.  Curs- 
ed jilt ! " 

"  You  seem  a  good  deal  put  out 
at  the  sight  of  her." 

"  It  took  me  by  surprise,  that  is 
all." 

"  It  takes  me  by  surprise  too.  I 
thought  you  were  cured.  I  thought 
my  turn  had  conic  at  last." 

Reginald  met  this  in  sullen  silence. 
Then  Phoebe  was  sorry  she  had  said 
it;  for,  after  all,  it  wasn't  the  man's 
fault  if  an  old  sweetheart  had  run 
into  the  room,  and  given  him  a 
start.  So  she  made  him  some  fresh 
tea,  and  pressed  him  kindly  to  try 
her  home-made  bread  and  but- 
ter. 

My  lord  relaxed  his  frown  and 
consented;  and,  of  course,  they 
talked  diamond. 

He  told  her  loftily,  he  must  take  a 
studio  ;  and  his  sitters  must  come  to 
him,  and  must  no  longer  expect  to 
be  immortalized  for  .£1.  It  must 
be  £2  for  a  bust,  and  £3  for  a  kit-cat. 

"  Nay,  but,  my  dear,"  said  Phoebe, 
"they  will  pay  no  more  because  you 
have  a  diamond." 


A   SIMPLETON. 


75 


"  Then  they  will  have  to  go  un- 
painted,"  said  Mr.  Falcon. 

This  was  intended  for  a  threat. 
Phiebe  instinctively  felt  that  it 
might  not  be  so  received  ;  she  coun- 
selled moderation.  "It  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  earned  a  diamond," 
said  she  :  "  but  'tis  only  once  in  a 
life.  Now,  be  ruled  by  me :  go  on 
just  as  you  are.  Sell  the  diamond, 
and  give  me  the  money  to  keep  for 
you.  Why,  you  might  add  a  little 
to  it,  and  so  would  I,  till  we  made 
it  up  £200.  And  if  you  could  only 
show  £200  you  had  made  and  laid  by 
father  would  let  us  marry,  and  I 
would  keep  this  shop  —  it  pays  well, 
1  can  tell  you  —  and  keep  my  gen- 
tleman in  a  sly  corner :  you  need 
never  be  seen  in  it." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  he,  "  that  is  the 
small  game.  But  I  am  a  man  that 
have  always  preferred  the  big  game. 
I  shall  set  up  ray  studio,  and  make 
enough  to  keep  us  both.  So  give 
me  the  stone,  if  you  please.  I  shall 
take  it  round  to  them  all,  and  the 
rogues  won't  get  it  out  of  me  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  ;  why,  it  is  as  big 
as  a  nut." 

"No,  no,  Reginald.  Money  has 
a' ways  made  mischief  between  you 
and  me.  You  never  had  fifty  pounds 
vet,  you  didn't  fall  into  temptation. 
5 )o  pray  let  me  keep  it  for  you  ;  or 
e'se  sell  it  —  I  know  how  to  sell ; 
nobody  better — and  keep  the 
money  for  a  good  occasion." 

"  Is  it  yours,  or  mine  1 "  said  he 
snlki  v. 

"  Why,  yours,  dear ;  you  earned 
it." 

"  Then  give  it  me,  please."  And 
he  almost  forced  it  out  of  her 
hand. 

So  now  she  sat  down  and  cried 
over  this  piece  of  good  luck, 
for  her  heart  filled  with  forebod- 
ings. 

He  laughed  at  her.  But,  at  last, 
had  the   grafi€   to   console   her,    and 

asanre  her  she  was  tormenting  her- 
self for  nothing. 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  she  sadly. 


Time  did  show. 

Three  or  four  days  he  came,  as  usu- 
al, to  laugh  at  her  for  her  forebodings. 
But  presently  his  visits  ceased.  She 
knew  what  that  meant :  he  was  liv- 
ing like  a  gentleman,  melting  his 
diamond,  and  playing  her  false 
with  the  first  pretty  face  he  met. 

This  blow,  coming  after  she  had 
been  so  happy,  struck  Phoebe  Dale 
stupid  with  grief.  The  line  on  her 
high  forehead  deepened ;  and  at 
night  she  sat  with  her  hands  he- 
fore  her,  sighing,  and  sighing,  and 
listening  lor  the  footsteps  that  never 
came. 

"  O  Dick  !  "  she  said,  "  never 
you  love  any  one.  I  am  aweary  of 
my  life.  And  to  think  that,  but 
for  that  diamond  —  oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  !    oh,  dear  '  " 

Then  Dick  used  to  try  and  com- 
fort her  in  his  way,  and  often  put 
his  arm  round  her  neck,  and  gave 
her  his  rough  but  honest  sympathy. 
Dick's  rare  affection  was  her  one 
drop  of  comfort :  it  was  something 
to  relieve  her  swelling  heart. 

"  0  Dick  !  "  she  said  to  him  one 
night,  "  I  wish  I  had  married 
him." 

"  What,  to  be  ill-used  1 " 

"  He  couldn't  use  me  worse.  I 
have  been  wife  and  mother  and 
sweatheart  and  all  to  him,  and  to 
be  left  like  this.  He  treats  me 
like  the  din  beneath  his  feet." 

"  'Tia  your  own  fault.  Phoebe, 
partly.  You  say  the  word,  and  I'll 
break  e*ery  bone  in  his  carcass." 

"  What,  do  him  a  mischief!  Why, 
I'd  rather  die  than  harm  a  hair  of 
his  bead.  You  must  never  lift 
a  hand  to  him,  or  I  shall  hate 
you. " 

"  Hate  me,  Phoebe?  " 

"Ay,  boy,  I  should.  God  for- 
give me,  'tis  no  use  deceiving  our- 
selves ;  when  a  woman  loves  a  man 
she  despises,  never  you  come  between 
them  :  there's  no  reason  in  her  love, 
so  it  is  incurable.  One  comfort ;  it 
can't  go  on  forever;  it  must  kill  me 
before  my  time,  and  so  best.     If  I 


76 


A  SIMPLETON. 


was  only  a  mother,  and  had  a  little 
Reginald  to  dandle  on  my  knee  and 
gloat  upon  till  he  spent  his  money 
and  came  back  to  me.  That  is  why 
I  said  I  wished  I  was  his  wife.  Oh  ! 
why  does  God  fill  a  poor  woman's 
bosom  with  love,  and  nothing  to 
spend  it  on  but  a  stone1  for  sure 
his  heart  must  be  one.  If  I  had 
on.y  something  that  would  let  me 
always  love  it  —  a  little  toddling 
thing  at  my  knee,  that  would  always 
let  ine  look  at  it,  and  love  it  — 
something  too  young  to  be  false  to 
me,  too  weak  to  run  away  from  my 
long — ing  arms  —  and  —  yearn  — 
ing  heart !  "  Then  came  a  burst  of 
agony,  and  moans  of  desolation, 
till  poor  Dick  blubbered  loudly  at 
her  grief,  and  then  her  tears  flowed 
in  streams. 

Trouble  on  trouble.  Dick  him- 
self got  strangely  out  of  sorts,  and 
complained  of  shivers.  Phoebe  sent 
him  to  bed  early,  and  made  him 
some  white  wine  whey  very  hot.  In 
the  morning  he  got  up,  and  said  he 
was  better ;  but  after  breakfast  he 
was  violently  sick,  and  suffered  sev- 
eral returns  of  nausea  before  noon. 
"  One  would  think  I  was  poisoned," 
said  he. 

At  one  o'clock  he  was  seized  with 
a  kind  of  spasm  in  the  throat  that 
lasted  so  long  it  nearly  choked 
him. 

Then  Phoebe  got  frightened,  and 
sent  to  the  nearest  surgeon.  He 
did  not  hurry,  and  poor  Dick  had 
another  frightful  spasm  just  as  he 
euine  in. 

"  It  is  hysterical,"  said  the  sur- 
geon. "  No  disease  of  the  heart  is 
there.  Give  him  a  little  sal  volatile 
every  half  hour." 

In  spite  of  the  sal  volatile  these 
terrible  spasms  seized  him  every 
half  hour ;  and  now  he  used  to 
spring  off  the  bed  with  a  cry  of  ter- 
ror when  they  came;  and  each  one 
hit  him  weaker  and  weaker;  he  had 
to  be  carried  back  by  the  women. 

A  sad,  sickening   fear   seized   on 


Phcebe.  She  left  Dick  with  the 
maid,  and,  tying  on  her  bonnet  in  a 
moment,  rushed  wildly  down  the 
street,  asking  the  neighbors  for  a 
great  doctor,  the  best  that  could  be 
had  for  money.  One  tent  her  east 
a  mile,  another  west,  and  she  was 
almost  distracted,  when,  who  should 
drive  up  but  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Staines,  to  make  purchases.  She 
did  not  know  his  name,  but  she 
knew  he  was  a  doctor.  She  ran  to 
the  window,  and  cried,  "  O  doctor, 
my  brother !  Oh,  pray,  come  to 
him  !     Oh  !  oh  !  " 

Doctor  Staines  got  quickly  but 
calmly  out,  told  his  wife  to  wait, 
and  followed  Phcebe  up  stairs.  She 
told  him,  in  a  few  agitated  words, 
how  Dick  had  been  taken,  and  all 
the  symptoms  ;  especially  what  had 
alarmed  her  so,  his  springing  off  the 
bed  when  the  spasm  came. 

Doctor  Staines  told  her  to  hold 
the  patient  up.  He  lost  not  a  mo- 
ment, but  opened  his  mouth  reso- 
lutely, and  looked  down. 

"  The  glottis  is  swollen,"  said  he  : 
then  he  felt  his  hands,  and  said,  with 
the  grave,  terrible  calm  of  experi- 
ence, "  He  is  dying." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  O  doctor,  save 
him  !  save  him  !  " 

"  Nothing  can  save  him,  unless  we 
had  a  surgeon  on  the  spot.  Yes,  I 
might  save  him,  if  you  have  the 
courage  :  opening  his  windpipe  be- 
fore the  next  spasm  is  his  one 
chance." 

"  Open  his  windpipe  !  O  doc- 
tor, it  will  kill  him  !  Let  me  look 
at  you." 

She  looked  hard  in  his  face.  It 
gave  her  confidence. 

"  Is  it  the  oidy  chance  ?  " 

"  The  only  one  :  and  it  is  flying 
while  we  chatter." 

'•  Do  IT." 

He  whipped  out  his  lancet. 

"  But  I  can't  look  on  it.  I  trust 
to  you  and  my  Saviour's  mercy." 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  bowed 
her  head  in  prayer. 

Staines  seized  a  basin,  put  it  by 


A  SIMPLETON. 


77 


the  bedside,  made  an  incision  in  the 
windpipe,  and  got  Dick  down  on  his 
stomach,  with  his  face  over  the  bed- 
side. Some  blood  ran,  but  not 
much.  "  Mow  !  "  he  cried  cheerfully, 
"  a  small  bellows  !  There's  one  in 
your  parlor.     Run." 

Phoebe  ran  for  it,  and,  at  Dr. 
Staines  direction,  lifted  Dick  a  little, 
while  the  bellows,  duly  cleansed, 
were  gently  applied  to  the  aperture 
in  the  windpipe,  and  the  action  of 
the  lungs  delicately  aided  by  this 
primitive  but  effectual  means. 

He  showed  Phoebe  how  to  do  it, 
tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  pocket-book, 
wrote  a  hasty  direction  to  an  able 
surgeon  near,  and  sent  his  wife  off 
with  it  in  the  carriage. 

Phoebe  and  he  never  left  the  pa- 
tient till  the  surgeon  came  with  all 
the  instruments  required ;  among 
the  rest,  with  a  big,  tortuous  pair  of 
nippers,  with  which  he  could  reach 
the  glottis  and  snip  it.  But  they 
consulted,  and  thought  it  wiser  to 
continue  the  surer  method  ;  and  so 
a  little  tube  was  neatly  inserted  into 
Dick's  windpipe,  and  his  throat  ban- 
daged  ;  and  by  this  aperture  he  did 
his  breathing  for  some  little  time. 

Phoebe  nursed  him  like  a  mother; 
and  the  terror  anil  the  joy  did  her 
good  ;  and  made  her  less  desolate. 

Dick  was  only  just  well  when  both 
of  them  were  summoned  to  the  farm, 
and  arrived  only  just  in  time  to  re- 
ceive their  father's  blessing  and  his 
last  sigh. 

Their  elder  brother,  a  married 
man,  inherited  the  farm,  and  was 
executor.  Phoebe  and  Dick  were 
left  £1500  apiece,  on  condition  of 
their  leaving  England  and  going  to 
Natal. 

They  knew  directly  what  that 
meant.  Phoebe  was  to  be  parted 
from  a  bad  man  ;  and  Dick  was  to 
comfort  her  for  the  loss. 

When  this  part  of  the  will  was 
rcail  to  Phoebe,  she  tamed  faint,  and 
only  her  health  and  bodily  vigor 
kept  her  from  swooning  right  away. 

But  she  yielded.     "  It  is  the  will 
"7* 


of  the  dead,"  said  she  ;  "  and  I  will 
obey  it ;  for,  oh,  if  I  had  but  listened 
to  him  more  when  he  was  alive  to 
advise  me,  I  should  not  sit  here  now, 
sick  at  heart  and  dry -eyed,  when  I 
ought  to  be  thinking  only  of  the 
good  friend  that  is  gone." 

When  she  had  come  to  this,  she  be- 
came feverishly  anxious  to  he  gone. 

She  busied  herself  in  purchasing 
agricultural  machines,  and  stores, 
and  even  stock ;  and,  to  see  her 
pinching  the  beasts'  ribs  to  find  their 
condition,  and  parrying  all  attempts 
to  cheat  her,  you  would  never  have 
believed  she  could  be  a  lovesick 
woman. 

Dick  kept  her  up  to  the  mark. 
He  only  left  her  to  bargain  with  the 
master  of  a  good  vessel ;  for  it  was 
no  trifle  to  take  out  horses,  and 
cows,  and  machines,  and  bales  of 
cloth,  cotton,  and  linen. 

When  that  was  settled  they  came 
into  town  together,  and  Phoebe 
bought  shrewdly,  at  wholesale  houses 
in  the  city,  for  cash,  and  would  have 
bargains :    and   the    little    shop   in 

Street   was     turned    into    a 

warehouse. 

They  were  all  ardor,  as  colonists 
should  be:  and,  what  pleased  Dick 
most,  she  never  mentioned  Falcon  ; 
yet  he  learned  from  the  maid  that 
worthy  had  been  there  twice,  look- 
ing very  seedy. 

The  day  drew  near.  Dick  was  in 
high  spirits. 

"  We  shall  soon  make  our  fortune 
out  there,"  he  said  :  "  and  I'll  get 
you  a  good  husband." 

She  shuddered,  but  said  noth- 
ing. 

The  evening  before  they  went  to 
sail,  Phoebe  sat  alone,  in  her  black 
dress,  tired  with  work,  and  asking 
herself,  sick  at  heart,  could  she  ever 
really  leave  England,  when  the  door 

opened  softly,  and  Reginald  Falcon, 
shabbily  dressed,  came  in,  and  threw 
himself  into  a  chair, 

She  started  up  with  a  scream, 
then  sank  down  again,  trembling, 
and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 


78 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  So  you  are  going  to  run  away 
from  me  ?  "  said  he  savagely. 

"  Ay,  Reginald,"  said  she  meek- 

"  This  is  your  fine  love  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"Yon  have  worn  it  out,  dear," 
she  said  softly,  without  turning  her 
head. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  : 
but,  curse  it,  every  time  I  leave  you, 
I  learn  to  love  you  more.  I  am 
never  really  happy  but  when  I  am 
with  you." 

"  Bless  you  for  saying  that,  dear. 
I  often  thought  you  must  find  that 
out  one  day ;  but  you  took  too 
long." 

"  Oh,  better  late  than  never, 
Phoebe  !  Can  you  have  the  heart  to 
go  to  the  Cape,  and  leave  me  all 
alone  in  the  world  with  nobody  that 
really  cares  for  me  ?  Surely  you 
are  not  obliged  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  my  father  left  Dick  and 
me  £\  ,590  apiece  to  go  :  that  was  the 
condition.  Poor  Dick  loves  his  un- 
happy sister.  He  won't  go  without 
me  —  I  should  he  his  ruin  —  poor 
Dick  that  really  loves  me  ;  and  he 
lay  a-dying  here,  and  the  good  doc- 
tor and  me  —  God  bless  him  ! — we 
brought  him  back  from  the  grave. 
Ah !  you  little  know  what  I  have 
gone  through.  You  were  not  here. 
Catch  you  being  near  me  when  I  am 
in  trouble.  There,  I  must  go.  I 
must  go.  I  will  go;  if  I  fling  my- 
self into  the  sea  half-way." 

"And  if  you  do,  I'll  take  a  dose 
of  poison  ;  for  I  have  thrown  away 
the  truest  heart,  the  sweetest,  most 
unselfish,  kindest,  generous  —  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh !  " 

And  he  began  to  howl. 

This  set  Phoebe  sobbing.  "  Don't 
cry,  dear,"  she  murmured  through 
her  tears  :  "  if  you  have  really  any 
love  for  me,  come  with  me." 

"  What,  leave  England,  and  go  to 
a  desert  ?  " 

"  Love  can  make  a  desert  a  gar- 
den." 

"  Phoebe,  I'll  do  any  thing  else. 
I'll  swear  not   to   leave  your   side, 


I'll  never  look  at  any  other  face  but 
yours.     But  I  can't  live  in  Africa." 

"  I  know  you  can't.  It  takes  a 
little  real  love  to  go  there  with  a 
poor  girl  like  me.  Ah,  well,  I'd 
have  made  you  so  happy.  We  are 
not  poor  emigrants.  I  have  a  horse 
for  you  to  ride,  and  guns  lo  shoot ; 
and  me  and  Dick  would  do  all  the 
work  for  you.  But  there  are  others 
here  you  can't  leave  for  me.  Well, 
then,  good-by,  dear.  In  Africa  or 
here  I  shall  always  love  you  ;  and 
many  a  salt  tear  I  shall  shed  for  you 
yet;  many  a  one  I  have,  as  well  you 
know.  God  bless  you !  Pray  for 
poor  Phcebe,  that  goes  against  her 
will  to  Africa,  and  leaves  her  heart 
with  thee." 

This  was  too  much  even  for  the 
selfish  Reginald.  He  kneeled  at  her 
knees,  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
it,  and  actually  shed  a  tear  or  two 
over  it. 

She  could  not  speak.  He  bad  no 
hope  of  changing  her  resolution  : 
and  presently  he  heard  Dick's  voiee 
outside  ;  so  he  got  up  to  avoid  him. 
"  I'll  come  again  in  the  morning  be- 
fore you  go." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  she  gasped  ;  "  un- 
less you  want  me  to  die  at  your  feet. 
I  am  almost  dead  now." 

Reginald  slipped  out  by  the  kitch- 
en. 

Dick  came  in,  and  found  his  sister 
leaning  with  her  head  hack  against 
the  wall.  "  Why,  Phoebe,"  said  he, 
"  whatever  is  the  matter  1  "  and  he 
took  her  by  the  shoulder. 

She  moaned,  and  he  felt  her  all 
limp  and  powerless. 

"  What  is  it,  lass  ?  Whatever  is 
the  matter  ?  Is  it  about  going 
away  ?  " 

She  would  not  speak  for  a  long 
time. 

When  she  did  speak,  it  was  to  say 
something  for  which  my  male  reader 
perhaps  may  hardly  be  prepared. 

"  0  Dick,  forgive  me  !  " 

"  Why,  what  for  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  or  else  kill  me  :  I 
don't  care  which." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


79 


"  I  do,  though.  There,  I  forgive 
you.     Now  what's  the  crime  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go.     Forgive  me." 

"  Can't  go  ?  " 

"I  can't.     Forgive  me." 

"  I'm  blest  if  I  don't  believe  that 
vagabond  has  been  here  tormenting 
of  you  again." 

"  Oh !  don't  miscall  him.  He  is 
penitent.  Yes,  Dick,  he  has  been 
here  crying  to  me  —  and  I  can't 
have  him.  I  can't  —  I  can't.  Dear 
Dick,  you  are  young  and  stout- 
hearted ;  take  all  the  things  over, 
and  make  your  fortune  out  there  ; 
and  leave  your  poor  foolish  sister  be- 
hind. I  should  only  fling  myself 
into  the  salt  sea  if  I  left  him  now, 
and  that  would  be  peace  to  me,  but 
a  grief  to  thee." 

"  Lord  sake!  Phoebe,  don't  talk  so. 
I  can't  go  without  you.  And  do 
but  think.  Why  the  horses  are  on 
board  now,  and  all  the  gear.  I'ts 
my  belief  a  good  hiding  is  all  you 
want  to  bring  you  to  your  senses  ; 
but  I  hain't  the  heart  to  give  you 
one,  worse  luck !  Blessed  if  I  know 
■what  to  say  or  do." 

"I  won't  £0  ! "  cried  Phoebe, 
fuming  violent  all  of  a  sudden. 
"No,  not  if  I  am  dragged  to  the 
ship  by  the  hair  of  my  head.  For- 
give me."  And  with  that  word 
she  was  a  mouse  again. 

"Eh,  but  women  are  kittle  cattle 
to  drive,"  said  poor  Dick  ruefully. 
And  down  he  sat  at  a  nonplus,  and 
very  unhappy. 

Phcebe  s  it  opposite,  sullen,  heart- 
sick, Wretched  to  the  core,  but  de- 
termined not  to  leave  Reginald. 

Then  came  an  event  that  might 
have  been  foreseen,  yet  it  took  them 
both  by  surprise. 

A  li:ht  Btep  was  heard,  and  a 
graceful,  though  seedy,  figure  en- 
tored  the  room,  with  a  set  speech  in 
his  mouth  :  *'  Phoebe,  you  are  right. 
I  owe  it  to  your  long  and  faith- 
ful affection  to  make  a  sacrifice 
for  you.  I  will  go  to  Africa  with 
you.  1  will  go  tn  the  end  of  the 
world  sootier  than  you  shall   say   I 


care  for  any  woman  on  earth  but 
you." 

Both  brother  and  sister  were  so 
unprepared  for  this  that  they  could 
hardly  realize  it  at  first. 

Phcebe  turned  her  great,  inquiring 
eyes  on  the  speaker;  and  it  was  a 
sight  to  see  amazement,  doubt,  and 
happiness  animating  her  features, 
one  after  another. 

"  Is  this  real  1  "  said  she. 

"  I'll  sail  with  you  to-morrow, 
Phcebe  ;  and  I  will  make  you  a  good 
husband,  if  you  will  have  me." 

"  That  is  spoke  like  a  man,"  said 
Dick.  "  You  take  him  at  his  word, 
Phcebe ;  and  if  he  ill-uses  you  out 
there,  I'll  break  every  bone  in  his 
skin," 

"  How  dare  you  threaten  him  ?  " 
said  Phcebe.  "  You  had  best  leave 
the  room." 

Out  went  poor  Dick,  with  the  tear 
in  his  eye  at  being  snubbed  so. 
While  he  was  putting  up  the  shut- 
ters, Phcebe  was  making  love  to  her 
pseudo-penitent.  "  My  dear,"  said 
she,  "  trust  yourself  to  me.  You 
don't  know  all  my  love  yet ;  for  I 
have  never  been  your  wife,  and  I 
would  not  be  your  jade  ;  that  is  the 
only  thing  I  ever  refused  you.  Trust 
yourself  to  me.  Why,  you  never 
found  happiness  with  others  ;  try  it 
with  me.  It  shall  be  the  hot  day's 
work  you  ever  did,  going  out  in  the 
ship  with  me.  You  don't  know  how 
happy  a  loving  wife  can  make  her 
husband.  I'll  pet  you  out  there  as 
man  was  never  petted.  And  besides, 
it  isn't  for  life;  Dick  and  me  will 
soon  make  a  fortune  out  there,  and 
then  I'll  bring  you  home,  and  see 
you  spend  it  any  way  you  like  but 
one.  Oh,  how  I  love  you!  do  you 
love  me  a  little  ?  I  worship  the? 
ground  you  walk  cm.  I  adore  every 
hair  of  your  head!  "  Her  noble  arm 
went  round  his  neck  in  a  moment, 
am!  the  grandeur  of  her  passion  elec- 
trified him  so  far  that  he  kissed  her 
affectionately,  if  not  quite  so  warmly 
as  she  did  him  :  and  so  it  was  all 
settled.     The  maid  was  discharged 


80 


A  SIMPLETON. 


that  night,  instead  of  the  morning;, 
am!  Reginald  was  to  occupy  her  bed. 
Phoebewent  up  stairs  with  her  heart 
literally  on  tire,  to  prepare  his  sleep- 
ing-room, and  so  Dick  and  Reginald 
had  a  word. 

"  I  say,  Dick,  how  long  will  this 
voyage  be  1  " 

"  Two  months,  sir,  I'm  told." 

"  Please  to  cast  your  eyes  on  this 
suit  of  mine.  Don't  you  think  it  is 
rather  seedy  —  to  go  to  Africa  with  ? 
Why,  I  shall  disgrace  you  on  board 
the  ship.  I  say,  Dick,  lend  me  three 
govs.,  just  to  buy  a  new  suit  at  the 
slop-shop." 

"  Well,  brother-in-law,"  said  Dick, 
"  I  don't  see  any  harm  in  that.  I'll 
go  and  fetch  them  for  you." 

What  does  this  sensible  Dick  do 
but  go  up  stairs  to  Phcebe,  and  say, 
"  He  wants  three  pounds  to  buy  a 
suit;  am  I  to  lend  it  him?  " 

Phcebe  was  shaking  and  patting 
her  penitent's  pillow.  She  dropped 
it  on  the  bed  in  dismay.  "O  Dick, 
not  for  all  the  world  !  Why,  if  lie 
had  three  sovereigns  he'd  desert  me 
at  the  water's  edge.  O  God  help 
me,  how  I  love  him !  God  forgive 
me,  how  I  mistrust  him!  Good 
Dick !  kind  Dick !  say  we  have 
suits  of  clothes,  and  we'll  fit  him  like 
a  prince,  as  he  ought  to  be,  on  board 
ship:  but  not  a  shilling  of  money; 
and,  my  dear,  don't  put  the  weight 
on  me.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  Av,  mistress.  I  understand." 

"  Good  Dick  !  " 

"Oh,  all  right!  and  then,  don't 
you  snap  this  here  good,  kind  Dick's 
nose  off  at  a  word  again." 

"  Never.  I  get  wild  if  anybody 
threatens  him.  Then  I'm  not  my- 
self. Forgive  my  hasty  tongue. 
You  know  I  love  you,  dear  !  " 

"  Oh,  ay  !  you  love  well  enough. 
But  seems  to  me  your  love  is  pre- 
cious  like  cold  veal;  and  your  love 
for  that  chap  is  hot  roast  beef." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Oh !  ye  can  laugh  now,  can 
ye?" 


"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  ! " 

"  Well,  the  more  of  that  music 
the  better  for  me." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  go  and  tell 
him." 

Dick  went  down,  and  said,  "  I've 
got  no  money  to  spare,  till  I  get  to 
the  Cape ;  but  Pbcebe  has  got  a  box 
full  of  suits,  and  I  made  her  prom- 
ise to  keep  it  out.  She  will  dress 
you  like  a  prince,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Bcgi- 
nald  dryly. 

Dick  made  no  reply. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  were  on 
board  the  vessel ;  at  ten  she  weighed 
anchor,  and  a  steam-vessel  drew  her 
down  the  river  about  thirty  miles, 
then  cast  off,  and  left  her  to  the 
southeasterly  breeze.  Up  went  sail 
after  sail ;  she  nodded  her  lofty  head, 
and  glided  away  for  Africa. 

Phcebe  shed  a  few  natural  tears  at 
leaving  the  shores  of  Old  England  : 
but  they  soon  dried.  She  was  de- 
murely happy,  watching  her  prize, 
and  asking  herself  had  she  really 
secured  it,  and  all  in  a  few  hours? 

They  bad  a  prosperous  voyage : 
were  married  at  Cape  Town,  and 
went  up  the  country,  bag  and  bag- 
gage, looking  out  for  a  <rood  bargain 
in  land.  Reginald  was  mounted  on 
an  English  horse,  and  allowed  to 
zigzag  about,  and  shoot,  and  play, 
while  his  wife  and  brother-in-law 
marched  slowly  with  their  caval- 
cade. 

What  with  air,  exercise,  whole- 
some food,  and  smiles  of  welcome, 
and  delicious  petting,  this  egotist  en 
joyed  himself  finely.  He  admitted 
as  much.  Says  he  one  evening,  to 
his  wife,  who  sat  by  him  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  him  feed,  "  It 
sounds  absurd  ;  but  I  never  was  so 
happy  in  all  my  life." 

At" that,  the  celestial  expression  of 
her  pastoral  face,  and  the  maternal 
gesture  with  which  she  drew  her  pet's 
head  to  her  queenly  bosom,  was  a 
picture  for  celibacy  to  gnash  the 
teeth  at. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


81 


CHAPTER   IX. 

During  this  period,  the  most  re- 
markable tilings  that  happened  to 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Staines  were  really 
those  which  I  have  related  as  con- 
necting them  with  Phoebe  Dale  and 
her  brother ;  to  which  I  will  now 
add  that  Dr.  Staines  detailed  Dick's 
case  in  a  remarkable  paper,  entitled 
tE/lcnia  of  the  Glottis,  and  showed 
how  the  patient  had  been  brought 
back  from  the  grave  by  tracheotomy 
and  artificial  respiration.  He  re- 
ceived a  high  price  for  this  article. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  careful 
not  to  admit  that  it  was  he  who  had 
opened  the  windpipe  ;  so  the  credit 
of  the  whole  operation  was  ^iven  to 
Mr.  Jenkyu ;  and  this  gentleman 
was  naturally  pleased,  and  threw  a 
good  many  consultation  fees  in 
Staines's  way. 

The  Lucases,  to  his  great  com- 
fort—  for  he  had  an  instinctive  aver- 
sion to  Miss  Lucas  —  left  London 
for  Paris  in  August,  and  did  not 
return  all  the  year. 

In  February  he  reviewed  his  year's 
work  and  twelve  months'  residence 
in  the  Bijou.  The  pecuniary  result 
was  —  outgoings,  £950;  income, 
from  fees,  .£'280  ;  writing,  .£90. 

He  showed  these  figures  to  Mrs. 
Staines,  and  asked  her  if  she  could 
suggest  any  diminution  of  expendi- 
ture. Could  she  do  with  less  house- 
keeping money  ? 

"Oli,  impossible!  You  cannot 
think  how  the  servants  eat;  and 
they  won't  touch  our  home-made 
bread." 

"  The  fools  !  Why  7  " 

"  Oh  !  because  they  think  it  costs 
us  less.  Servants  Beem  to  me  al- 
ways to  hate  the  people  whose  bread 

they  eat." 

"  More  likely  it  is  their  vanity. 
Nothing  that  isnol  paid  before  their 
eyes  seems  good  enough  for  them. 
Well,  dear,  the   bakers   will   revenue 

us.     I'.ui  is  there  any  other  item  we 
eould  reduce  !     Dress  !  " 

"  Dre.^.s !   Why,  I  spend  nothing."  I 


"  Forty-five  pounds  this  year." 

"  Well,  I  shall  want  none  next 
year." 

"  Well,  then,  Rosa,  as  there  is 
nothing  we  can  reduce,  I  must  write 
more,  and  take  more  fees,  or  we 
shall  be  in  the  wrong  box.  Only 
£860  left  of  our  little  capital ;  and, 
mind,  we  have  not  another  shilling 
in  the  world.  One  comfort,  there  is 
no  debt.  We  pay  ready  money  for 
every  thing." 

Rosa  colored  a  little,  but  said 
nothing. 

Staines  did  his  part  nobly.  He 
read  ;  he  wrote  ;  he  paced  the  yard  ; 
he  wore  his  old  clothes  in  the  house. 
He  took  off  his  new  ones  when  he 
came  in.  He  was  all  genius,  drudg- 
ery, patience. 

How  Phoebe  Dale  would  have 
valued  him,  co-operated  with  him, 
and  petted  him,  if  she  had  had  the 
good  luck  to  be  his  wile  ! 

The  season  came  back,  and  with 

it  Miss  Lucas,  towing  a  biilliaitt 
bride,  Mrs.  Vivian,  young,  rich, 
pretty,  and  gay,  with  a  waist  you 
could  span,  and  a  thirst  for  pleasure. 

This  lady  was  the  first  that  ever 
made  Rosa  downright  jealous.  She 
seemed  to  have  every  thing  the  fe- 
male heart  could  desire ;  and  she 
was  No.  1  with  Miss  Lucas  this  year. 
Now,  Rosa  was  No.  1  last  season, 
and  had  weakly  imagined  that  was 
t<>  lastforever.  But  Miss  Lucas  had 
always  a  sort  of  female  flame,  and 
it  never  lasted  two  seasons. 

l{os:l  did  not  care  so  very  much 
for  Miss  Lucas  before,  except  as  a 
convenient  friend  ;  but  now  she  was 
mortified  to  tears  at  finding  Miss 
Lncafl  made  more  fuss  with  another 
than  with  her. 

This  foolish  feeling  spurred  her 
to  attempt  a  rivalry  with  Mrs.  Vivi- 
an in  the  very   things  where  rivalry 

was  hopeless. 

Miss  Lucas  gaVe  both  ladies  tick- 
ets tor  a  Sower-show,  where  all  the 

grcal  folk  were  to  be,  princes  and 
priiiccs-es,  &c. 


82 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"But  I  have  nothing  to  wear," 
sighed  Rosa. 

"  Then  you  must  get  something, 
and  mind  it  is  not  pink,  please  ;  for 
we  must  not  clash  in  color.  You 
know  I'm  dark,  and  pink  becomes 
me."  (The  selfish  young  brute  was 
not  half  as  dark  as  Rosa.)  "  Mine 
is  coming  from  Worth's,  in  Paris, 
on  purpose.  And  this  new  Madam 
Cie,  of  Regent  Street,  has  such  a 
duck  of  a  bonnet,  just  come  from 
Paris.  She  wanted  to  make  me  one 
from  it ;  but  I  told  her  I  would  have 
none  but  the  pattern  bonnet  —  and 
she  knows  very  well  she  can't  pass 
a  copy  off  on  me.  Let  me  drive 
you  up  there,  and  you  can  see  mine, 
ami  order  one  if  you  like  it." 

"Oh,  thank  you  !  let  me  just  run 
and  speak  to  my  husband  first." 

Staines  was  writing  for  the  bare 
life,  and  a  number  of  German  books 
about  him,  slaving  to  make  a  few 
pounds,  when  in  comes  the  buoyant 
figure  and  beaming  face  his  soul 
delighted  in. 

He  laid  down  his  work,  to  enjoy 
the  sunbeam  of  love. 

"  0  darling !  I've  only  come  in 
for  a  minute.  We  are  going  to  a 
flower-show  on  the  13th;  every- 
body will  be  so  beautifully  dressed 
—  especially  that  Mrs.  Vivian.  I 
have  got  ten  yards  of  beautiful  blue 
silk  in  my  wardrobe,  but  that  is  not 
enough  to  make  a  whole  dress. 
Every  thing  takes  so  much  stuff 
now.  Madame  Cie  does  not  care  to 
make  tip  dresses  unless  she  finds 
the  silk,  but  Miss  Lucas  says  she 
thinks,  to  oblige  a  friend  of  hers, 
she  would  do  it  for  once  in  a  way. 
You  know,  dear,  it  would  only  take 
a  few  yards  more,  and  it  would  last 
as  a  dinner-dress  for  ever  so  long." 
Then  she  clasped  him  round  the 
neck,  and  leaned  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  looked  lovingly  up 
into  his  face.  "I  know  you  would 
like  your  Rosa  to  look  as  well  as 
Mrs.  Vivian." 

"  No  one  ever  looks  as  well  —  in 
my  eyes  —  as  my  Rosa.     There,  the 


dress  will  add  nothing  to  your 
beauty;  but  go  and  get  it,  to  pfeasa 
yourself:  it  is  very  considerate  of 
you  to  have  chosen  something  of 
which  you  have  ten  yards  already. 
See,  dear,  I'm  to  receive  twenry 
pounds  for  this  article;  if  research 
was  paid,  it  ought  to  be  a  hundred. 
I  shall  add  it  all  to  your  allowance 
for  dresses  this  year.  So  no  debt, 
mind ;  but  come  to  me  for  every- 
thing." 

The  two  ladies  drove  off  to  Mad- 
ame Cie's,  a  pretty  shop,  lined  with 
dark  velvet  and  lace  draperies. 

In  the  back  room  they  were  pack- 
ing a  lovely  bridal  dress,  going  off, 
the  following  Saturday,  to  New 
York. 

"  What !  send  from  America  to 
London ! " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Mad- 
ame Cie.  "  The  American  ladies 
are  excellent  customers.  They  buy 
every  thing  of  the  best  and  the"  most 
expensive." 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  new  cus- 
tomer," said  Miss  Lucas ;  "  and  I 
want  you  to  do  a  great  favor,  and 
that  is  to  match  a  blue  silk,  and 
make  her  a  pretty  dress  for  the 
flower-show  on  the  13th." 

Madame  Cie  produced  a  white 
muslin  polonaise,  which  she  was  just 
going  to  send  home  to  the  Princess 

,  to  be  worn  over  mauve. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  and  simple ! " 
exclaimed  Miss  Lucas. 

"  I  have  some  lace  exactly  like 
that,"  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  have  a 
polonaise  ?  The  lace  is  the  only  ex- 
pensive part,  the  muslin  is  a  mere 
nothing: ;  and  it  is  such  a  useful 
dress,  it  can  be  worn  over  any  silk." 
It  was  agreed  Madame  Cie  was 
to  send  for  the  blue  silk  and  the 
lace,  and  the  dresses  were  to  be  tried 
on  on  Thursday. 

On  Thursday,  as  Rosa  went 
gayly  into  Madame  Cie's  back 
room  to  have  the  dresses  tried  on, 
Madame  Cie  said, "  You  have  a 
beautiful  lace  shawl,  but    it    wants 


A   SIMPLETON. 


83 


arranging :  in  five  minutes  I  could 
astonish  you  with  what  I  could  do 
to  that  shawl." 

"  Oh,  pray  do ! "  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

The  dress-maker  kept  her  word. 
By  the  time  the  hlue  dress  was  tried 
on,  Madame  Cie  had,  with  the  aid  of" 
a  few  pins,  plaits,  and  a  bow  of  hlue 
ribbon,  transformed  the  half-lace 
shawl  into  one  of  the  smartest  and 
most  clistiniptc  tilings  imaginable; 
but  when  the  bill  came  in  at  Christ- 
mas for  that  five  minutes'  labor 
and  distinrjiie'touch,  she  charged  one 
pound  eight. 

Before  they  left,  Mrs.  Staines 
ordered  a  bonnet  like  the  pattern 
bonnet  from  Paris;  and  Madame 
Cie,  with  oily  tongue,  persuaded  her 
to  let  her  send  home  the  pink  bon- 
net, which  was  so  becoming  to  her; 
it  was  only  slightly  soiled,  and  there 
were  certainly  two  good  wears  out 
of  it,  and  they  would  not  quarrel 
about  the  price,  which  the  Simple- 
ton understood  to  mean  the  price 
was  to  be  small;  whereas  it  meant 
this,  "  I,  in  my  brutal  egotism,  can- 
not conceive  that  you  object  to  any 
price  I  charge,  however  high/' 

Madame  Cie  then  told  the  ladies, 
in  an  artfully  confidential  tone,  she 
had  a  quantity  of  black  silk  coming 
home,  which  she  had  purchased  con- 
siderably below  cost  price  ;  and  that 
she  should  like  to  make  them  each  a 
dress  —  not  for  her  own  sake,  but 
theirs — as  she  knew  they  would 
never  meet  such  a  hargain  again. 

"  You  know,  Miss  Lucas,"  she 
continued,  "we  don't  want  our 
money  when  we  know  our  customer. 
Christmas  is  soon  enough  for  us." 

"Christmas  is  a  long  time  off," 
thought  the  young  wife,  "nearly 
tin  months.  I  think  I'll  have  a 
black  dre->,  Madame  Cie;  but  I 
must  not  say  any  thing  to  the  doc- 
tor about  it  just    yet,    or  he  might 

think  me  extravagant." 

"  No  one  can  ever  think  a  lady 
extravagant  for  buying  a  black 
silk  ;  it's  such  a  useful  dress  ;  lasts 
forever  —  almost." 


Days,  weeks,  and  months  rolled 
on,  and  with  them  an  ever-rolling 
tide  of  flower-shows,  dinners,  at- 
homes,  balls,  operas,  lawn-parties, 
concerts,  and  theatres. 

Strange  that  in  one  house  there 
should  be  two  people  who  loved 
each  other,  yet  their  lives  ran  so 
far  apart,  except  while  they  wcra 
asleep:  the  man  all  industry,  self- 
denial,  patience;  the  woman  all  frivo- 
lity, self-indulgence,  and  amusement ; 
both  chained  to  an  oar,  only  one  in 
a  working-boat,  the  other  in  a 
painted  galley. 

The  woman  got  tired  first,  and 
her  charming  color  waned  sadly. 
She  came  to  him  lor  medicine  to 
set  her  up.     "  I  feel  so  languid  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  he ;  "  no  medi- 
cine can  do  the  work  of  wholesome 
food  and  rational  repose.  You 
lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 
Dine  at  home  three  days  running, 
and  go  to  bed  at  ten." 

On  this  the  doctor's  wife  went  to 
a  chemist  for  advice.  He  gave  her 
a  pink  stimulant ;  and,  as  stimulants 
have  two  effects,  viz.,  first,  to  stim- 
ulate, and  then  to  weaken,  this  did 
her  no  lasting  j;ood.  Doctor  Staines 
cursed  the  London  season,  and 
threatened  to  migrate  to  Liver- 
pool. 

But  there  was  worse  behind. 

P»cturnin<;  one  day  to  his  drcss- 
ing-room,  just  alter  Rosa  had  come 

down  stairs,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
red  stain  in  a  washhand-basin.  He 
examined  it  ;   it  was  arterial  blood. 

He  went  to  her  directly,  and  ex- 
pressed his  anxiety. 

"  <  )h,  it  is  nothing  !  "  said  she. 

"Nothing!  Pray  how  often  has 
it  occurred  !  " 

"  Once  or  twice.  I  must  take 
vour  advice,  and  be  quiet,  that  is 
all." 

Staines  examined  the  house- 
maid ;  she  lied  instinctively  at  first, 
seeing  he  was  alarmed  ;  but,  being 
urged  to  tell  the  truth,  said  she  had 
seen  it  repeatedly,  and  had  to'.d  tho 
cook. 


84 


A  SIMPLETON-. 


He  went  down  stairs,  and  sat 
down,  looking  wretched. 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Kosa.  "  What 
is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Rosa,"  said  he  very  gravely, 
"  there  are  two  people  a  woman  is 
mad  to  deceive,  —  her  husband  and 
her  physician.  You  have  deceived 
both." 

I  suspect  Dr.  Staines  merely 
meant  to  say  that  she  had  concealed 
from  him  an  alarming  symptom  for 
several  weeks ;  but  she  answered  in 
a  hurry,  to  excuse  herself,  and  let 
the  cat  out  of  the  bag  —  excuse  my 
vulgarity. 

"It  was  all  that  Mrs.  Vivian's 
fault.  She  laughed  at  me  so  for  not 
wearing  them  ;  and  she  has  a  waist 
you  can  span  —  the  wretch  !  " 

"  Oh !  then,  you  have  been  wear- 
ing stays  clandestinely  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  know  I  have.  Oh, 
what  a  stupid!  I  have  let  it  all 
out." 

"  How  could  you  do  it,  when  you 
know,  by  experience,  it  is  your 
death  ?  " 

"  But  it  looks  so  beautiful  —  a 
tiny  waist." 

"  It  looks  as  hideous  as  a  Chinese 
foot,  and,  to  the  eye  of  science,  far 
more  disgusting;  it  is  the  cause  of 
so  many  nasty  diseases." 

"  Just  tell  me  one  thing.  Have 
you  looked  at  Mrs.  Vivian  ?  " 

"  Minutely.  I  look  at  all  your 
friends  —  with  great  anxiety,  know- 
ing no  animal  more  dangerous  than 
a  fool.  Vivian  —  a  skinny  woman, 
with  a  pretty  face,  lovely  hair,  good 
teeth,  dying  eyes  —  yes,  lovely.  A 
sure  proof  of  a  disordered  stomach 
—  and  a  waist  pinched  in  so  unatur- 
ally,  that  I  said  ^o  myself,  '  Where 
on  earth  does  this  idiot  put  her 
liver  1 '  Did  you  ever  read  of  the 
frog  who  burst  trying  to  swell  to  an 
ox  ?  Well,  here  is  the  rivalry  re- 
versed. Mrs.  Vivian  is  a  bag  of 
bones  in  a  balloon  ;  she  can  machine 
herself  into  a  wasp  ;  but  a  fine  young 
woman  like  you,  with  flesh  and 
muscle,  must  kill  yourself  three  or 


four  times  before  you  can  make  your 
body  as  meagre,  hideous,  angular, 
and  unnatural  as  Vivian's.  But  all 
you  ladies  are  monomaniacs.  One 
might  as  well  offer  the  truth  to  a 
gorilla.  It  brought  you  to  the  edge 
of  the  grave.  I  saved  you.  Yet  you 
could  go  and  —  God  grant  me 
patience  !  So  I  suppose  these  un- 
principled women  lent  you  their 
stays,  to  deceive  your  husband  ?  " 

"  No.  But  they  laugh  at  me  so 
that  —  O  Christie  !  I'm  a  wretch  ; 
I  kept  a  pair  at  the  Lucases',  and  a 
pair  at  Madame  Cie's,  and  I  put 
them  on  now  and  then." 

"  But  you  never  appeared  here  in 
them  " 

"  What,  before  my  tyrant  ?  Oh, 
no,  I  dared  not !  " 

"  So  you  took  them  off  before  you 
came  home  ? " 

Rosa  hung  her  head,  and  said, 
"  Yes,"  in  a  reluctant  whisper. 

"  You  spent  your  daylight  dress- 
ing^ You  dressed  to  go  out ;  dressed 
again  in  stays ;  dressed  again  without 
them ;  and  all  to  deceive  your  hus- 
band, and  kill  yourself,  at  the  bid- 
ding of  two  shallow,  heartless  wom- 
en, who  would  dance  over  your 
grave  without  a  pang  of  remorse,  or 
sentiment  of  any  kind,  since  they 
live,  like  midges,  only  to  dance  in  the 
sun,  and  suck  some  worker's  blood!  " 
"  0  Christie  !  I'm  so  easily  led, 
I  am  too  great  a  fool  to  live.  Kill 
me!" 

And  she  kneeled  down,  and  re- 
newed the  request,  looking  up  in  his 
face  with  an  expression  that  might 
have  disarmed  Cain  ipsum. 

He  smiled  superior.  "  The  ques- 
tion is,  Are  you  sorry  you  have  been 
so  naughty  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear.     Oh  !  oh  !  " 
"  Will  you  be  very  good,  to  make 
up?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Only  tell  me  how,  for 
it  does  not  come  natural  to  poor 
me." 

"  Keep  out  of  those  women's  way 
for  the  rest  of  the  season." 
"  I  will." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


85 


"  Bring  your  stays  home,  and 
allow  mc  to  do  what  I  like  with 
them." 

"  Of  course.  Cut  them  in  a  mil- 
lion pieces." 

"  Till  you  are  recovered  you  must 
be  my  patient,  and  go  nowhere  with- 
out me." 

"  That  is  no  punishment,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Punishment !  Am  I  the  man 
to  punish  you  1  I  only  want  to 
save  you." 

'•  Well,  darling,  it  won't  be  the 
first  time." 

"  No  ;  but  I  do  hope  it  will  be  the 
last." 


CHAPTER  X. 

Sublata  causa  tollitur  effectus.  The 
stays  being  gone,  and  dissipation 
moderated,  Mrs.  Staines  bloomed 
again,  and  they  gave  one  or  two 
unpretending  little  dinners  at  the 
Bijou.  Dr.  Staines  admitted  no 
false  friends  to  these.  They  never 
went  beyond  eight;  five  gentlemen, 
three  ladies.  By  this  arrangement 
the  terrible  discursiveness  of  the  fair, 
and  man's  cruel  disposition  to  work 
a  subject  threadbare,  were  controlled 
and  modified,  and  a  happy  balance 
of  conversation  established.  Lady 
Cicely  Treherne  was  always  invited, 
and  always  managed  to  come ;  for 
she  said,  "They  were  the  most  ag- 
weeable  little  paaticsin  London,  and 
the  host  and  hostess  both  bo  intewest- 
ing."  In  the  autumn  Staines 
worked  double  tides  with  the  pen, 
and  found  a  vehicle  for  medical  nar- 
ratives id  a  weekly  magazine  that  did 
not  profess  medicine. 

This  new  vein  put  him  in  heart. 
His  fees,  toward  the  end  of  the  year, 
were  less  than  last  year,  because 
there  was  DO  hundred  guinea  fee; 
but  there  was  a  marked  increase  in 
the  small  fees,  and  the  Unflagging 
pen  had  actually  earned  him  £200, 
or  nearly.    So  be  was  in  good  spirits, 

a 


Not  so  Mrs.  Staines ;  for  some 
time  she  had  been  uneasy,  fretful, 
and  like  a  person  with  a  weight  on 
her  mind. 

One  Sunday  she  said  to  him,  "  Oh, 
dear,  I  do  feel  so  dull !  Nobody  to 
go  to  church  with  me,  nor  yet  to  the 
Zoo." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Staines. 

"  You  will  ?     To  which  ?  " 

"  To  both :  in  for  a  penny,  in  for 
a  pound." 

So  to  church  they  went;  and 
Staines,  whose  motto  was  "  Hoc 
age,"  minded  his  book.  Rosa  had 
some  intervals  of  attention  to  the 
words,  but  found  plenty  of  time  to 
study  the  costumes. 

During  the  Litany  in  bustled 
Clara,  the  housemaid,  with  a  white 
jacket  on  so  like  her  mistress's  that 
Rosa  clutehed  her  own  convulsively 
to  see  whether  she  had  not  been 
skinned  of  it  by  some  devilish  sleight 
of  hand. 

No,  it  was  on  her  back;  but 
Clara's  was  identical. 

In  her  excitement  Rosa  pinched 
Staines,  and  with  her  nose,  that 
went  like  a  water-wagtail,  pointed 
out  the  malefactor.  Then  she  whis- 
pered, "  Look  !  How  dare  she  ? 
My  very  jacket !  Ear-rings  too,  and 
brooches,  aud  dresses  her  hair  like 
mine." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  whispered 
Staines.  "  Sunday  is  her  day.  AVe 
have  got  all  the  week  to  shine. 
There,  don't  look  at  her.  'From 
all  evil  Speaking,  lying,  and  slan- 
dering'"— 

"  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  off  her." 

"Attend  to  the  Litany.  Do  you 
know,  this  is  really  a  beautiful  com- 
position !  " 

"  I'd  rather  do  the  work  fifty  times 
over  myself." 

"  Bush!  people  will  hear  you." 

When  they  walked  home,  after 
church,  Staines  tried  to  divert  her 
from  the  consideration  of  her 
wrongs;  but  no  —  all  other  topics 
were  too  flat  by  comparison. 

She  'mourned    the    hard    fate   of 


8G 


A  SIMPLETON. 


mistresses  —  unfortunate  creatures 
that  could  not  do  without  servants. 

"  Is  not  that  a  confession  that  ser- 
vants are  good,  useful  creatures, 
with  all  their  faults  ?  Then,  as  to 
the  mania  for  dress,  why,  that  is  not 
confined  to  them.  It  is  the  mania 
of  the  sex.     Are  you  free  from  it  1  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.  But  I  am  a 
lady." 

"  Then  she  is  your  intellectual 
inferior,  and  more  excusable.  Any 
way,  it  is  wise  to  connive  at  a  thing 
we  can't  help." 

"  What,  keep  her,  after  this  1  —  no, 
never." 

"  My  dear,  pray  do  not  send  her 
away,  for  she  is  tidy  in  the  house, 
and  quick,  and  better  than  any  one 
we  have  had  this  last  six  months ; 
and  you  know  you  have  tried  a  great 
number." 

"  To  hear  you  speak,  one  would 
think  it  was  my  fault  that  we  have 
so  many  bad  servants." 

"I  never  said  it  was  your  fault ; 
hut  I  think,  dearest,  a  little  more  for- 
bearance in  trifles  "  — 

"  Trifles  !  trifles  —  for  a  mistress 
and  maid  to  be  seen  dressed  alike  in 
the  same  church  1  You  take  the 
servant's  part  against  me,  that  you 
do." 

"  You  should  not  say  that,  even  in 
jest.  Come  now,  do  you  really 
think  a  jacket  like  yours  can  make 
the  servant  look  like  you,  or  detract 
from  your  grace  and  beauty  1  There 
is  a  very  simple  way :  put  your 
jacket  by  for  a  future  occasion,  and 
wear  something  else  in  its  stead  at 
church." 

"  A  nice  thing,  indeed,  to  give  in 
to  these  creatures !     I  won't  do  it." 

"  Why  won't  you,  this  once  ?  " 

"  Because  I  won't  —  there  !  " 

"That  is  unanswerable,"  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  that,  but,  when 
it  came  to  acting,  she  deferred  to  her 
husband's  wish  ;  she  resigned  her  in- 
tention of  sending  for  Clara  and  giv- 
ing her  warning  ;  on  the  contrary, 
when  Clara  let  her  in,  and  the  white 
jackets  rubbed  together  in  the  nar- 


row passage,  she  actually  said  noth- 
ing, but  stalked  to  her  own  room, 
and  tore  her  jacket  off,  and  flung  it 
on  the  floor. 

Unfortunately,  she  was  so  long 
dressing  for  the  Zoo,  that  Clara 
came  in  to  arrange  the  room.  She 
picks  up  the  white  jacket,  takes  it  in 
both  hands,  gives  it  a  flap,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  hang  it  up  in  the  wardrobe. 

Then  the  great  feminine  heart 
burst  its  bounds. 

"  You  can  leave  that  alone.  I 
shall  not  wear  that  again." 

Thereupon  ensued  an  uneven  en- 
counter, Clara  being  one  of  those  of 
whom  Scripture  says,  "  The  poison 
of  asps  is  under  their  tongues." 

"La,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "why, 
t'ain't  so  very  dirty." 

"  No  ;  but  it  is  too  common." 

"  Oh  !  because  I've  got  one  like  it. 
Ay,  missises  can't  abide  a  good- 
looking  servant,  nor  to  see  'em 
dressed  becoming." 

"Mistresses  do  not  like  servants 
to  forget  their  place,  nor  wear  what 
does  not  become  their  situation." 

My  situation  !  Why,  I  can  pay 
my  way,  go  where  I  will.  I  don't 
tremble  at  the  tradesman's  knock, 
as  some  do." 

"  Leave  the  room  !  Leave  it  this 
moment." 

"  Leave  the  room,  yes  —  and  I'll 
leave  the  house  too,  and  tell  all  the 
neighbors  what  I  know  about  it." 

She  flounced  out,  and  slammed 
the  door,  and  Kosa  sat  down,  trem- 
bling. 

Clara  rushed  to  the  kitchen,  and 
there  told  the  cook  and  Andrew 
Pearman  how  she  had  given  it  to  the 
mistress,  and  every  word  she  had 
said  to  her,  with  a  good  many  more 
she  had  not. 

The  cook  laughed,  and  encour- 
aged her. 

But  Andrew  Pearman  was  wroth, 
and  said,  "  You  to  affront  our  mis- 
tress like  that !  Why,  if  I  had 
heard  you,  I'd  ha^e  twisted  your 
neck  for  ye." 

"  It  would  take  a  better  man  than 


A   SIMPLETON. 


87 


you  to  do  that.  You  mind  your 
"own  business.  Stick  to  your  one- 
horse  shay." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  above  my  place, 
for  that  matter.  But  you  gals  must 
always  be  aping  your  betters." 

"  1  have  got  proper  pride,  that  is 
all,  and  you  haven't.  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  do  two 
men's  work,  —  drive  a  brougham 
and  wait  on  a  horse,  and  then  come 
in  and  wait  at  table.  You  are  a 
tea-kettle  groom,  that  is  what  you 
are.  Why,  my  brother  was  coach- 
man to  Lord  Fitz-James,  and  gave 
his  lordship  notice  the  first  time  he 
had  to  drive  the  children.  Says  he, 
'  I  don't  object  to  the  children,  my 
lord,  but  with  her*  ladyship  in  the 
carriage.'  It's  such  servants  as  you 
as  spoil  places.  No  servant  as 
knows  what's  due  to  a  servant 
ought  to  know  you.  They'd  scorn 
your  'quaintance,  as  I  do,  Mr. 
Pcarman." 

"  You  are  a  stuck-up  hussy  and  a 
soldier's  jade,"  roared  Andrew. 

"And  you  arc  a  low  tea-kettle 
groom." 

This  expression  wounded  the 
great  equestrian  heart  to  the  quick  ; 
the  rest  of  Sunday  he  pondered  on 
it.  The  next  morning  lie  drove  the 
doe! or  as  usual,  but  with  a  very 
heavy  soul. 

Meantime  the  cook  made  haste 
and  told  the  baker,  Pcarman  had 
"got  it  hot"  from  the  housemaid, 
and  she  had  called  him  a  tea-kettle 
groom  ;  and  in  Less  than  half  an 
hour  after  that  it  was  in  every  sta- 
ble in  the  mews  Why,  as  Pearman 
was  taking  the  horse  out  of  the 
brougham,  didn't  two  little  red- 
headed urchins  call  out,  "  Here, 
come  ami  see  the  tea-kettle  groom  I " 

and  at  night  some  mischievous  boy 
chalked  on  the  black  door  of  the 
Stable  a  lar^e  white  tea-kettle,  and 
next  morning  a  drunken, idle  fellow, 
with  a  <lay  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and 
a  dirty  pair  of  corduroy  browsers, 
no  coat,  but  a  shirt  very  open  at  the 
chest,  showing   iutlamcd   skin,    the 


effect  of  drink,  inspected  that  work 
of  art  with  blinking  eyes  and  vacil- 
lating toes,  and  said,  "  This  comes 
of  a  chap  doing  too  much.  A  few 
more  like  you  and  work  would  be 
scarce.  A  fine  thing  for  gentlefolks 
to  make  one  man  fill  two  places  ! 
but  it  ain't  the  gentlefolks'  fault,  it's 
the  man  as  humors  'em." 

Pearman  was  a  peaceable  man, 
and  made  no  reply,  but  went  on 
with  his  work,  only  during  the  day 
he  told  his  master  that  he  should  be 
obliged  to  him  if  he  would  fill  his 
situation  as  soon  as  convenient. 
The  master  inquired  the  cause ;  and 
the  mau  told  him,  and  said  the 
mews  was  too  hot  for  him. 

The  doctor  offered  him  five  pounds 
a  year  more,  knowing  he  had  a 
treasure  ;  but  Pearman  said,  with 
sadness  and  firmness,  that  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and  go  he 
would. 

The  doctor's  heart  fairly  sank  at 
the  prospect  of  losing  the  one  crea- 
ture he  could  depend  upon. 

Next  Sunday  evening  Clara  was 
out,  and  fell  in  with  friends,  to  whom 
she  exaggerated  her  grievance. 

Then  they  worked  her  up  to 
fury,  after  the.  manner  of  servants' 
friends.  She  came  home,  packed 
her  box,  brought  it  down,  and  then 
flounced  into  the  room  to  I)oet*.r 
and  Mrs.  Staines,  and  said,"  I  sha'n't 
Bleep  another  night  in  this  house." 

Rosa  was  about  to  speak,  bnt  Hr. 
Staines  forbade  her  :  he  said,  "  You 
had  better  think  twice  of  t.at.  You 
arc  a  good  servant,  though'  for 
once  you  have  been  betrayed  into 
speaking  disrespectfully.  Why  for- 
feit your  character  and  three  weeks' 
wages  1 " 

"  I  don't  care  for  my  wages.  I 
won't  stay  in  such  a  house  as  this." 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  imper- 
tinent." 

"I  don't  mean  to,  sir,"  said  she, 
lowering  her  voice  suddenly  ;  then, 
raising  it  as  suddenly,  "There  are 
my  key-,  ma'am,  and  you  can  search 

my  box." 


88 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  Mrs.  Staines  will  not  search 
your  box;  mid  you  will  retire  at 
once  to  your  own  part  of  the  house." 

'•  I'll  go  farther  than  that,"  said 
she,  and  soon  after  the  street-door 
was  slammed  ;  the  Bijou  shook. 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning  she 
came  for  her  box.  It  had  heen  put 
away  for  safety.  Pearman  told  her 
she  must  wait  till  the  doctor  came 
down.  She  did  not  wait,  but  went 
at  eleven, a.m.,  to  a  police  magistrate, 
and  took  out  a  summons  against 
])r.  Staines,  for  detaining  a  box 
containing  certain  articles  specified 
—  value  under  fifteen  pounds. 

When  Dr.  Staines  heard  she  had 
been  for  her  box,  but  left  no  address, 
he  sent  Pearman  to  hunt  for  her. 
lie  could  not  find  her.  She  avoided 
the  house,  but  sent  a  woman  for 
her  diumal  love-letters.  Dr.  Staines 
sent  the  woman  back  to  fetch  her. 
She  came,  received  her  box,  her 
letters,  and  the  balance  of  her  wages, 
which  was  small,  for  Staines  deducted 
the  three  weeks'  wages. 

Two  days  afterward,  to  his  sur- 
prise, the  summons  was  served. 

Out  of  respect  for  a  court  of  jus- 
tice, however  humble,  Dr.  Staines 
attended  next  Monday,  to  meet  the 
summons. 

The  magistrate  was  an  elderly 
man,  with  a  face  shaped  like  a  hog's, 
but  much  richer  in  color,  being  pur- 
ple and  pimply :  so  foul  a  visage 
Staines  had  rarely  seen,  even  in  the 
lowest  class  of  the  community. 

Clara  swore  that  her  box  had  been 
opened,  and  certain  things  stolen 
out  of  it ;  and  that  she  had  been 
refused  the  box  next  morning. 

Staines  swore  that  he  had  never 
opened  the  box,  and  that  if  any  one 
else  had,  it  was  with  her  consent, 
for  she  had  left  the  keys  for  that 
purpose.  He  bade  the  magistrate 
observe,  that  if  a  servant  went  away 
like  this,  and  left  no  address,  she 
put  it  out  of  the  master's  power  to 
send  her  box  after  her;  and  he 
proved  he  had  some  trouble  to  force 
the  box  on  her. 


The  pig-faced  beak  showed  a 
manifest  leaning  toward  the  ser- 
vant ;  but  there  wasn't  a  leg  to 
stand  on ;  and  he  did  uot  believe, 
nor  was  it  credible,  that  any  thing 
had  been  stolen  out  of  her  box. 

At  this  moment  Pearman,  sent 
by  Rosa,  entered  the  court  with  an 
old  gown  of  Clara's  that  had  been 
discovered  in  the  scullery,  and  a 
scribbling-book  of  the  doctor's, 
which  Clara  had  appropriated  and 
written  amorous  verses  in,  very 
superior  —  in  number  —  to  those 
that  have  come  down  to  us  from 
Anacreon. 

"  Hand  me  those,"  said  the  pig- 
faced  beak.  "  What  are  they,  Dr. 
Staines  1 " 

"  I  really  don't  know.  I  must 
ask  my  servant." 

"  Why,  more  things  of  mine  that 
have  been  detained,"  said  Clara. 

"  Some  things  that  have  been 
found  since  she  left,"  said  Staines. 

"  Oh  !  those  that  hide  know  where 
to  find." 

"  Young  woman,"  said  Staines, 
do  not  insult  those  whose  bread  you 
have  eaten,  and  who  have  given  you 
many  presents  besides  your  wages. 
Since  you  are  so  ready  to  accuse 
people  of  stealing,  permit  me  to  say, 
that  this  book  is  mine,  and  not 
yours;  and  yet,  you  see,  it  is  sent 
after  you  because  you  have  written 
your  trash  in  it." 

The  purple,  pig-faced  beak  went 
instantly  out  of  the  record,  and 
wasted  a  great  deal  of  time  reading 
Clara's  poetry,  and  trying  to  be 
witty.  He  raised  the  question 
whose  book  this  was.  The  girl 
swore  it  was  given  her  by  a  lady 
who  was  now  in  Pome.  Staines 
swore  he  bought  it  of  a  certain  sta- 
tioner, and,  happening  to  have  his 
pass-book  in  his  pocket,  produced 
an  entry  corresponding  with  the 
date  of  the  book. 

The  pig-faced  beak  said  that  the 
doctor's  was  an  improbable  story, 
and  that  the  gown  and  the  book 
were  quite  enough  to   justify   the 


A  SIMPLETON. 


89 


summons.      Verdict,    one    guinea 
costs. 

"  What,  because  two  things  she 
never  demanded  have  been  found 
and  sent  after  her?  This  is  mon- 
strous. I  shall  appeal  to  your  supe- 
riors." 

"  If  you  are  impertinent,  I'll  fine 
you  five  pounds." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Now  hear  me  : 
if  this  is  an  honest  judgment,  I 
pray  God  I  may  be  dead  before  the 
year's  out ;  and  if  it  isn't,  I  pray 
God  yo.i  may  be." 

Then  the  pig-laced  beak  fired  up, 
and  threatened  to  fine  him  tor  blas- 
pheming. 

He  deigned  no  reply,  but  paid  the 
guinea,  and  Clara  swept  out  of  the 
court  with  a  train  a  yard  long,  and 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  scarlet  sol- 
di t,  who  avenged  Dr.  Staines  with 
military  promptitude. 

Christopher  went  home  raging 
internally,  for  hitherto  he  "had 
never  seen  so  gross  a  case  of  injustice. 

One  of  his  humble  patients  fol- 
lowed him,  and  said,  "1  wish  I  had 
known,  sir;  you  shouldn't  have 
come  here  to  he  insulted.  Why, 
no  gentleman  can  ever  get  justice 
against  a  servant-girl  when  //■■  is 
siiting.  It  is  notorious,  and  that 
makes  these  hussies  so  bold.  I've 
seen  that  jade  here  with  the  same 
story  twice  afore." 

Staines  reached  home  more  dis- 
composed than  he  could  have  him- 
self believed.  The  reason  was  that 
barefaced  injustice  in  a  court  of 
justice  shook  his  whole  faith  in 
man.  He  opened  the  street-door 
with  his  latch-key,  and  found  two 
men  standing  in  the  passage,  lie 
inquired  what  they  wanted. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  one  of  them 
civilly  enough,  "  we  only  want  our 
due. 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  For    goods    delivered    at    this 
boose,    sir.     Balance   of  account."  i 
And    he    handed    him   a    butcher's 
bill,  .£S8  ll.v.  5W. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken ;  we  run  / 
a* 


no  bills  here.     We  pay  ready  money 
for  every  thing." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  butcher* 
"there  have  been  payments;  but 
the  balance  has  always  been  gain- 
ing; and  we  have  been  put  oil'  so 
often,  we  determined  to  see  the  mas- 
ter. Show  you  the  books,  sir,  and 
welcome." 

"  This  instant,  if  you  please." 
He  took  the  butcher's  address,  who 
then  retired,  and  the  other  trades- 
man, a  grocer,  told  him  a  similar 
tale  ;  balance,  sixty  pounds  odd. 

He  went  to  the  butcher's,  sick  at 
heart,  inspected  the  books,  and  saw 
that,  right  or  wrong,  they  were 
incontrovertible ;  that  debt  had 
been  gaining  slowly  but  surely  al- 
most from  the  time  he  confided  the 
accounts  to  his  wife.  She  kept 
faith  with  him  about  five  weeks,  no 
more. 

The  grocer's  books  told  a  similar 
tale. 

The  debtor  put  his  hand  to  his 
heart,  and  stood  a  moment.  The 
very  grocer  pitied  him,  and  sai  I, 
"  Tin  re's  no  hurry,  doctor ;  a  tritle 
on  account,  if  settlement  in  full  is 
not  convenient  just  now.  I  see  you 
have  been  kept  in  the  dark." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Christopher ;  "  I'll 
pay  every  shilling."  He  gave  one 
gulp,  and  hurried  away. 

At  the  fishmonger's  the  same 
story,  only  for  a  smaller  amount. 

A  bill  of  nineteen  pounds  at  the 
very  pastry-cook's  ;  a  p  ace  she  had 
promised  him,  as  her  physician, 
never  to  enter. 

At  the  draper's,  thirty-seven 
pounds  odd. 

In  short,  wherever  she  bad  dealt, 
the  same  system.  —  partial  pay- 
ments, and  ever-growing  debt. 

Remembering  Madame  Cie,  he 
drove  in  a  cab  to  Regent  Street, 
and  asked  for  Mrs.  Staines's  ac- 
count. 

"  Shall  I  send  it,  sir  1 " 

"  No  :   I  will  take  it  with  me." 

"  Miss  Edwards,  make  out  Mrs. 
Staines's  account,  if  you  please." 


90 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Miss  Edwards  was  a  pood  while 
making  it  out ;  but  it  was  ready  at 
last.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket, 
without  daring  to  look  at  it  then ; 
but  he  went  into  Vcrrey's,  asked  for 
a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  pursued 
the  document. 

Mus.  Dr.  Staines, 

To  Madame  Cie,  Dr. 

£  s.  d. 

To  1  black  silk  costume 23    8  0 

To  1  costume  of  reseda  fallie,  with 

cashmere  polonaise 20  10  0 

To  1  bonnet  of  pink  velvet,  with 

plume 5    5  6 

To  making  trained  dress  of  blue 

gros  grain 5    0  0 

To  12  yards  of  gros  grain  for  do., 

with  trinmings 19    0  0 

To  draping  lace  shawl 8  0 

To  I  Sicilenne  Dolman 8    3  6 

To  1  round  hat  of  fallie  and  crape  4    0  0 

To  l  cashmere morningdress 8    5  0 

To  2  camisoles 3    2  6 

To  1  crinoline  bustle 16  0 

Total 99    8    6 

He  went  home,  and  into  his  studio, 
and  sat  down  on  his  hard  beech 
chair ;  he  looked  round  on  his  books 
and  his  work,  and  then,  for  the  first 
time,  remembered  how  long  and 
how  patiently  he  had  toiled  for  every 
hundred  pounds  he  had  made  ;  and 
he  laid  the  evidences  of  his  wife's 
profusion  and  deceit  by  the  side  of 
those  signs  of  painful  industry  and 
self-denial,  and  his  soul  rilled  with 
bitterness.     "  Deceit !     Deceit  !  " 

Mrs.  Staines  heard  he  was  in  the 
house,  and  came  to  know  about  the 
trial.  She  came  hurriedly  in,  and 
caught  him  with  his  head  on  the 
table,  in  an  attitude  of  prostration, 
quite  new  to  him ;  he  raised  his 
head  directly  he  heard  her,  and  re- 
vealed a  face  pale,  stern,  and  wretch- 
ed. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 
saiil  she 

"  The  matter  is  what  it  has  always 
been,  if  I  could  only  have  seen  it. 
You  have  deceived  me,  and  dis- 
graced yourself.  Look  at  those 
bills." 

"  What  bills  ?  —oh  !  " 

"  You  have  had  an  allowance  for 
housekeeping." 

"  It  wasn't  enough." 


"  It  was  plenty,  if  you  had  kept 
faith  with  me,  and  paid  ready  money. 
It  was  enough  for  the  first  five 
weeks.  I  am  housekeeper  now,  and 
I  shall  allow  myself  two  pounds  a 
week  less,  and  not  owe  a  shilling, 
either." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is,  I  couldn't 
do  it ;  no  woman  could." 

"  Then  you  should  have  come  to 
me  and  said  so  ;  and  I  should  have 
shown  you  how.  Was  I  in  Egypt, 
or  at  the  North  Pole,  that  you  could 
not  find  me,  and  treat  me  like  a 
friend  ?  You  have  ruined  us  ;  these 
debts  will  sweep  away  the  last  shil- 
ling of  our  little  capital ;  but  it  isn't 
that,  oh,  no  !  it  is  the  miserable  de- 
ceit." 

Rosa's  eye  caught  the  sum  total 
of  Madame  Cie's  bill,  and  she 
turned  pale.  "Oh,  what  a  cheat 
that  woman  is !  " 

But  she  turned  paler  when  Chris- 
topher said,  "  That  is  the  one  hon- 
est bill,  for  I  gave  you  leave.  It  is 
these  that  part  us ;  these ;  these. 
Look  at  them,  false  heart !  There, 
go  and  pack  up  your  things.  We 
can  live  here  no  longer :  we  are 
ruined.  I  must  send  you  back  to 
your  father." 

"  I  thought  you  would,  sooner  or 
later,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  panting, 
trembling,  but  showing  a  little 
fight.  "He  told  you  I  wasn't  fit  to 
be  a  poor  man's  wife." 

"  An  honest  man's  wife,  you 
mean  :  that  is  what  you  are  not  fit 
for.  You  shall  go  home  to  your 
father,  and  I  shall  go  into  some  hum- 
ble lodging  to  work  for  you.  I'll 
contrive  to  keep  you  and  find  you  a 
hundred  a  year  to  spend  in  dress,  — 
the  only  thing  your  heart  can  really 
love.  But  I  won't  have  an  enemy 
here  in  disguise  of  a  friend ;  and  I 
won't  have  a  wife  about  me  I  must 
treat  like  a  servant  and  watch  like  a 
traitor." 

The  words  were  harsh,  but  the 
agony  with  which  they  were  spoken 
distinguished  them  from  vulgar  vi- 
tuperation. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


91 


They  overpowered  poor  Rosa  :  she 
bad  Imx'ii  ailing  a  little  for  some  time ; 
and  from  remorse  and  terror,  cou- 
pled with  other  causes,  nature  gave 
way.  Her  lips  turned  white,  she 
gasped  inarticulately,  and  with  a 
little  piteous  moan,  tottered,  and 
swooned  dead  away. 

He  was  walking  wildly  about, 
ready  to  tear  his  hair,  when  she 
tottered  ;  he  saw  her  just  in  time  to 
save  her,  and  laid  her  gently  on  the 
floor  and  kneeled  over  iier. 

Away  went  anger  and  every  other 
feeling  but  love  and  pity  for  the 
poor  weak  creature,  that,  with  all 
her  faults,  was  so  lovable  and  so 
loved.  He  applied  no  remedies  at 
first ;  he  knew  they  were  useless 
and  unnecessary  ;  he  laid  her  head 
quite  low,  and  opened  door  and 
window,  and  loosened  all  her  dress, 
sighing  deeply  all  the  time  at  her 
condition. 

While  he  was  thus  employed, 
suddenly  a  strange  cry  broke  from 
him  ;  a  cry  of  horror,  remorse,  joy, 
tenderness,  all  combined  ;  a  cry 
compared  with  which  language  is 
inarticulate.  Ilia  swift  and  praetical 
eye  had  made  a  discovery. 

lie  kneeled  over  her,  with  his 
eyes  dilating  and  his  hands  clasped, 
—  a  picture  of  love  and  tender  re- 
morse. 

She  stirred. 

Then  he  made  haste  and  applied 
his  remedies,  and  brought  her  slowly 
back  to  life:  he  lifted  her  up  and 
carried  her  in  his  arras  quite  away 
from  the  bills  and  things,  that  when 
she  came  too  she  might  see  nothing 
to  revive  her  distress.  Be  carried 
her  to  the  drawing-room,  and  kneeled 
down,  and  rocked  her  in  his  arms,  and 
ed  her  again  and  again  gently 

to   his    heart,    and    cried    over    her. 
"Oh,  my  dove,  in  v  dove!  the  tender 

creature  God  gave  me  to  love  and 
cherish,  and  I  bare  used  it  har-Mv  ' 

If  I  had  only  known  !  ill  had  only 
known  !  " 

While  hi-  was  thus  bemoaninL: 
her,  and  blaming  himself,  aud  cry- 


ing over  her  like  the  rain,  —  he, 
whom  she  had  never  seen  shed  a 
tear  before  in  all  his  troubles,  —  she 
was  coming  to  entirely,  and  her 
quick  ears  caught  his  words,  and 
she  opened  her  lovely  eyes  upon 
him 

"  I  forgive  you,  dear,"  she  said 
feebly.     "But  I  hope  you  will 

BE  A  KINDER  FATHER  THAN  A 
HUSBAND." 

These  quiet  words,  spoken  with 
rare  gravity  and  softness,  went 
through  the  great  heart  like  a 
knife. 

He  gave  a  sort  of  shiver,  hut  sail 
not  a  word. 

But  that  night  he  made  a  solemn 
vow  to  God  that  no  harsh  word 
from  his  lips  should  ever  again  strike 
a  being  so  weak,  so  loving,  and  so 
beyond  his  comprehension.  Why 
look  for  courage  and  candor  in  a 
creature  so  timid  and  shy  she  could 
not  even  tell  her  husband  tluit  until, 
with  her  subtle  sense,  she  saw  he 
had  discovered  it  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 

To  be  a  father ;  to  have  an  image 
of  his  darling  Kosa  and  a  fruit 
of  their  love  to  live  and  work 
for:  this  gave  the  sore  heart  a  hea- 
venly glow,  and  elasticity  to 
bear.  Should  this  dear  object  bo 
born  to  an  inheritance  of  debt,  of 
poverty  1     Never. 

He  began  to  act  as  if  he  was  even 
now  a  father,  lie.  entreated  Rosa 
not  to  trouble  or  vex  herself;  he 
would  look  into  their  finances,  and 
set  all  straight. 

Be  paid  all  the  bills,  and  put  by 
a  quarter's  rent  and  taxes.  Then 
there  remained  of  his  little  capital 
just  eia 

Be  went  to  his   printers,  and  had 

a   thousand    order-checks    printed. 
These  forms  ran  thus  ; 

"Dr.  Staines,  <.f  13  Dear  Street, 
Mayfair  (blank  for  date),  orders  of 


92 


A    SIMPLETON. 


(blank  here  for  tradesman  and  goods 
ordered),  for  cash.  Received  same 
time  (blank  for  tradesman's  re- 
ceipt). Notice.  — Dr.  Staines  dis- 
owns all  orders  not  printed  on  this 
form,  and  paid  ibr  at  date  of  or- 
der." 

He  exhibited  these  forms,  and 
warned  all  the  tradespeople  before 
a  witness  whom  he  took  round  for 
that  purpose. 

He  paid  off  Pearman  on  the  spot. 
Pearman  had  met  Clara,  dressed 
like  a  pauper,  her  soldier  having 
emptied  her  box  to  the  very  dregs  ; 
and  he  now  offered  to  stay,  but  it 
was  too  late. 

Staines  told  the  cook  Mrs.  Staines 
was  in  delicate  health,  and  must 
not  be  troubled  with  any  thing. 
She  must  come  to  him  for  all  orders. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she.  But  she  no 
sooner  comprehended  the  check  sys- 
tem fully  than  she  gave  warning. 
It  put  a  stop  to  her  wholesale  pilfer- 
ing. Her  cooks  had  made  full  .£100 
out  of  Rosa  among  them  since  she 
began  to  keep  accounts. 

Under  the  male  housekeeper  every 
article  was  weighed  on  delivery ;  and 
this  soon  revealed  that  the  butcher 
and  the  fishmonger  had  habitually 
delivered  short  weight  from  the 
first,  besides  putting  down  the  same 
thing  twice.  The  things  were  sent 
back  that  moment,  with  a  printed 
form,  stating  the  nature  and  extent  of 
the  fraud. 

The  washer-woman,  who  had 
been  pilfering  wholesale  so  long  as 
Mrs.  Staines  and  her  sloppy-headed 
maids  had  counted  the  linen,  and 
then  forgot  it,  was  brought  up  with 
a  run,  by  triplicate  forms,  and  by 
Staines  counting  the  things  before 
two  witnesses,  and  compelling  the 
washer-woman  to  count  them  as 
well,  and  verify  or  dispute  on  the 
spot.  The  laundress  gave  warning, 
—  a  plain  confession  that  stealiug 
had  been  a  part  of  her  trade. 

He  kept  the  house  well  for  .£3  a 
week,  exclusive  of  coals,  candles, 
and   wiae.     His  wife   had   had  £5, 


and  whatever  she  asked  for  dinner- 
parties, yet  found  it  not  half  enough 
upon  her  method. 

He  kept  no  coachman.  If  he 
visited  a  patient,  a  man  in  the  yard 
drove  him  at  a  shilling  per  hour. 

By  these  means,  and  by  working 
like  a  galley-slave,  he  dragged  his 
expenditure  down  almost  to  a  level 
with  his  income. 

Rosa  was  quite  content  at  first, 
and  thought  herself  lucky  to  escape 
reproaches  on  such  easy  terms. 

But  by  and  by  so  rigorous  a  sys- 
tem began  to  gall  her.  One  day  she 
fancied  a  Bath  bun ;  sent  the  new 
maid  to  the  pastry-cook's.  Pastry- 
cook asked  to  see  the  doctor's  order. 
Maid  could  not  show  it,  and  came 
back  bunless. 

Kosa  came  into  the  study  to  com- 
plain to  her  husband. 

"A  Bath  bun,"  said  Staines. 
"  Why,  they  arc  colored  with  an- 
natto,  to  save  an  egg,  and  annatto 
is  adulterated  with  chroma tes  that 
are  poison.  Adulteration  upon 
adulteration.  I'll  make  you  a  real 
Bath  bun."  Off  coat,  and  into  the 
kitchen,  and  made  her  three,  pure, 
but  rather  heavy.  He  brought  them 
her  in  due  course.  She  declined 
them  languidly.  She  was  off  the 
notion,  as  they  say  in  Scotland. 

"  If  I  can't  have  a  thing  when  I 
want  it,  I  don't  care  for  it  at  all." 
Such  wss  the  principle  she  laid 
down  for  his  future  guidance. 

lie  sighed,  and  went  back  to  his 
work  ;  she  cleared  the  plate. 

One  day,  when  she  asked  for  the 
carriage,  he  told  her  the  time  was 
now  come  for  her  to  leave  the  car- 
riage exercise.  She  must  walk 
with  him  every  day  instead. 

"But  I  don't  like  walking." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  But  it  is 
necessary  to  you,  and  by  and  by 
your  life  may  depend  on  it." 

Quietly,  but  inexorably,  he 
dragged  her  out  walking  every  day. 

In  one  of  those  walks  she  stopped 
at  a  shop  window,  and  fell  in  love 
with  some  baby's  things.     "  Oh  !  I 


A   SIMPLETON. 


93 


must  have  that,"  said  she.     "  I  must. 
I  shall  die  ill  don't;  you'll  see  now." 

"  You  shall,"  said  he,  "  when  I 
can  pay  for  it,"  and  drew  her  away. 

The  tears  of  disappointment  stood 
in  her  eyes,  and  his  heart  yearned 
over  her.     But  he  kept  his  head. 

He  changed  the  dinner-hour  to  six, 
and  used  to  go  out  directly  after- 
ward. 

She  began  to  complain  of  his  leav- 
ing her  alone  like  that. 

"Well,  but  wait  a  bit,"  said  he; 
"  suppose  I  am  making  a  little 
money  by  it,  to  buy  you  something 
you  have  set  your  heart  on,  poor 
darling  !  " 

In  a  very  few  days  after  this,  he 
brought  her  a  little  box  with  a  slit 
in  it.  He  shook  it,  and  money  rat- 
tled ;  then  he  unlocked  it,  and  poured 
out  a  little  pile  of  silver.  "  There," 
said  he,  "  put  on  your  bonnet,  and 
come  and  buy  those  things." 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  on  the 
way  she  asked  how  it  came  to  be  all 
in  silver. 

"  That  is  a  puzzler,"  said  he, 
"isn't  it?" 

"  And  how  did  you  make  it,  dear ; 
bv  writing  ?  " 
" "  No." 

"  By  fees  from  poor  people?  " 

"  What,  undersell  my  brethren  ! 
Hang  it,  no!  My  dear,  I  made  it 
honestly,  and  gome  day  I  will  tell 
you  how  I  made  it;  at  present,  all  I 
will  tell  you  is  ibis:  I  saw  my  dar- 
ling longing  for  something  she  had 

a  right  to  long  for;  I    SAW   the   tears 
in    her    sweet  eyes,  and — oh,  come 

along,  do  !    I  am  wretched  till  1  see 

you  with  the  things  in  your  hand." 
They  weal  to  the  shop  ;  and 
Staines  sat  and  watched  Kosa  buy- 
ing baby  clothes.  Oh  !  it  was  ;i 
pretty  Bight  to  mm-  this  modest  young 
creature,  little  more  than  a  child  ber- 
Belf,  anticipating  maternity,  but 
blushing  every  now  and  then,  and 
looking  askant  at  her  lord  and  mu- 
ter. How  his  very  bowels  yearned 
over  her  ! 
And    when    they   got   home,   she 


spread  the  things  on  the  table,  and 
they  sat  hand  in  hand,  and  looked 
at  them,  and  she  leaned  her  head  on 
his  shoulder,  and  went  quietly  to 
sleep  there. 

And  yet,  as  time  rolled  on,  she  be- 
came irritable  at  times  and  impa- 
tient, and  wanted  all  manner  of 
things  she  could  not  have,  and  made 
him  unhappy. 

Then  he  was  out  from  six  o'clock 
till  one,  and  she  took  it  into  her  head 
to  be  jealous.  So  many  hours  to 
spend  away  from  her !  Now  that 
she  wanted  all  his  comfort. 

Presently  Ellen,  the  new  maid, 
got  gossiping  in  the  yard,  and  a 
groom  told  her  her  master  had  a 
sweetheart  on  the  sly,  he  thought; 
for  he  drove  the  brougham  out  every 
evening  himself;  "and,"  said  the 
man,  "  he  wears  a  mustache  at 
night." 

Ellen  ran  in,  brimful  of  this,  and 
told  the  cook ;  the  cook  told  the 
washer-woman  ;  the  washer-woman 
told  a  dozen  families,  till  about  two 
hundred  people  knew  it. 

At  last  it  came  to  Mrs.  Staines  in 
a  round-about  way,  at  the  very 
moment  when  she  was  complaining 
to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne  of  her  hard 
lot.  She  had  been  telling  her  she 
was  nothing  more  than  a  lay  figure 
in  the  house. 

"  My  husband  is  housekeeper 
now,  and  cook  and  all,  and  makes 
me  delicious  dishes,  I  can  tell  you  ; 
SW&  curries !  I  couldn't  keep  the 
house  with  five  pounds  a  week,  so 
now  he  does  it  with  three  :  and  I 
never  get  the  carriage,  because  walk- 
ing is  best  for  me  ;  and  he  takes  it 
out  every  night  to  make  money.  1 
don't  understand  it." 

Lady  Cicely  suggested  that  per- 
haps Dr.  Staines  thought  it  best  lor 
her  to  be  relieved  of  all  worry,  ami 
so  undertook  the  house-keeping. 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Bosa  ;  "  1  used 
to  pay  them  all  a  part  of  their  bills, 
and  tbtii  a  little  more,  and  so  I  kept 

getting  deeper;  and  I  was  ashamed 
t0  tell  Christie,  so  that  he  calls  de- 


04 


A   SIMPLETON. 


ccit;  and  oh,  he  spoke  to  mf  so  cru- 
elly once  !  But  he  was  ve  y  sorry 
afterward,  poor  dear !  Why  are 
girls  brought  up  so  silly  ?  a  piano, 
and  no  sense ;  and  why  are  men  sil- 
lier to  go  and  marry  such  silly 
tilings  ?  A  wife  !  I  am  not  so  much 
as  a  servant.  Oh  !  I  am  finely  humil- 
iated, and,"  with  a  sudden  hearty 
naivete  all  her  own,  "it  se.  ves  me 
just  right." 

While  Lady  Cicely  was  puzzling 
this  out,  in  came  a  letter  Rosa 
opened  it,  read  it,  and  gavt  a  cry 
like  a  wounded  deer. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  am  a  misera- 
ble woman.  What  will  become  of 
me?" 

The  letter  informed  her  bluntly 
that  her  husband  drove  his  brough- 
am out  every  night  to  pursue  a 
criminal  amour. 

While  Rosa  was  wringing  her 
hands  in  real  anguish  of  heart,  Lady 
Cicely  read  the  letter  carefu'<y. 

"  I  don't  believe  this,"  said  she 
quietly. 

"  Not  true !  Why,  who  would  be 
so  wicked  as  to  stab  a  poor,  inoffen- 
sive wretch  like  me  if  it  wasn't 
true  ?  " 

"  The  first  ugly  woman  would,  in 
a  minute.  Don't  you  see  the  writer 
can't  tell  you  where  he  goes  ? 
Dwives  his  hougham  out !  That  is 
all  your  infaumant  knows." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  bless  you  ! 
What  have  I  been  complaining  to 
you  about  ?  All  is  light  except  to 
lose  his  love.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I 
will  never  tell  him.  I  will  never 
affront  him  by  saying  I  suspected 
him." 

"  Wosa,  if  you  do  that,  you  will 
always  have  a  serpent  gnawing  you. 
No ;  you  must  put  the  letter  quietly 
into  his  hand,  and  say,  '  Is  there  any 
twuth  in  that  ? ' " 

"  Oh,  I  could  not !  I  haven't  the 
courage.  If  I  do  that,  I  shall  know 
by  his  face  is  there  any  truth  in  it." 

"  Well,  and  you  must  know  the 
twuth.  You  shall  know  it.  I  want 
U)  know  it  too ;   for,  if  he  does  not 


love  you  twuly,  I  will  nevaa  twust 
myself  to  any  thing  so  deceitful  as  a 
man." 

Rosa,  at  last,  consented  to  follow 
this  advice. 

After  dinner  she  put  the  letter  into 
Christopher's  hand,  and  asked  him 
quietly  was  there  any  truth  in  that : 
then  her  hands  trembled,  and  her 
eyes  drank  him. 

Christopher  read  it,  and  frowned  ; 
then  he  looked  up,  and  said,  "  No, 
not  a  word.  What  scoundrels  there 
are  in  the  world  !  To  go  and  tell 
you  that,  now !  Why,  you  little 
goose,  have  you  been  silly  enough 
to  believe  it?  " 

"  No,"  said  she  irresolutely.  "  But 
do  you  drive  the  brougham  out  every 
night  ?  " 

"Except  on  Sunday." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  My  dear  wife,  I  never  loved  yon 
as  I  love  you  now,  and  if  it  was  not 
for  you  I  should  not  drive  the 
brougham  out  of  nights.  That  is  all 
I  shall  tell  you  at  present ;  but  some 
day  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  took  such  a  calm  high  hand 
with  her  about  it,  that  she  submitted 
to  leave  it  there ;  but  from  this  mo- 
ment the  serpent  doubt  nibbled 
her. 

It  had  one  curious  effect,  though. 
She  left  off  complaining  of  trifles. 

Now,  it  happened  one  night  that 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne  and  a  friend 
were  at  a  concert  in  Hanover  Square. 
The  other  lady  felt  rather  faint,  and 
Lady  Cicely  offered  to  take  her 
home.  The  carriage  had  not  yet 
arrived,  and  Miss  Macnamara  said 
to  walk  a  few  steps  would  do  her 
good.  A  smart  cabman  saw  them 
from  a  distance,  and  drove  up,  and, 
touching  his  hat,  said,  "  Cab,  la- 
dies ?  " 

It  seemed  a  very  superior  cab,  and 
Miss  Macnamara  said,  "  Yes " 
directly. 

The  cabman  bustled  down  and 
opened  the  door  ;  Miss  Macnamara 
got  in  first,  then  Lady  Cicely ;  her 
eye  fell  on  the  cabman's  face,  which 


A   SIMPLETON". 


was  lighted   full  by  a  street  lamp, 
and  it  was  Christopher  Siaines  ! 

He  started  and  winced,  but  the 
woman  of  the  world  never  moved  a 
muscle. 

"  Where  to  1  "  said  Staines,  avert- 
ing his  head. 

She  told  him  where,  and,  when 
they  got  out,  said,  "  I'll  send  it  you 
by  the  servant." 

A  flunky  soon  after  appeared  with 
half  a  crown,  and  the  amateur  coach- 
man drove  away.  He  said  to  him- 
self, "  Come,  my  mustache  is  a  bet- 
ter disguise  than  I  thought." 

Next  day,  and  the  day  after,  he 
asked  Rosa,  with  affected  careless- 
ness, had  she  heard  any  thing  of 
Lady  Cicely. 

"  No,  dear :  but  I  dare  say  she 
will  call  this  afternoon  ;  it  is  her 
day." 

She  did  call  at  last,  and,  after  a 
few  words  with  Rosa,  became  a 
little  restless,  and  asked  if  she  might 
consult  Dr.  Staines. 

"  Certainly,  dear ;  come  to  his 
studio." 

"  No ;  might  I  see  him  here  ?  " 
"  Certainly."     She  rang  the  bell, 
and    told    the    servant    to   ask    Dr. 
Staines  if  he  would  be  kind   enough 
to  step  into  the  drawing-room. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  and  bowed 
to  Lady  Cicely,  and  eyed  her  a  little 
uncomfortably. 

She  began,  however,  in  a  way 
that  put  him  quite  at  his  ease.  "  You 
remember  the  advice  you  gave  us 
about  mv  little  cousin  Tadeastah." 
"  Perfectly  ;  his  life  is  very  pre- 
carious ;  he  is  bilious,  consumptive, 
and,  if  not  watched,  will  be  cpilcpti- 
cal  ;  and  he  has  a  fond,  weak  mother, 
who  will  let  him  kill  himself." 

"  Exactly  :  and  you  wecommended 
a  sea-voyage,  with  a  medical  attend- 
ant to  watch  his  diet,  and  contwol 
his  habits.  Well,  she  took  other 
advice,  anil  the  youth  is  worse  ;  so 
now  she  is  frightened,  and  a  month 
ago  she  asked  me  to  pwopose  to  you 
to  sail  about  with  Tadeastah;  and 
she  offered  me  a    thousand    pounds 


a  year.  I  put  on  my  stiff  look,  and 
said,  '  Countess,  with  every  desiah 
to  oblige  you,  I  must  decline  to 
cawwy  that  offah  to  a  man  of  genius, 
learning,  and  weputation,  who  has 
the  ball  at  his  feet  in  London.'  " 

"Lord  forgive  you  !  Lady  Cicely." 

"  Lortl  bless  her!  for  standing  up 
for  my  Christie." 

Lady  Cicely  continued  :  "  Now, 
this  good  lady,  you  must  know,  is 
not  exactly  one  of  us ;  the  late  earl 
mawwied  into  cotton,  or  wool,  or 
something.  So  she  said,  '  Name 
your  price  for  him.  I  shwugged  my 
shoulders,  smiled  affably,  and  as 
affectedly  as  you  like,  and  changed 
the  subject.  But  since  then  things 
have  happened.  I  am  afwaid  it  is 
my  duty  to  make  you  the  jud^e 
whether  you  choose  to  sail  about 
with  that  little  cub —  Rosa,  1  can 
beat  about  the  bush  no  longer.  Is 
it  a  fit  thing  that  a  man  of  genius, 
at  whose  feet  we  ought  all  to  be  sit- 
ting with  reverence,  should  drive  a 
cab  in  the  public  streets  1  Yes, 
Rosa  Staines,  your  husband  drives 
his  brougham  out  at  night,  not  io 
visit  any  other  lady,  as  that  anony- 
mous wretch  told  you,  but  to  make 
a  few  miserable  shillings  for  you." 

"  O  Christie  !  " 

"  It  is  no  use,  Dr.  Staines  ;  I  must 
and  will  tell  her.  My  dear,  he  drove 
me  three  nights  ago.  He  had  a  cab- 
man's badge  on  his  poor  arm.  If 
vim  knew  what  I  Buffered  in  those 
five  minutes  !  lndei  d,  it  .seems  cruel 
to  speak  of  it  — but  I  could  not  beep 
it  from  Rosa,  and  the  reason  I  mus- 
ter courage  [o  say  it  before  you,  Sir, 
is  because  I  know  she  has  other 
friends  who  keep  you  out  of  their 
consultations  ;  and  after  all  it  is  I  lie 
world  that  ought  to  blush,  and  not 
you." 

Her  ladyship's  kindly  bosom 
heaved,  and   she  wanted    to   cry  ;    so 

she  took  her  handkerchief  out  of 

her  |ioeket  without  the  least  hurry, 
and  pressed  it  delicately  to  her  eyes, 
and   did   cry   quietly,    but    without 

any  disguise,  like  a  brave  lady,  who 


9G 


A   SIMrLETON. 


neither  cried  nor  did  any  thing  else 
she  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  at. 

As  for  Rosa,  she  sat  sobbing 
round  Christopher's  neck,  and 
kissed  him  with  all  her  soul. 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Christopher. 
"  You  are  both  very  kind.  But, 
begging  your  pardon,  it  is  '  much 
ado  about  nothing." 

Ludy  Cicely  took  no  notice  of 
that  observation.  "  So,  Rosa  dear," 
said  she,  "  I  think  you  are  the  per- 
son to  decide  whether  he  had  not 
better  sail  about  with  that  little  cub, 
than—    Oh!" 

"  I  will  settle  that,"  said  Staines. 
"I  have  one  beloved  creature  to 
provide  for.  I  may  have  another. 
I  must  make  money.  Turning  a 
brougham  into  a  cab,  whatever  you 
may  think,  is  an  honest  way  of 
making  it,  and  I  am  not  the  first 
doctor  who  has  coined  his  brougham 
at  night.  But,  if  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  money  to  be  made  by  sailing 
with  Lord  Tadeaster,  of  course  I 
should  prefer  that  to  calj-driving, 
for  I  have  never  made  above  twelve 
shillings  a  night." 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,  she  shall  give 
you  fifteen  hundred  a  year." 

"Then  I  jump  at  it." 

"  What !  and  leave  me  !  " 

"  Yes,  love  :  leave  you  —  for  your 
good ;  and  only  for  a  time.  Lady 
«  icely,  it  is  a  noble  offer.  My  dar- 
ling Rosa  will  have  every  comfort  — 
ay,  every  luxury,  till  I  come  home, 
and  then  we  will  start  afresh,  with 
a  good  balance,  and  with  more  ex- 
perience than  we  did  at  first." 

Lady  Cicely  gazed  on  him  with 
wonder.  She  said,  "  Oh,  what  stout 
hearts  men  have!  No,  no;  don't 
let  him  go.  See,  he  is  acting.  His 
great  heart  is  torn  with  agony.  I 
will  have  no  hand  in  parting  man 
arid  wife  —  no  not  for  a  day."  And 
she  hurried  away  in  rare  agitation. 

Rosa  fell  on  her  knees,  and  asked 
Christopher's  pardon  for  having 
been  jealous  ;  and  that  clay  she  was 
a  flood  of  divine  tenderness.     She 


repaid  him  richly  for  driving  the 
cab.  But  she  was  unnaturally  cool 
about  Lady  Cicely ;  and  the  exqui- 
site reason  soon  come  out.  "  Oh, 
yes  !  She  is  very  good,  very  kind  ; 
but  it  is  not  for  me  now  !  No,  you 
shall  not  sail  about  with  her  cub  of 
a  cousin,  and  leave  me  at  such  a 
time." 

Christopher  groaned. 

"  Christie,  you  shall  not  see  that 
lady  again.  She  came  here  to  part 
us.  She  is  in  love  with  you.  I  was 
blind  not  to  see  it  before." 

Next  day,  as  Lady  Cicely  sat  alone 
in  the  morning-room  thinking  over 
this  very  scene,  a  footman  brought 
in  a  card  and  a  note.  "  Dr.  Staines 
beijs  particularly  to  see  Lady  Cicely 
Treherne." 

The  lady's  pale  cheek  colored; 
she  stood  irresolute  a  single  mo- 
ment. "  I  will  see  Dr.  Staines," 
said  she. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  looking  pale 
and  worn ;  he  had  not  slept  a  Avink 
since  she  saw  him  last. 

She  looked  at  him  full,  and 
divined  this  at  a  glance.  She  mo- 
tioned him  to  a  seat  and  sat  down 
herself,  with  her  white  hand  pressing 
her  forehead,  and  her  head  turned  a 
little  away  1'rom  him. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

He  told  her  he  had  come  to  thank 
her  for  her  great  kindness,  and  to  ac- 
cept the  offer. 

She  sighed.  "  I  hoped  it  was  to 
decline  it.  Think  of  the  misery  of 
separation,  both  to  you  and  her." 

"It  will  be  misery.  But  we  are 
not  happy  as  it  is  ;  and  she  cannot 
bear  poverty.  Nor  is  it  fair  she 
should,  when  I  can  give  her  every 
comfort  by  just  playing  the  man 
for  a  year  or  two."  He  then  told 
Lady  Cicely  there  were  more  rea- 
sons than  he  chose  to  mention :  go 
he  must  and   would;  and  he  im- 


A  SIMPLETON. 


97 


plored  her  not  to  let  the  affair  drop. 
In  short,  he  was  sad  but  resolved, 
and  she  found  she  must  go  on  with 
it,  or  break  faith  with  him.  She 
took  her  desk,  and  wrote  a  letter 
concluding  the  bargain  for  him. 
She  stipulated  for  half  the  year's 
fee  in  advance.  She  read  Dr.  Staines 
the  letter. 

"You  are  a  friend,"  said  he.  "I 
should  never  have  ventured  on  that : 
it  will  bo  a  godsend  to  my  poor 
Rosa.  You  will  be  kind  to  her 
when  I  am  gone  1 " 

"  I  will." 

"  So  will  Uncle  Philip,  I  think. 
I  will  see  him  before  I  go,  and  shake 
hands.  He  has  been  a  good  friend 
to  me ;  but  he  was  too  hard  on  Iter, 
and  I  could  not  stand  that." 

Then  he  thanked  and  blessed  her 
again,  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  j 
left  her  more  disturbed  and  tearful 
than  she  had  ever  been  since  she 
grew  to  woman.  "  Oh,  cruel  Pov- 
erty !  "  she  thought ;  " that  such  a 
man  should  be  torn  from  his  home, 
and  thank  me  for  doing  it  —  all  for 
a  little  money  —  and  here  are  we 
poor  commonplace  creatures  rolling 
in  it." 

Staines  hurried  home  and  told 
his  wife.  She  clung  to  him  convul- 
sively, and  wept  bitterly ;  she  made 
no  direct  attempt  to  shake  his  reso- 
lution :  she  saw  by  his  iron  look 
that  she  could  only  afflict,  not  turn 
him. 

Next  day  came  Lady  Cicely  to 
see  her.  Lady  Cicely  was  very 
uneasy  in  her  mind,  and  wanted  to 
know  whether  Rosa  was  reconciled 
to  the  separation. 

Bom  received  her  with  a  forced 
politeness  and  an  icv  coldness  that 
petrified  her.  she  could  not 
stay  long  in  face  of  such  a  reception. 
At  parting,  she  said  sadly.  "  You 
look  on  me  as  an  enemy.' 

"  What     else   can     you    expect, 
wheB   you    part    my    husband    and 
me?"  said   Rosa  with  quiet  stern-, 
ness. 

"  J  meant  well,"  said  Lady  Cicely  , 
9 


sorrowfully  ;  "  hut  I  wish  I  had 
never  interfered." 

"  So  do  I;"  and  she  began  to  cry. 

Lady  Cicely  made  no  answer. 
She  went  quietly  away,  hanging  her 
head  sadly. 

llosa  was  unjust,  hut  she  was  not 
rude  nor  vulgar;  and  Lady  Cicely's 
temper  was  so  well  governed  that  it 
never  blinded  her  heart.  She  with- 
drew, hut  without  the  least  idea  of 
quarrelling  with  her  afflicted  friend, 
or  abandoning  her.  She  went 
quietly   home,  and  wrote  to   Lady 

,  to  say  that  she  should  be  glad 

to  receive  Dr.  Staines's  advance  as 
soon  as  convenient,  since  Mrs. 
Staines  woidd  have  to  make  fresh 
arrangements  and  the  money  might 
be  useful. 

The  money  was  forth-coming  di- 
rectly. Lady  Cicely  brought  it  to 
Dear  Street,  and  handed  it  to  Dr. 
Staines.  His  eyes  sparkled  at  the 
sight  of  it. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Rosa,"  said 
she  softly,  and  cut  her  visit  very 
short. 

Staines  took  the  money  to  Rosa, 
and  said,  "  See  what  our  best  friend 
has  brought  ns.  You  shall  hare 
four  hundred,  and  I  hope  after  the 
bitter  lessons  you  have  had  you  will 
he  able  to  do  with  it  for  some 
months.  The  two  hundred  I  shall 
keep  as  a  reserve  fund  for  you  to 
draw  on." 

"No,  no  !  "  said  Rosa.  "I  shall 
go  and  live  with  my  father,  and 
never  spend  a  penny.  O  Christie, 
If  you  knew  how  I  hate  myself  for 
the  folly  that  is  parting  us!  Oh, 
why  don't  they  teach  trirls  sense 
and  money,  instead  of  music  and 
the  globes  I " 

But  Christopher  opened  a  bank- 
ing account  for  her,  ami  gave  her  a 
cheek-book,  ami  estreated  her  to 
pay  every  thing  by  cluck,  and  run 

no  bills  whatever  ;  ami  she  prom- 
ised, lie.  also  advertised  the  Bijou, 
and  put  a  hill  in  the  window  :  "  The 
lease  of  this  house  and  furniture  to 
bo  sold." 


98 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Rosa  cried  bitterly  at  the  sight  of 
it,  thinking  how  high  in  hope  they 
were  when  they  had  their  first  din- 
ner there,  and  also  when  she  went 
to  the  first  sale  to  buy  the  furniture 
cheap. 

And  now  every  thing  moved  with 
terrible  rapidity.  The  Amphitrite 
was  to  sail  from  Plymouth  in  five 
days ;  and  meantime  there  was  so 
much  to  be  done  that  the  days  seem- 
ed to  gallop  away. 

Dr.  Staines  forgot  nothing.  He 
made  his  will  in  duplicate,  leaving 
all  to  his  wife ;  he  left  one 
copy  at  Doctors'  Commons,  and 
another  to  his  lawyer  :  inventoried 
all  his  furniture  and  effects  in  dupli- 
cate too  ;  wrote  to  Uncle  Philip,  and 
then  called  on  him  to  seek  reconcilia- 
tion. Unfortunately  Dr.  Philip  was 
in  Scotland.  At  last  this  sad  pair 
went  down  to  Plymouth  together, 
there  to  meet  Lord  Tadcaster,  and 
go  on  board  H.  M.  S.  Amphitrite, 
lying  at  anchor  at  Hamoaze,  under 
orders  for  the  Australian  station. 

They  met  at  the  inn,  as  appointed, 
and  sent  word  of  their  arrival  on 
board  the  frigate,  asking  to  re- 
main on  shore  till  the  last  min- 
ute. 

Dr.  Staines  presented  his  patient 
to  Rosa;  and  after  a  little  while 
drew  him  apart  and  questioned  him 
professionally.  He  then  asked  for 
a  private  room.  Here  he  and  Rosa 
really  took  leave ;  for  what  could 
the  poor  things  say  to  each  other  on 
a  crowed  quay  1  He  begged  her 
forgiveness  on  his  knees  for  having 
once  spoken  harshly  to  her ;  and  she 
told  him,  with  passionate  sobs,  he 
had  never  spoken  harshly  to  her ; 
her  folly  had  parted  them. 

Poor  wretches !  they  clung  to 
each  other  with  a  thousand  vows  of 
love  and  constancy.  They  were  to 
pray  for  each  other  at  the  same 
hours  ;  to  think  of  some  kind  words 
or  loving  act  at  other  stated  hours  ; 
and  so  they  tried  to  fight  with  their 
Buffering  minds  against  the  cruel 
Separation :    and    if    either   should 


die,  the  other  was  to  live 
wedded  to  memory,  and  never  listen 
to  love  from  other  lips ;  but  no ! 
God  was  pitiful ;  he  would  let  them 
meet  again  ere  long,  to  part  no 
more.  They  rocked  in  each  other's 
arms  ;  they  cried  over  each  other  — 
it  was  pitiful. 

At  last  the  cruel  summons  came  ; 
they  shuddered,  as  if  it  was  their 
death-blow.  Christopher,  with  a 
face  of  agony,  was  yet  himself,  and 
wrould  have  parted  then  :  and  so 
best.  But  Rosa  could  not.  She 
would  see  the  last  of  him,  and  be- 
came almost  wild  and  violent  when 
he  opposed. 

Then  he  let  her  come  with  him  to 
Milbay  Steps,  but  into  the  boat  he 
would  not  let  her  step. 

The  ship's  boat  lay  at  the  steps, 
manned  by  six  sailors,  all  seated, 
with  their  oars  tossed  in  two  verti- 
cal rows.  A  smart  middy  in  charge 
conducted  them,  and  Doctor  Staines 
and  Lord  Tadcaster  got  in,  leav- 
ing Rosa,  in  charge  of  her  maid,  on 
the  quay. 

"  Shove  off"—"  Down  "— "  Give 
way." 

Each  order  was  executed  so  swiftly 
and  surely,  that,  in  as  many  seconds, 
the  boat  was  clear,the  oars  struck  the 
water  with  a  loud  splash,  and  the 
husband  was  shot  away  like  an  ar- 
row, and  the  wife's  despairing  cry 
rang  on  the  stony  quay,  as  many  a 
poor  woman's  cry  had  rung  be- 
fore. 

In  half  a  minute  the  boat  shot 
under  the  stern  of  the  frigate. 

They  were  received  on  the  quarter- 
deck by  Capt.  Hamilton :  he  in- 
troduced them  to  the  officers  —  a 
torture  to  poor  Staines,  to  have  his 
mind  taken  for  a  single  instant  from 
his  wife — the  first  lieutenant  came 
aft,  and  reported,  "  Ready  for  mak- 
ing sail,  sir." 

"  Staines  seized  the  excuse,  rushed 
to  the  other  side  of  the  vessel,  leaned 
over  the  taffrail,  as  if  he  would  fly 
ashore,  and  stretched  out  his  hnnds  to 
his  beloved  Rosa  ;    and  she  stretched 


A  SIMPLETON. 


90 


out  her  hands  to  him.  They  were 
so  near  he  could  read  the  expression 
of  her  face.  It  was  wild  and  trou- 
bled, as  one  who  did  not  yet  realize 
the  terrible  situation,  but  would  not 
be  long  first. 

"  Hands  make  sail  —  way 
aloft  —  up  anchor,"  rang  in 
Christopher's  ears  as  if  in  a  dream. 
All  his  soul  and  senses  were  bent  on 
that  desolate  young  creature.  How 
voung  and  amazed  her  lovely  face  ! 
Vet  this  bewildered  child  was 
sibout  to  become  a  mother.  Even  a 
si  ranger's  heart  might  have  yearned 
with  pity  for  her :  how  much  more 
her  miserable  husband's  ! 

The  capstan  was  manned,  and 
worked  to  a  merry  tune  that  struck 
chid  to  the  bereaved ;  yards  were 
braced  for  casting,  anchor  hove,  cat- 
ted, and  fished,  s;til  was  spread  with 
amazing  swiftness,  the  ship's  head 
dipped,  and  slowly  and  gracefully 
paid  off  toward  the  Breakwater,  and 
she  stood  out  to  sea  under  swiftly 
swelling  canvas  and  a  light  north- 
westerly breeze. 

Staines  only  felt  the  motion:  his 
body  was  in  the  ship,  his  soul  with 
bis  Rosa.  He  gazed,  he  strained  his 
eves  to  Bee  her  eyes,  as  the  ship  glid- 
ed from  England  and  her.  While 
he  was  thus  gazing  and  trembling 
all  over,  up  cam  ■  to  him  a  smart 
second  lieutenant,  with  a  brilliant 
voice  that  struck  him  like  a  sword  : 
"  ( 'aptaiu's  orders  to  show  you  berths. 
Please  choose  for  Lord  Tadcaster 
and  yourself." 

The  man's  wild  answer  made  the 
young  officer  stare.  "Oh,  sir!  not 
now  —  try  and  do  my  duty  when  I 
have  quite  lost  her  —  my  poor  wife 

—  a  child  — a  mother  —  there  —  sir 

—  on  the  Steps  —  there  !  —  there  !  " 
Now,  this  officer  always  went  to 

sea  Binging  "  <  >h,  be  joyful !  "  Bui 
a  strong  man's  agony,  who  can 
make  light  of  it  '  It  was  a  revela- 
tion to  him,  but  he  took  it  quickly. 
The  first  thing  he  did,  being  a  man 
of  action,  was  to  dash  into  his  cabin, 
•ml  come   back  with  a  short,  power-  | 


ful,  double  glass.  "  There  !  "  said 
he,  roughly  but  kindly,  and  shoved 
it  into  Staines's  hand.  He  took  it, 
stared  at  it  stupidly,  then  used  it, 
without  a  word  of  thanks,  so  wrapped 
was  he  in  his  anguish. 

This  glass  prolonged  the  misery 
of  that  bitter  hour.  When  Rosa 
could  no  longer  tell  her  husband 
from  another,  she  felt  he  was  really 
gone,  and  she  threw  her  hands  aloft 
and  clasped  them  above  her  head, 
with  the  wild  abandon  of  a  woman 
who  could  never  again  be  a  child  ; 
and  Staines  saw  it,  and  a  sharp  sigh 
burst  from  him,  and  he  saw  her  maid 
and  others  gather  round  her.  He 
saw  the  poor  young  thing  led  away, 
with  her  head  all  down,  as  he  had 
never  seen  her  before,  and  supported 
to  the  inn ;  and  then  he  saw  her  no 
more. 

His  heart  seemed  to  go  out  of  his 
bosom  in  search  of  her,  and  leave 
nothing  but  a  stone  behind :  he  hung 
over  the  taffrail  like  a  dead  thing. 
A  steady  footfall  slapped  his  ear. 
He  raised  his  white  face  and  filmy 
eyes,  and  saw  Lieut.  Fitzroy 
marching  to  and  fro  like  a  sentinel, 
keeping  everybody  away  from  the 
mourner,  with  the  steady,  resolute, 
business-like  face  of  a  man  in  whom 
sentiment  is  confined  to  action  ;  its 
phrases  and  its  flourishes  being  lit- 
erally terra  incognita  to  the  honest 
fellow. 

Staines  staggered  toward  him, 
holding  out  both  hands,  and  gasped 
out,    "God    bless    you!      Hide    me 

somewhere  —  must  not  be  seen  so  — 
got  duty  to  do  —  Patient  —  can't  do 
it  yet  —  one  hour  to  draw  my  breath 
—  oh,  my  God,  my  God!  —  one 
hour,  sir.  Then  do  my  duty  if  I 
dii as  you  would." 

Fitzroy  tore  him  down  into  his 
own  cabin,  shut  him  in.  and  ran  to 
the  fir^t  lieutenant,  with  a  tear  in 
his  eye.  "  Can  I  have  a  gentry, 
sir  I  "" 

•Sentry?     What  for  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  —  awfully  cut  up  at 

[<  a\  ing  liis  \\  ife  ;  got  him  in   my 


100 


A  SIMPLETON. 


cabin.     Wants  to  have  his  cry  to 
himself." 

"  Fancy  a  fellow  crying  at  going 
to  sea ! " 

"  It  is  not  that,  sir ;  it  is  leaving 
his  wife." 

"  Well,  is  he  the  only  man  on 
board  has  got  a  wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  sir.  It  is  odd,  now  I 
think  of  it.  Perhaps  he  has  only 
got  that  one." 

"  Curious  creatures,  landsmen," 
said  the  lirst  lieutenant.  "  However, 
you  can  stick  a  marine  there." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  I  say,  show  the  youngster 
the  berths,  and  let  him  choose,  as  the 
doctor's  aground." 

"Yes,  sir." 

So  Fitzroy  planted  his  marine, 
and  then  went  after  Lord  Tadcaster : 
he  had  drawn  up  alongside  his  cou- 
sin, Capt.  Hamilton.  The  cap- 
tain, being  an  admirer  of  Lady  Cice- 
ly, was  mighty  civil  to  his  little 
lordship,  and  talked  to  him  more 
than  was  his  wont  on  the  quarter- 
deck ;  for  though  he  had  a  good  flow 
of  conversation,  and  dispensed  with 
ceremony  in  his  cabin,  he  was  apt  to 
be  rather  short  on  deck.  However, 
he  told  little  Tadcaster  he  was  for- 
tunate ;  they  had  a  good  start,  and, 
if  the  wind  held,  might  hope  to  be 
clear  of  the  Channel  in  twenty-four 
hours.  "  You  will  see  Eddystone 
Lighthouse  about  four  bells,"  said 
he. 

"  Shall  we  go  out  of  sight  alto- 
gether ?  "  inquired  his  lordship. 

"  Of  course  we  shall,  and  the 
sooner  the  better."  He  then  ex- 
plained to  the  novice  that  the  only 
danger  to  a  good  ship  was  from  the 
land. 

While  Tadcaster  was  digesting 
this  paradox,  Capt.  Hamilton  pro- 
ceeded to  descant  on  the  beauties  of 
blue  water,  and  its  fine  medicinal 
qualities,  which,  he  said,  were  partic- 
ularly suited  to  young  gentlemen  with 
bilious  stomachs;  but  presently, 
catching  sight  of  Lieut.  Fitzroy 
standing  apart,  but  with  the  manner 


of  a  lieutenant  not  there  by  accident, 
he  stopped,  and  said,  civilly  but 
sharply,  "  Well,  sir." 

Fitzroy  came  forward  directly,  sa- 
luted, and  said  he  had  orders  from 
the  first  lieutenant  to  show  Lord 
Tadcaster  the  berths.  His  lordship 
must  be  good  enough  to  chose,  be- 
cause the  doctor  —  couldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Brought  to,  sir  —  for  the  pres- 
ent—  by  —  well,  by  grief." 

"  Brought  to  by  Grief!  Who  the 
deuce  is  Grief?  No  riddles  on  the 
quarter-deck,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir  !  I  assure  you  he  is 
awfully  cut  up,  and  he  is  having  his 
cry  out  in  my  cabin." 

"  Having  his  cry  out !  why,  what 
for?" 

"  Leaving  his  wife,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  wonder,"  cried 
little  Tadcaster  warmly.  "  She  is, 
oh,  so  beautiful !  "  and  a  sudden 
blush  overspread  his  pasty  cheeks. 
"  Why  on  earth  didn't  we  bring  her 
along  with  us  here  ?  "  said  he,  sud- 
denly opening  his  eyes  with  aston- 
ishment at  the  childish  omission. 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  said  the  captain 
comically,  and  dived  below,  attended 
by  the  well-disciplined  laughter  of 
Lieut.  Fitzroy,  who  was  too 
good  an  officer  not  to  be  amused  at 
his  captain's  jokes.  Having  acquit- 
ted himself  of  that  duty  —  and  it  is  a 
very  difficult  one  sometimes  —  he 
took  Lord  Tadcaster  to  the  main- 
deck,  and  showed  him  two  comfort- 
able sleeping-berths  that  had  been 
screened  off  for  him  and  Dr.  Staines. 
One  of  these  was  fitted  with  a  stand- 
ing bedplace,  the  other  had  a  cot 
swung  in  it.  Fitzroy  offered  him 
the  choice,  but  hinted  that  he  him- 
self preferred  a  cot. 

"No,  thank  you,"  says  my  lord 
mighty  dryly. 

"All  right,"  said  Fitzroy  cheer- 
fully. "  Take  the  other,  then,  my 
lord." 

His  little  lordship  cocked  his  eye 
like  a  jackdaw,  and  looked  almost 


A  SIMPLETON. 


101 


as  cunning.  "  You  see,"  said  he, 
"I  have  been  reading  up  for  this 
voyage." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     Logarithms  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"What  then?" 

"  Why.  Peter  Simple,  to  be  sure." 

"  Ah,  ha  !  "  said  Fiteroy,  with  a 
chuckle  that  showed  plainly  he  had 
some  delicious  reminiscences  of  youth- 
ful study  in  the  same  quarter. 

The  little  lord  chuckled  too,  and 
put  one  finder  on  Fitzioy's  shoulder, 
and  pointed  at  the  cot  with  another. 
"  Tumble  out  the  other  side,  you 
know  —  slippery  hitches  —  cords  cut 
—  down  you  come  flop  in  the  middle 
of  the  night." 

Fitzroy's  eye  flashed  merriment, 
but  only  tor  a  moment.  His  counte- 
nance "fell  the  next.  "  Lord  bless 
you  !  "  said  he  sorrowfully,  "  all  that 
game  is  over  now.  Her  majesty's 
ship!  —  it  is  a  church  afloat.  The 
service  is  going  to  the  devil,  as  the 
old  fogies  say." 

"  Ain't  you  sorry  ? "  says  the  little 
lord,  cocking  his  eye  again  just  like 
the  bird  hereinbefore  mentioned. 

"Of  course  I  am." 

"  Then  I'll  take  the  standing  bed." 

"  All  right.  I  say,  you  don't 
mind  the  doctor  coming  down  with 
a  run,  eh  ? " 

"He  is  not  ill  —  I  am.  He  is 
paid  to  take  care  of  me —  I  am  not 
paid  to  take  care  of  him,"  said  the 
young  lord  sententiously. 

"I  understand,"  replied  Fitzroy 
dryly.  "  Well,  every  one  tor  himself, 
ami  Providence  for  us  all,  as  the  ele- 
phant said  when  he  danced  among 
the  chickens." 

Here  my  lord  was  summoned  to 
dinner  with  the  captain.  Staines 
was  not  there,  but  he  had  not  forgot- 
ten bis  duty.  In  the  midst  of  his 
grief  In'  bad  written  a  note  to  the 
captain,  hoping  that  a  bereaved  hus- 
band might  not  seem  to  desert  Ins 

post  if  In'    hid    lor   a    lew   hours    tin' 

sorrow  he  felt  himself  unable  to  con- 
trol.   Meantime  hewould  be  grateful 

if  Capt.    Hamilton  would    give   or- 
U* 


ders  that  Lord  Tadcaster  should  eat 
no  pastry,  and  drink  only  six  ounces 
of  claret,  otherwise  he  should  feel  that 
he  was  indeed  betraying  his  trust. 

The  captain  was  pleased  and 
touched  with  this  letter.  It  recalled 
to  him  how  his  mother  sobbed  when 
she  launched  her  little  middy,  swell- 
ing with  Lis  first  cocked  hat  and 
dirk. 

There  was  champagne  at  dinner, 
and  little  Tadcaster  began  to  pour 
out  a  tumbler.  "  Hold  on  !  "  said 
Capt.  Hamilton.  "  You  are  not 
to  drink  that;  "and  he  quietly  re- 
moved the  tumbler.  "  Bring  him 
six  ounces  of  claret." 

While  they  were  weighing  the 
claret  with  scientific  precision,  Tad- 
caster remonstrated  ;  and  being  told 
it  was  the  doctor's  order,  he  squeaked 
out,  "  Confound  him  !  why  did  he 
not  stay  with  his  wife  1  She  is  beau- 
tiful."  Nor  did  he  give  it  up  without 
a  struggle,  "  Here's  hospitality  !  " 
said  he.     "  Six  ounces." 

Receiving  no  reply,  he  inquired  of 
the  third  lieutenant,  which  was  gen- 
erally considered  the  greatest  author- 
ity in  a  ship — the  captain  or  the 
doctor  1 

The  third  lieutenant  answered 
not,  but  turned  his  head  away,  and, 
by  violent  exertion,  succeeded  in  not 
splitting. 

"  I'll  answer  that,"  said  Ham- 
ilton politely.  "  The  captain  is  the 
highest  in  his  department,  and  the 
doctor  in  his.  Now,  Dr.  Stain*  s 
is  strictly  within  his  department) 
and  will  be  supported  by  me  and 
my  officers,  "ion  are  bilious  and 
epileptical,  and  all  the  rest  of  it; 
and  you  are  to  be  cured  by  diet  and 
blue  water." 

Tadcaster  was  inclined  to  snivel. 
However,  he  subdued  that  weakness 
with  a  visible  effort,  and  in  due 
course  returned  to  the  charge. 
"  How  would  you  look,"  quavered 
lie  "  if  there  was  to  be  a  mutiny  in 
this    ship   of  yours,    and    I  was    to 

head  it?" 

"Well,   I   should   look    sharp  — 


102 


A   SIMPLETON". 


hang  all  the  ringleaders  at  the  yard- 
arm,  clap  the  rest  under  hatches, 
and  steer  for  the  nearest  prison." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Tadcaster,  and  di- 
gested this  scheme  a  bit.  At  last 
he  perked  up  again,  and  made  his 
final  hit.  "  Well,  I  shouldn't  care, 
for  one,  if  you  didn't  Hog  us." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Capt. 
Hamilton,  "I'd  flog  you  —  and 
stop  your  six  ounces." 

"  Then  curse  the  sea ;  that  is  all 
I  say." 

"  Why,  you  have  not  seen  it ; 
you  have  only  seen  the  British 
Channel."  It  was  Mr.  Fitzroy  who 
contributed  this  last  observation. 

After  dinner  all  hut  the  captain 
went  on  deck,  and  saw  the  Eddy- 
stone  light-house  ahead  and  to  lee- 
Avard.  They  passed  it.  Fitzroy 
told  his  lordship  its  story,  and  that 
of  its  unfortunate  predecessors. 
Soon  after  this  Lord  Tadcaster 
turned  in. 

Presently  the  captain  observed  a 
change  in  the  thermometer,  which 
brought  him  on  deck.  He  scanned 
the  water  and  the  sky ;  and  as  these 
experienced  commanders  have  a 
subtle  insight  into  the  weather, 
especially  in  familiar  latitudes,  he 
remarked  to  the  first  lieutenant  that 
it  looked  rather  unsettled;  and,  as 
a  matter  of  prudence,  ordered  a  reef 
in  the  topsails,  and  the  royal  yards 
to  be  sent  down.  Ship  to  be  steered 
W.  by  S.  This  done,  he  turned  in, 
but  told  them  to  call  him  if  there 
was  any  change  in  the  weather. 

.During  the  night  the  wind  grad- 
ually headed ;  and  at  four  bells  in 
the  middle  watch,  a  heavy  squall 
came  up  from  the  southwest. 

This  brought  the  captain  on  deck 
again ;  he  found  the  officer  of  the 
watch  at  his  post,  and  at  work. 
Sail  was  shortened,  and  the  ship 
made  snug  for  heavy  weather. 

At  4,  a.m.  ;  it  was  blowing  hard, 
and,  being  too  near  the  French 
coast,  they  wore  the  ship. 

Now.  this  operation  was  bad  for 
little  Tadcaster.     While  the  vessel 


was  on  the  starboard  tack,  the  side 
kept  him  snug  ;  but  when  they  wore 
her,  of  course  he  had  no  lee  board 
to  keep  him  in.  The  ship  gave  a 
lee  lurch,  and  shot  him  clean  out  of 
his  bunk  into  the  middle  of  the 
cabin. 

He  shrieked  and  shrieked,  with 
terror  and  pain,  till  the  captain  and 
Staines,  who  were  his  nearest  neigh- 
bors, came  to  him,  and  they  gave 
him  a  little  brandy,  and  got  him  to 
bed  again.  Here  he  sutfercd  noth- 
ing but  violent  sea-sickness  for  some 
hours. 

As  for  Staines,  he  had  been  swing- 
ing heavily  in  his  cot ;  but  such  was 
his  mental  distress  that  he  would 
have  welcomed  sea-sickness,  or  any 
reasonable  bodily  suffering.  He  was 
in  that  state  when  the  sting  of  a 
wasp  is  a  touch  of  comfort. 

Worn  out  with  sickness,  Tadcas- 
ter would  not  move.  Invited  to 
breakfast,  he  swore  faintly,  and  in- 
sisted on  dying  in  peace.  At  last 
exhaustion  gave  him  a  sort  of  sleep, 
in  spite  of  the  motion,  which  was 
violent,  for  it  was  now  blowing 
great  guns,  a  heavy  sea  on,  and  the 
great  waves  dirty  in  color  and  crested 
with  raging  foam. 

They  had  to  wear  ship  again, 
always  a  ticklish  manoeuvre  iD 
weather  like  this. 

A  tremendous  sea  stuck  her  quar- 
ter, stove  in  the  very  port  abreast 
of  which  the  little  lord  was  lying, 
and  washed  him  clean  out  of  bed 
into  the  lee  scuppers,  and  set  all 
swimming  round  him. 

Didn't  he  yell,  and  wash  about 
the  cubia,  and  grab  at  all  the  chairs 
and  tables  and  things  that  drifted 
about,  nimble  as  eels,  avoiding  his 
grasp ! 

In  rushed  the  captain,  and  in 
staggered  Staines.  They  stopped 
his  '*  voyage  au  tour  de  sa  chambre," 
and  dragged  him  into  the  after- 
saloon. 

He  chins  to  them  by  turns,  and 
begged,  with  many  tears,  to  be  put 
ou  the  nearest  land ;  a  rock  would  do. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


103 


"  Much  obliged,"  said  the  captain  ; 
"  now  is  the  very  time  to  give  rocks 
a  wide  berth  " 

"A  dead  whale,  then — a  light- 
house—  any  thing  but  a  beast  of  a 
ship." 

They  pacified  him  with  a  little 
brandy,  and  for  the  next  twenty-four 
hours  he  scarcely  opened  his  mouth, 
except  for  a  purpose  it  is  needless  to 
dwell  on.  We  can  trust  to  our  ter- 
restrial readers'  personal  reminis- 
cences of  lee  lurches,  weather  rolls, 
and  their  faithful  concomitant. 

At  last  they  wriggled  out  of  the 
channel,  and  soon  after  the  wind 
abated,  and  next  day  veered  round 
to  the  northward,  and  the  ship  sailed 
almost  on  an  even  keel.  The  mo- 
tion became  as  heavenly  as  it  had 
been  diabolical,  and  the  passengers 
came  on  deck. 

Staines  had  suffered  one  whole 
day  from  seasickness,  but  never 
complained.  I  believe  it  did  his 
mind  more  good  than  harm. 

As  for  Tadcastcr,  he  continued  to 
sutler,  at  interval^,  for  two  days 
more ;  but,  on  the  fifth  day  out,  he 
appeared  with  a  little  pink  tinge  on 
his  cheek,  anil  a  wolfish  appetite. 
Dr.  Staines  controlled  his  diet 
severely  as  to  quality  and,  when 
they  had  been  at  sea  just  eleven 
days,  the  physician's  heavy  heart 
was  not  a  little  lightened  by  the 
marvellous  change  in  him.  The 
unthinking,  who  believe  in  the  drag 
system,  should  have  seen  what  a 
physician  can  do  with  air  and  food, 
when  circumstances  enable  him  to 
enforce  the  dirt  he  enjoins.  Money 
will  sometimes  buy  even  health,  if 
you  ewoiii  drugs  entirely,  and  go  an- 
other road. 

Little  Tadcaster  went  on  board 
pasty,  dim-eyed,  ami  very  subject 
to  lits,  because  bis  stomach  was 
constantly  overloaded  with  indigest- 
ible trash,  find  the  blood  in  his 
brain-vessels  was  always  either  gal- 
loping  or  creeping;,  under  the  first 
or  second  eflfecl  of  stimulants  admin- 
istered at  first  by  thoughtless  physi- 


cians. Behold  him  now — bronzed, 
pinky,  bright-eyed,  elastic;  and 
only  one  fit  in  twelve  days. 

The  quarter-deck  was  hailed  from 
the  "  lookout "  with  a  cry  that  is 
sometimes  terrible,  but,  in  this  lat- 
itude and  weather,  welcome  and 
exciting.     "  Land,  lio  ! " 

"  Where  away  1  "  cried  the  officer 
of  the  watch. 

"  A  point  on  the  lee  bow,  sir." 

It  was  the  Island  of  Madeira : 
they  dropped  anchor  in  Fnnchal 
Roads,  furled  sails,  squared  yards, 
and  fired  a  salute  of  twenty-one 
guns  for  the  Portuguese  flag. 

They  went  ashore,  and  found  a 
good  hotel,  and  were  no  longer 
dosed,  as  in  former  days,  with  oil, 
onions,  garlic,  eggs.  But  the  wine 
queer,  and  no  Madeira  to  be  got. 

Staines  wrote  home  to  his  wife: 
he  told  her  how  deeply  he  had  felt 
the  bereavement,  but  did  not  dwelt 
on  that,  his  object  bein^  to  cheer 
her.  He  told  her  it  promised  to  be 
a  rapid  and  wonderful  cure,  and  one 
that  might  very  well  give  him  a 
fresh  start  in  London.  They  need 
not  be  parted  a  whole  year,  he 
thought,  lie  sent  her  a  very  long 
letter,  and  also  such  extracts  from 
his  sea  journal  as  he  thought  might 
please  her.  After  dinner  they  in- 
spected the  town  ;  and  what  struck 
them  most  was  to  find  the  streets 
paved  with  flag-stones,  and  most  of 
the  carts  drawn  by  bullocks  on 
sledges.  A  man  every  now  and  then 
would  run  forward  and  drop  a  greasy 
cloth  in  front  of  the  sledge  to  lubri- 
cate  the  way. 

Next    day,    after    breakfast,    they 

ordered  horses  —  these,  on  inspec- 
tion, proved  to  be  of  excellent  breed, 
either  from  Australia  or  America  — 
rery rough  shod,  lor  tie'  Btony  road. 
Started  lor  the  Grand  Canal  — 
peeped  down  that  mighty  chasm, 
which    has    the    appearance    of    an 

immense  mass  having    I n    blown 

out  of  the  cent  re  of  the  mountain. 

They  lunched  under  the  Great 
i  Dragon-Tree    near   its   brink,    then 


104 


A  SIMPLETON. 


rode  back,  admiring  the  bold  moun- 
tain scenery.  Next  morning,  at 
dawn,  rode  on  horses  up  the  hill  to 
the  convent.  Admired  the  beauti- 
ful gardens  on  the  way.  Remained 
a  short  time ;  then  came  down  in 
the  hand-sled  —  little  baskets  slung 
on  sledges,  guided  by  two  natives  ; 
these  sledges  run  down  hill  with 
surprising  rapidity,  and  the  men 
guide  them  round  corners  by  stick- 
ing out  a  foot  to  port  or  starboard. 

Embarked  at  11.30,  a.m. 

At  1.30,  the  men  having  dined, 
the  ship  was  got  under  way  for  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  all  sail 
made  for  a  southerly  course,  to  get 
into  the  N.E.  trades. 

The  weather  was  now  balmy  and 
delightful,  and  so  genial  that  every- 
body lived  on  deck,  and  could  hard- 
ly be  got  to  turn  .in  to  their  cabins, 
even  tor  sleep. 

Dr.  Staines  became  a  favorite  with 
the  officers.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
science  on  board  a  modern  ship  of 
war;  and  of  course,  on  some  points, 
Staines,  a  Cambridge  wrangler,  and 
man  of  many  sciences  and  books,  was 
an  oracle.  On  others  he  was  quite 
behind,  but  a  ready  and  quick  pupil. 
He  made  up  to  the  navigating  offi- 
cer, and  learned,  with  his  help,  to 
take  observations.  In  return,  he 
was  always  at  any  youngster's  ser- 
vice in  a  trigonometrical  problem  ; 
and  lie  amused  the  midshipmen  and 
young  lieutenants  with  analytical 
tests  ;  some  of  these  were  applicable 
to  certain  liquids  dispensed  by  the 
paymaster.  Under  one  of  them  the 
port-wine  assumed  some  very  droll 
colors,  and  appearances  not  proper 
to  grape  juice. 

One  lovely  night  that  the  ship 
clove  the  dark  sea  into  a  blaze  of 
phosphorescence,  and  her  wake 
streamed  like  a  comet's  tail,  a  wag- 
gish middy  f;ot  a  bucketful  hoisted 
on  deck,  and  asked  the  doctor  to 
analyze  that.  He  did  not  much  like 
it,  but  yielded  to  the  general  request ; 
and  by  dividing  it  into  smaller  ves- 
sels, and  dropping  in  various  chemi- 


cals, made  rainbows  and  silvery 
flames  and  what  not.  But  he 
declined  to  repeat  the  experiment  : 
"  No,  no;  once  is  philosophy  ;  twice 
is  cruelty.  I've  slain  more  than 
Samson  already/' 

As  for  Tadcaster,  science  had  no 
charms  for  him ;  but  fiction  had ; 
and  he  got  it  galore ;  for  he  cruised 
about  the  forecastle,  and  there  the 
quartermasters  and  old  seamen  spun 
him  yarns  that  held  him  breathless. 

But  one  day  my  lord  had  a  fit  on 
the  quarter-deck,  and  a  bad  one; 
and  Staines  found  him  smelling 
strong  of  ram.  He  represented  this 
to  Capt.  Hamilton.  The  captain 
caused  strict  inquiries  to  be  made ; 
and  it  came  out  that  my  lord  had 
aone  among  the  men  with  money  in 
both  pockets,  and  bought  a  little  of 
one  man's  grog  and  a  little  of  an- 
other, and  had  been  sipping  the  fur- 
tive but  transient  joys  of  solitary 
intoxication. 

Capt.  Hamilton  talked  to  him 
seriously  ;  told  him  it  was  suicide. 

"  Never  mind,  old  boy,"  said  the 
young  monkey  ;  "  a  short  life  and  a 
merry  one." 

Then  Hamilton  represented  that 
it  was  very  ungcntlemanlike  to  go 
and  tempt  poor  Jack  with  his  money 
to  offend  discipline  and  get  flogged. 
"  How  will  you  feel,  Tadcaster,  when 
you  see  their  backs  bleeding  under 
the  cat  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  d — n  it  all,  George,  don't 
do  that,"  says  the  young  gentleman, 
all  in  a  hurry. 

Then  the  commander  saw  he  had 
touched  the  right  chord.  So  he 
played  on  till  he  got  Lord  Tadcas- 
ter to  pledge  his  honor  not  to  do  it 
again. 

The  little  fellow  gave  the  pledge, 
but  relieved  his  mind  as  follows: 
"  But  it  is  a  cursed  tyrannical  hole, 
this  tiresome  old  ship.  You  can't 
do  any  thing  you  like  in  it." 

"  Well,  but' no  more  you  can  in 
the  crave;  and  that  is  the  agreeable 
residence  you  were  hurrying  to  but 
for  this  tiresome  old  ship." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


105 


"  Lord  !  no  more  you  can,"  said, 
Tadcaster,  with  sudden  candor.  "  / 
forgot  that." 

The  airs  were  very  light ;  ship 
hardly  moved.  It  was  beginning  to 
get  d"ull,  when  one  day  a  sail  was 
sighted  on  the  weather  how,  stand- 
ing to  the  eastward.  On  nearing 
her,  she  was  seen  by  the  cut  of  her 
sails  to  be  a  man-of-war,  evidently 
homeward  bound  ;  so  Capt.  Ham- 
ilton ordered  the  main-royal  to  be 
lowered  (to  render  signal  more  visi- 
ble) and  the  "  Demand  "  hoisted. 
No  notice  being  taken  of  this,  a  gun 
was  tired  to  draw  her  attention  to 
the  signal.  This  had  the  desired 
effect ;  down  went  her  main-royal 
and  up  went  hex  "  Number."  On 
referring  to  the  signal-book  she 
proved  to  be  the  Vindictive,  from 
the  Pacific  station. 

This  being  ascertained,  Capt. 
Hamilton,  being  that  captain's  sen- 
ior, signalled,  "  Close,  and  prepare  to 
receive  letters  :  "  in  obedience  to  this 
she  bore  up,  ran  down,  and  rounded 
to;  the  sail  in  AmphitriU  was  also 
shortened,  the  main  top-sail  laid  to 
the  mast,  and  a  boat  lowered.  The 
captain  having  finished  his  dis- 
patches, they,  with  the  letter-bags, 
were  handed  into  the  boat,  which 
shoved  off,  pulled  to  the  lee  side  of 
the  Vindictive, and  left  the  despatch- 
es, with  Capt.  Hamilton's  compli- 
ments. On  its  return,  both  ships 
made  sail  on  their  respective  course, 
exchanging  "  Bon  voyage  "  by  sig- 
nal ;  and  soon  the  upper  sails  of  the 
homeward-bounder  wen-  seen  dip- 
ping below  the  horizon  :  longing 
eyes  followed  her,  on  hoard  the  .!//<- 
philrite. 

How  many  hurried  missives  had 
been  written  and  despatched  in  that 
hour!  Hut  as  for  Staines,  he  was 
a  man  of  forethought,  and  had  a 
volume  ready  for  his  dear  wife. 

Lord    Tadcaster   wrote   to    Lady 

Cicely  Treheine.    Hi,  epistle,  though 

brief,  contained  :>  plum  or  two. 
lie  wrote  :  "  Whnl   with    sailing, 


roast  meat,  I'm  quite  another 
man." 

This  amused  her  ladyship  a  little, 
but  not  so  much  as  the  postscript, 
which  was  indeed  the  neatest  thing 
in  its  way  she  had  met  with,  aud  she 
had  some  experience  too. 

"P.S.  —  I  say,  Cicely,  I  think  I 
should  like  to  marry  you.  Would 
you  mind  ?  " 

Let  us  defy  time  and  space  to 
give  you  Lady  Cicely's  reply  :  "  I 
should  enjoy  it  of  all  things,  faddy. 
But,  alas  !  "  I  am  too  young." 

N.B.  —  She  was  twenty-seven,  and 
Tad  sixteen.  To  be  sure,  Tad  was 
four  feet  eleven,  and  she  was  only 
five  feet  six  and  a  half. 

To  return  to  my  narrative  (with 
apologies),  this  meeting  of  the  ves- 
sels caused  a  very  agreeable  excite- 
ment that  day  ;  hut  a  greater  was 
in  store.  In  the  afternoon  Tadcas- 
ter, Staines,  and  the  principal  offi- 
cers of  the  ship,  being  at  dinner  in 
the  captain's  cabin,  in  came  the 
officer  of  the  watch,  and  reported  a 
large  spar  on  the  weather  bow. 

"  Well,  close  it  if  you  can  ;  and 
let  me  know  if  it  looks  worth  pick- 
ing up." 

lie  then  explained  to  Lord  Tad- 
caster, that,  on  a  cruise,  he  never 
liked  to  pass  a  spar,  or  any  thing 
that  might  possibly  reveal  the  fate 
of  some  vessel  or  other. 

In  the  middle  of  his  discourse  the 
officer  came  in  again,  but  not  in  the 
same  cool,  business  way  :  he  ran  in 
excitedly,  and  said,  "  Captain,  the 
signal-man  reports  it  alivt  I  " 

"Alive?  — a  spar!  What  do 
yon  mean  '.  Something  alive  on  it, 
eh  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  alive  itself." 

"  How  can  that  be  >  Hail  him 
again.     Ask  him  what  it  is." 

The  Officer  went  out,  and  hailed 
the  signal-man  at  the  mast-head. 
••  What  is  it  !  " 

"  Bea-sarpint,  I  think." 

This    hail    reached    the    captain's 

ears    faintly.     However,    he    waited 

and  fishing,  and  eating  nothing  but  |  quietly  till  the   officer  cane:   in   and 


106 


A  SIMPLETON". 


reported  it ;  then  he  hurst  out,  "  Ab- 
surd !  —  there  is  no  such  creature  in 
the  universe.  What  do  you  say, 
])r.  Staines  ?  It  is  in  your  depart- 
ment." 

"  The  universe  in  my  depart- 
ment, captain  ?  " 

"Haw!  haw!  haw!"  went  Fitz- 
roy  and  two  more. 

"  No,  you  rogue,  the  serpent." 

Dr.  Staines,  thus  appealed  to, 
asked  the  captain  if  he  had  ever 
seen  small  snakes  out  at  sea. 

"  Why,  of  course.  Sailed  through 
a  mile  of  them  once  in  the  Archi- 
pelago." 

"  Sure  they  were  snakes  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure  :  and  the  biggest  was 
not  eight  feet  long  " 

"  Very  well,  captain  ;  then  sea- 
serpents  exist,  and  it  becomes  a  mere 
question  of  size.  Now,  which  pro- 
duces the  larger  animals  in  every 
kind,  land  or  sea  1  The  grown  ele- 
phant weighs,  I  believe,  about  two 
tons.  The  very  smallest  of  the 
whale  tribe  weighs  ten;  and  they  go 
as  high  as  forty  tons.  There  are 
smaller  fish  than  the  whale  that  are 
lour  times  as  heavy  as  the  elephant. 
"  Why  doubt,  then,  that  the  sea  can 
breed  a  snake  to  eclipse  the  boa-con- 
strictor? Even  if  the  creature  had 
never  been  seen,  I  should,  by  mere 
reasoning  from  analogy,  expect  the 
sea  to  produce  a  serpent  excelling 
the  boa-constrictor,  as  the  lobster 
excells  the  cray-fish  of  our  rivers. 
See  how  large  things  grow  at  sea  ! 
The  salmon  born  in  our  rivers  weighs 
in  six  months  a  quarter  of  a  pound, 
or  less  ;  it  goes  out  to  sea,  and  comes 
back  in  one  year  weighing  seven 
pounds.  So  far  from  doubting  the 
large  sea-serpents,  I  believe  they  ex- 
ist by  the  million.  The  only  thing 
that  puzzles  me  is,  why  they  should 
ever  show  a  nose  above  water ;  they 
must  be  very  numerous,  I  think." 

Capt.  Hamilton  laughed,  and 
said,  "  Well,  this  is  new.  Doctor, 
in  compliment  to  your  opinion,  we 
will  go  on  deck  and  inspect  the  rep- 
tile you   think   so   common."     He 


stopped  at  the  door,  and  said,  "Doc- 
tor, tile  salt-cellar  is  by  you.  Would 
you  mind  bringing  it  on  deck  ?  We 
shall  want  a  little  to  secure  the  ani- 
mal." 

So  they  all  went  on  deck  right 
merrily. 

The  captain  went  up  a  few  rat- 
lines in  the  mizzen  rigging,  and 
looked  to  windward,  laughing  all 
the  time  ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  there 
was  a  great  change  in  his  manner. 

"  Good  Heavens,  it  is  alive  — 
luff  !  " 

The  helmsman  obeyed  ;  the  news 
spread  like  wild-fire.  Mess  kids, 
grog  kids,  pipes,  were  all  let  fall, 
and  soon  three  hundred  sailors  clus- 
tered on  the  rigging  like  bees,  to 
view  the  long-talked-of  monster. 

It  was  soon  discovered  to  be  mov- 
ing lazily  along,  the  propelling  part 
being  under  Avater,  and  about  twen- 
ty-five feet  visible.  It  had  a  small 
head  for  so  large  a  body  ;  and,  as 
they  got  nearer,  rough  scales  were 
seen,  ending  in  smaller  ones  farther 
down  the  body.  It  had  a  mane, 
but  not  like  a  lion's,  as  some  have 
pretended.  If  you  have  ever  seen  a 
pony  with  a  hog-mane,  that  was 
more  the  character  of  this  creature's 
mane  —  if  mane  it  was. 

They  got  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  it,  and  all  saw  it  plainly,  scarce 
believing  their  senses. 

When  they  could  get  no  nearer 
for  the  wind,  the  captain  yielded  to 
that  instinct,  which  urges  man 
always  to  kill  a  curiosity,  "  to  en- 
courage the  rest,"  as  saith  witty 
Voltaire.  "  Get  ready  a  gun.  Hot 
shot  in  the  ship  lay  and  fire  it." 

This  was  soon  done.  Bang  went 
the  gun  ;  the  shot  struck  the  water 
close  to  the  brute,  and  may  have 
struck  him  under  water,  for  aught 
I  know.  Anyway,  it  sorely  disturb- 
ed him  ;  for  he  reared  into  the  air  a 
column  of  serpent's  flesh  that  looked 
as  thick  as  the  main-topmast  of  a 
seventy-four,  opened  a  mouth  that 
looked  capacious  enough  to  swallow 
the  largest  bacoy  anchor  in  the  ship, 


A   SIMPLETON. 


101 


ami,  with  a  strange  grating  noise 
between  a  bark  and  a  hiss,  dived, 
and  was  seen  no  more. 

When  he  was  pone  they  all  looked 
at  one  another,  like  men  awakening 
from  a  dream. 

Staines  alone  took  it  quite  coolly. 
It  did  not  surprise  him  in  the  least. 
He  had  always  thought  it  incredible 
that  the  boa  constrictor  should  be 
larger  than  any  sea-snake.  That 
idea  struck  him  as  monstrous  and 
absurd.  He  noted  the  sea-serpent 
in  his  journal,  but  with  this  doubt, 
"  Scmblc  —  more  like  a  very  large 
eel." 

Next  day  they  crossed  the  line. 
Just  before  noon  a  young  gentleman 
burst  into  Staines's  cabin,  apologiz- 
ing for  want  of  ceremony ;  but  if 
Dr.  Staines  would  like,  to  sec  the 
line,  it  was  now  in  sipht  from  the 
mizzen-top. 

"  Glad  of  it,  sir,"  said  Staines  ; 
"  collect  it  for  me  in  the  ship's 
buckets,  if  you  please.  I  want  to 
send  a  line  to  friends  at  home." 

Younppentleman  buried  bis  hands 
in  his  pockets,  walked  out  in  solemn 
silence,  and  resumed  his  position  on 
the  lee  side  of  the  quarter-deck. 

Nevertheless,  the  opening,  coupled 
with  what  he  had  beard  and  read, 
made  Staines  a  little  uneasy,  and  he 
went  to  his  friend  Fitzroy,  and 
said, — 

"Now  look  here:  I  am  at  the 
service  of  you  experienced  and  hu- 
morous mariners.  1  plead  guilty  at 
once  to  the  crime  of  never  having 
ed  tin'  line  ;  "-<>  make  ready  your 
swabs,  and  lather  me;  your  ship's 
scraper,  and  shave  me  :  and  let  us 
gel  it  nver.  Hut  Lord  Tadcastcr  is 
nervous,  sensitive,  prouder  than  he 
seem-,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have 
him  driven  into  a  tit  lor  all  the  Nep- 
tunes  and   A mphitrites  in   creation." 

Fitzroy  heard  him  out,  then  burst 
out  laughing,  "  Why,  there  is  none 
of  that  panic  in  the  Royal  Navy," 
said  he.  "  Hasn't  been  this  twenty 
years." 

"  I'm  so  sorry  !  "  said  Dr.  Staines. 


"  If  there  is  a  form  of  wit  I  revere, 
it  is  practical  joking." 

"  Doctor,  you  are  a  satirical  beg- 
gar." 

Staines  told  Tadcaster,  and  he 
went  forward  and  chaffed  his  friend 
the  quartermaster,  who  was  one  of 
the  forecastle  wits.  "  I  say,  quar- 
termaster, why  doesn't  Neptune 
come  on  board  ?  " 

Dead  silence. 

"  I  wonder  what  has  become  of 
poor  old  Nep  1  " 

"  Gone  ashore  !  "  prowled  the  sea- 
man. "Last  seen  in  the  Ratcliff 
Highway.  Got  a  shop  there  —  lends 
a  shilling  in  the  pound  on  seamen's 
advance  tickets." 

"Oh!  and  Amphitrite?" 

"  Married  the  sexton  at  Wap- 
ping." 

"And  the  Nereids?" 

"Neruds  !  "  (scratching  his  head) 
"I  harn't  kept  my  eye  on  them 
small  craft.  But  I  believe  they  are 
sellinp  oysters  in  the  port  of  Leith." 

A  light  breeze  carried  them  across 
the  equator ;  but  soon  after  they 
pot  becalmed,  and  it  was  dreary 
work,  and  the  ship  rolled,  gently 
but  continuously,  and  upset  Lord 
Tadcaster's  stomach  again,  ami 
quenched  his  manly  spirit. 

At  last  they  were  fortunate  enough 
to  catch  the  S.E.  trade,  but  it  was 
bo  languid  at  first  that  the  ship 
barely  moved  through  the  water, 
though  they  set  every  stitch,  and 
studding-sails  alow  and  aloft,  till 
really  she  was  acres  of  canvas. 

While  she  was  so  creeping  along, 
a  man  in  the  mizzen-top  noticed  an 
enormous  shark  gliding  steadily  in 
her  wake.  This  may  seem  a  small 
incident,  yet  it  ran  through  the 
ship  like  wildfire,  and  caused  more 
or  less  uneasiness  in  three  hundred 
stout  hearts  :  so  mar  is  every  sea- 
man to  death,  and  so  stroiii  the 
persuasion  in  their  superstitious 
minds,  that  a  shark  does  BOl  follow 
a  ship  pertinaciously  without  -.: 
prophetic  instinct  of  calamity. 

I  nfortunatcly,  the   quarter  mas- 


108 


A  SIMPLETON. 


ter  conveyed  this  idea  to  Lord  Tad- 
caster,  and  continued  it  by  numer- 
ous examples,  to  prove  that  there 
was  death  at  hand  when  a  shark  fol- 
lowed the  ship. 

Thereupon  Tadcaster  took  it  into 
his  head  that  he  was  under  a  relapse, 
and  the  shark  was  waiting  for  his 
dead  body.  He  got  quite  low-spirit- 
ed. Staines  told  Fitzroy.  Fitzroy 
said,  "  Shark  be  hanged  !  I'll  have 
him  on  deck  in  halt'  an  hour."  He 
got  leave  from  the  captain.  A  hook 
was  baited  with  a  large  piece  of 
pork,  and  towed  astern  by  a  stout 
line,  experienced  old  hands  attend- 
ing to  it  by  turns. 

The  shark  came  up  leisurely,  sur- 
veyed the  bait,  and,  I  apprehend, 
ascertained  the  position  of  the  hook : 
at  all  events,  he  turned  quietly  on 
his  back,  sucked  the  bait  oif,  and  re- 
tired to  enjoy  it. 

Every  officer  in  the  ship  tried  him 
in  turn,  but  without  success  ;  for  if 
they  got  ready  for  him,  and  the  mo- 
ment he  took  the  bait  jerked  the 
rope  hard,  in  that  case  he  opened 
his  enormous  mouth  so  wide  that  the 
bait  and  hook  came  out  clear.  But 
sooner  or  later,  he  always  got  the 
bair,  and  left  his  captors  the  hook. 

This  went  on  for  days,  and  his 
huge  dorsal  fin  always  iii  the  ship's 
wake. 

Then  Tadcaster,  who  had  watched 
these  experiments  with  hope,  lost 
his  spirit  and  his  appetite. 

Staines  reasoned  with  him,  but  in 
vain.  Somebody  was  to  die;  and 
althongh  there  were  three  hundred 
and  more  in  the  ship,  he  must  be 
the  one.  At  last  he  actually  made 
his  will,  and  threw  himself  into 
Stain  s's  arm3,  and  gave  him  mes- 
sages to  his  mother  and  Lady  Cicely, 
and  ended  by  fri-htening  himself 
into  a  fit. 

This  roused  Staines's  pity,  and 
also  put  him  on  his  mettle.  What, 
science  be  beaten  by  a  shark  ! 

He  pondered  the  matter  with  all 
his  might,  and  at  last  an  idea  came  to 
imn. 


He  asked  the  captain's  permission 
to  try  his  hand.  This  was  accorded 
immediately,  and  the  ship's  stores 
placed  at  his  disposal  very  polite- 
ly, and  with  a  sly,  comical  grin. 

Dr.  Staines  got  from  the  carpen- 
ter some  sheets  of  zinc  and  spare 
copper  and  some  flannel.  These  he 
cut  into  three-inch  squares,  and 
soaked  the  flannel  in  acidulated  wa- 
ter. He  then  procured  a  quantity 
of  bell-wire,  the  greater  part  of 
which  he  insulated  by  wrapping  it 
round  with  hot  gutta-percha.  So 
eager  was  he  that  he  did  not  turn 
in  all  night. 

In  the  morning  he  prepared  what 
he  called  an  electric  fuse.  lie  filled 
a  soda-water  bottle  with  gunpowder, 
attaching  some  cork  to  make  it 
buoyant,  put  in  the  fuse  and  bung, 
made  it  water-tight,  connected  and 
insulated  his  main  wires,  enveloped 
the  bottle  in  pork,  tied  a  line 
to  it  and  let  the  bottle  over- 
board. 

The  captain  and  officers  shook 
their  heads  mysteriously.  The  tars 
peeped  and  grinned  from  every  rope 
to  see  a  doctor  try  and  catch  a 
shark  with  a  soda-water  botble  and  no 
hook ;  but  somehow  the  doctor 
seemed  to  know  what  he  was  about, 
so  they  hovered  around,  and  waited 
the  result,  mystified  bat  curious,  and 
showing  their  teeth  from  ear  to  ear. 

"The  only  thing  I  fear,"  said 
Staines,  "  is  that  the  moment  he 
takes  the  bait,  he  will  cut  the  wire 
before  I  can  complete  the  circuit  and 
fire  the  fuse." 

Nevertheless,  there  was  another 
objection  to  the  success  of  the  ex- 
periment. The  shark  had  disap- 
peared. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  "at  all 
events    you    have 
away." 

"  No,"  said  little  Tadcaster,  white 
as  a  ghost :  "  he  is  only  under 
water,  I  know;  waiting  —  wait- 
ing." 

"  There  he  is  !  "  cried  one  in  the 
ratlines. 


frightened   him 


A  SIMPLETON. 


109 


There  was  a  rush  to  the  taffrail 
—  great  excitement. 

"  Keep  clear  of  me,"  said  Staines, 
quietly  but  firmly.  "It  can  only 
be  done  at  the  moment  before  he 
cuts  the  wire." 

The  old  shark  swam  slowly  round 
the  bait. 

He  saw  it  was  something 
new. 

He  swam  round  and  round  it. 

"  He  won't  take  it,"  said  one. 

"  He  suspects  something." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  will  take  the  meat 
somehow,  and  leave  the  pepper. 
Sly  old  fox." 

"  He  has  eaten  many  a  poor  Jack, 
that  one." 

The  shark  turned  slowly  on  his 
back,  and,  instead  of  grabbing  the 
bait,  seemed  to  draw  it  by  gentle 
suction  into  that  capacious  throat, 
ready  to  blow  it  out  in  a  moment 
if  it  was  not  all  right. 

The  moment  the  bait  was  drawn 
out  of  sight,  Staines  completed  the 
circuit :  the  bottle  exploded  with  a 
fury  that  surprised  him  and  every- 
body who  saw  it ;  a  ton  of  water 
flew  into  the  air,  and  came  down  in 
spray,  and  a  gory  carcass  floated 
belly  uppermost,  visibly  staining 
the  blue  water. 

There  was  a  roar  of  amazement 
and  applause. 

The  carcass  was  towed  alongside, 
at  Tadeaeter'a  urgent  request,  and 
then  the  power  of  the  explosion  was 
Been.  Conlincd,  first  by  the  bottle, 
than  by  tin'  meat,  then  by  the  fish, 
and  lastly  by  the  water,  it  had  ex- 
ploded with  Untold  power,  had 
blown  the  brute's  head  into  a  million 
atoms,  and  had  oven  torn  a  greal 
furrow  in  its  carcass,  exposing  three 
feet  of  tin'  backbone. 

Taddy  gloated  on  his  enemy,  and 
began  to  pick  up  again  from  that 
hour. 

The  wind  improved,  and,  as  usu- 
al in  that  latitude,  scarcely  varied  a 
point.  They  bad  a  pleasant  time. 
Private     theatricals,     and     other 

10 


amusements,  till  they  got  to  latitude 
26°  S.,  and  longitude  27°.  Then 
the  trade-wind  deserted  them. 
Light  and  variable  winds  succeed- 
ed. 

The  master  complained  of  the 
chronometers,  and  the  captain 
thought  it  his  duty  to  verify  or 
correct  them :  and  so  shaped  his 
course  for  the  island  of  Tristan 
d'Acunha,  then  lying  a  little  way 
out  of  his  course.  I  ought,  perhaps, 
to  explain  to  the  general  reader 
that  the  exact  position  of  this 
island,  being  long  ago  recorded, 
it  was  an  infallible  guide  to  go  by 
in  verifying  a  ship's  chronome- 
ters. 

Next  day  the  glass  fell  all  day, 
and  the  captain  said  he  should 
double  reef-topsails  at  night-fall,  for 
something  was  brewing. 

The  weather,  however,  was  fine, 
and  the  ship  was  sailing  very  fast, 
when,  about  half  an  hour  before 
sunset,  the  mast-head  man  hailed 
that  there  was  a  balk  of  timber  in 
sight,  broad  on  the  weather-bow. 

The  signal-man  was  sent  up,  and 
said  it  looked  like  a  raft. 

The  captain,  who  was  on  deck, 
levelled  his  glass  at  it,  and  made  it 
out  a  raft,  with  a  sort  of  rail  to 
it,  and  the  stump  of  a  mast. 

He  ordered  the  officer  of  the 
watch  to  keep  the  ship  as  close  to 
the  wind  as  possible.  He  should 
like  to  examine  it  if  he  could. 

The  master  represented  respect- 
fully that  it  would  be  (inadvisable  to 
beat  to  windward  for  that.  "I 
have  no  faith  in  our  chronometers, 
sir,  and  it  is  important  to  make  the 
jf  him!  before  dark 
suddenly." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Bolt:  then  I 
suppose  we  must  let  the  raft 
go." 

"Man  on  the  raft  to  wind- 
ward!" hailed  the  signal-man. 

This  electrified  the  ship.  The 
captain  ran  up  the  mizzen  rigging 
and  scanned  the  raft,  now  marly 
abeam. 


fogs  rise  here  so 


110 


A   SIMPLETON. 


"  It  is   a  man  ! "    he  cried,   and 
was  about  to  alter  the  ship's  course 
when,  at  that   moment   the   signal 
man  hailed  again  : 
"It  is  a  corpse." 

"  How  d'ye  know  1  " 
"By  the  gulls." 

Then  succeeded  an  exciting  dia- 
logue between  the  captain  and  the 
master,  who,  being  in  his  depart- 
ment, was  very  firm ;  and  went  so 
far  as  to  say  he  would  not  answer 
for  the  safety  of  the  ship  if  they 
did  not  sight  the  land  before 
dark. 

The  captain  said,  "  Very  well/' 
and  took  a  turn  or  two.  But  at 
last  he  said,  "  No.  Her  Majesty's 
ship  must  not  pass  a  raft  with  a 
man  on  it,  dead  or  alive." 

He  then  began  to  give  the  neces- 
sary orders,  but  before  they  wereout 
of  his  mouth,  a  fatal  interruption  o'c- 
cured. 

Tad  caster  ran  into  Dr.  Staines's 
cabin,  crying,  "  A  raft  with  a  corpse 
close  by ! " 

Staines  sprang  to  the  quarter- 
port  to  see ;  and,  craning  eagerly 
out,  the  lower  port  chain,  which  had 
not  been  well  secured,  slipped,  the 
port  gave  way,  and,  as  his  whole 
weight  rested  on  it,  canted  him 
headlong  into  the  sea. 

A  smart  seaman  in  the  fore-chains 
saw  the  accident,  and  instantly 
roared  out,  "  Man  overboard  !  " 
a  cry  that  sends  a  thrill  through  a 
ship's  very  ribs. 

Another  smart  fellow  cut  the  life- 
buoy adrift  so  quickly  that  it  struck 
the  water  within  ten  yards  of 
Staines. 

The  officer  of  the  watch,  without 
the  interval  of  half  a  minute,  gave 
the  right  orders  in  the  voice  of  a 
Stentor : — 

"  Let  go  life-buoy. 

"Life-boat's  crew  away. 

"  Hands  shorten  sail. 

"Mainsail  up. 

"  Main-topsail  to  mast." 

These  orders  were  executed  with 
admirable      swiftness.       Meantime 


there  was  a  mighty  rush  of  feet 
throughout  the  frigate,  every  hatch- 
way was  crammed  with  men  eager 
to  force  their  way  on  deck. 

In  five  seconds  the  middy  of  the 
watch  and  half  her  crew  were  in  the 
lee  cutter  fitted  with  Clifibrd's  ap- 
paratus. 

"  Lower  away !  "  cried  the  excit 
ed  officer;  "  the  others  will  come 
down  by  the  pendants." 

The  man  stationed,  sitting  on  the 
bottom  boards,  eased  away  roundly, 
when  suddenly  there  was  a  hitch  — 
the  boat  would  go  no  farther. 

"  Lower  away  there  in  the 
cutter!  Why  don't  you  lower? 
screamed  the  captain,  who  had 
come  over  to  leeward  expecting  to 
see  the  boat  in  the  water. 

"  The  rope  has  swollen,  sir,  and 
pendants  won't  unreeve,"  cried  the 
middy  in  agony. 

"  Volunteers  for  the  weather- 
boat  !  "  shouted  the  first  lieutenant ; 
but  the  order  was  unnecessary,  for 
more  than  the  proper  number  were 
in  her  already. 

"  Plug  in  —  lower  away." 

But  mishaps  never  come  singly. 
Scarcely  had  this  boat  gone  a  foot 
from  the  davit  than  the  volunteer 
who  was  acting  as  cockswain,  in 
reaching  out  for  something,  inad- 
vertently let  go  the  line  which,  in 
Kynaston's  apparatus,  keeps  the 
tackles  hooked  ;  consequently,  down 
went  the  boat  and  crew  twenty  feet, 
with  a  terrific  crash;  the  men  were 
struggling  for  their  lives,  and  the 
boat  was  stove. 

But  meantime,  more  men  having 
been  sent  into  the  lee  cutter,  their 
weight  caused  the  pendants  to  ren- 
der, and  the  boat  got  afloat,  and  was 
soon  employed  picking  up  the  strug- 
gling crew. 

Seeing  this,  Lieut.  Fitzroy 
collected  some  hands,  and  lowered 
the  life-boat  gig,  which  was  fitted 
with  common  tackles,  got  down  into 
her  himself  by  the  falls,  and,  pulling 
round  to  windward,  shouted  to  the 
signal-man  for  directions. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


1H 


The  signal-man  was  at  his  post, 
and  had  fixed  his  eye  on  the  man 
overboard,  as  his  duty  was  :  bat  his 
messmate  was  in  the  stove  boat,  and 
he  had  cast  one  anxious  look  down 
to  see  if  he  was  saved,  and,  sad  to 
relate,  in  that  one  moment  he  had 
lost  sight  of  Staines :  the  sadden 
darkness  —  there  was  no  twilight  — 
confused  him  more,  and  the  ship 
had  increased  her  drift. 

Fitzroy,  however,  made  a  rapid 
calculation,  and  palled  to  windward 
with  all  his  might.  He  was  followed 
in  abonta  minute  by  the  other  sound 
boat  powerfully  manned  ;  and  both 
boars  melted  away  into  the  night. 

There  was  a  long  and  anxious 
suspense,  during  which  it  became 
pitch  dark,  and  the  ship  burned 
blue-lights  to  mark  her  position 
more  plainly  to  the  crews  that  were 
groping  the  sea  for  that  beloved 
passenger. 

Capt.  Hamilton  had  no  doubt 
that  the  fate  of  Staines  was  decided, 
one  way  or  other,  long  before  this ; 
but  he  kept  quiet  until  he  saw  the 
plain  signs  of  a  squall  at  hand. 
Then,  as  he  was  responsible  for  the 
safety  of  boats  and  ship,  he  sent  up 
rockets  to  recall  them. 

The  cutter  came  alongside  first. 
Lights  were  poured  on  her ;  and 
quavering  voices  asked,  "  Have  you 
got  hi tn  '  " 

The  answer  was  dead  silence,  and 
sorrowful,  drooping  heads. 

Sadly  and  reluctantly  was  the 
order  given  to  hoist  the  boat  in. 

Then  the  gi^  came  alongside. 
Fitzroy  seated  in  her,  with  his  hands 
before  his  face ;  the  men  gloomy 
and  sad. 

"Goxk!     Gokb!" 

Soon  the  ship  was  battling  a  heavy 
squall. 

At  midnight  all  quiet  again,  and 
hove  tn.  Then,  at  the  request  <>t 
many,  the  bell  was  tolled,  and  the 
ship's  company  mustered  bare- 
headed, and  many  a  stunt  seaman  in 
tears,  as  the  last  service  was  read  for 
Christopher  Staines. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Rosa  fell  ill  with  grief  at  the 
hotel,  and  could  not  move  for  some 
days ;  but,  the  moment  she  was 
strong  enough,  she  insisted  on  leav- 
ing Plymouth  :  like  all  wounded 
things,  she  must  drag  herself  home. 

Put  what  a  home!  How  empty 
it  struck,  and  she  heart-sick  and 
desolate  !  Now  all  the  familiar 
places  wore  a  new  aspect :  the  little 
yard,  where  he  had  so  walked  and 
waited,  became  a  temple  to  her  ;  and 
she  came  out  and  sat  in  it,  and  now 
first  felt  to  the  full  how  much  he 
had  suffered  there  —  with  what  for- 
titude !  She  crept  about  the  house, 
and  kissed  the  chair  he  had  sat  in, 
and  every  much-used  place  and  thing 
of  the  departed. 

Her  shallow  nature  deepened  and 
deepened  under  this  bereavement, 
of  which,  she  said  to  herself  with  a 
shudder,  she  was  the  cause.  And 
this  is  the  course  of  nature  :  there 
is  nothing  like  suffering  to  enlighten 
the  giddy  brain,  widen  the  narrow 
mind,  improve  the  trivial  heart. 

As  her  regrets  were  tender  and 
deep,  so  her  vows  of  repentance 
were  sincere.  Oh,  what  a  wife  she- 
would  make  when  he  came  bark ! 
how  thoughtful !  how  prudent !  how 
loyal!  and  never  have  a  secret.  She 
who  had  once  said,  "  What  is  the 
use  of  your  writing?  nobody  will 
publish  it,"  now  collected  and  pe- 
rused  every  written  scrap.  With 
simple  affection  she  even  looked  up 
his  very  waste-paper  basket,  full  of 
fragments  he  had  torn,  or  useless 
papers  he  had  thrown  there  before  he 
wiit  to  Plymouth. 

In  the  drawer  of  his  writing- 
table'  she  found  his  diary.  It  was  a 
thick  quarto  :  it  began  with  their 
marriage,  and  ended  with  his  leav- 
ing home  —  for  then  be  took  another 
volume.  This  diary  became  her 
Bible  :  she  studied  it  daily,  till  her 

tears    hid     his     lines.       The     entries 

were  very  miscellaneous,  veryexact. 


112 


A  SIMPLETON. 


It  was  a  map  of  their  married  life. 
But  what  she  studied  most  was  his 
observations  on  her  own  character, 
so  scientific,  yet  so  kindly  ;  and  his 
scholar-like  and  wise  reflections. 
Tue  book  was  an  unconscious  pic- 
ture of  a  great  mind  she  had  hith- 
erto but  glanced  at :  now  she  saw  it 
all  plain  before  her ;  saw  it,  under- 
stood it,  adored  it,  mourned  it. 
Such  women  are  shallow,  not  for 
want  of  a  head  upon  their  shoulders, 
but  of  attention.  They  do  not  really 
study  any  thing ;  they  have  been 
taught  at  their  schools  the  bad  art 
of  skimming ;  but  let  their  hearts 
compel  their  brains  to  think  and 
think,  the  result  is  considerable. 
The  deepest  philosopher  never  fath- 
omed a  character  more  thoroughly 
than  this  poor  child  fathomed  her 
husband  when  she  had  read  his 
journal  ten  or  eleven  times,  and 
bedewed  it  with  a  thousand  tears. 

One  passage  almost  cut  her  more 
intelligent  heart  in  twain  :  — 

"  This  dark  day  I  have  done  a 
thing  incredible.  I  have  spoken 
with  brutal  harshness  to  the  inno- 
cent creature  I  have  sworn  to  pro- 
tect. She  had  run  into  debt,  through 
inexperience,  and  that  unhappy 
timidity  which  makes  women  con- 
ceal an  error  until  it  ramifies,  by 
concealment,  into  a  fault ;  and  I 
must  storm  and  rave  at  her  till 
she  actually  fainted  away.  Brute! 
Ruffian!  Monster'?  And  she,  how 
did  she  punish  me,  poor  Lamb? 
By  soft  and  tender  words  —  like  a 
lady,  as  she  is.  Oh,  my  sweet  Rosa, 
I  wish  you  could  know  how  you 
are  avenged!  Talk  of  the  scourge 
—  the  cat !  I  would  be  thankful 
for  two  dozen  lashes.  Ah  !  there  is 
no  need,  I  think,  to  punish  a  man 
who  has  been  cruel  to  a  woman. 
Let  him  alone.  He  will  punish 
himself  more  than  you  can,  if  he 
really  is  a  man." 

From  the  date  of  that  entry  this 
self-reproach  and  self-torture  kept 
cropping  up  every  now  and  then  in 
the  diary;  and  it  appeared  to  have 


been  not  entirely  without  its  influ 
ence  in  sending  Staines  to  sea, 
though  the  main  reason  he  gave  was 
that  his  Rosa  might  have  the  com- 
forts and  luxuries  she  had  enjoyed 
before  she  married  him. 

One  day,  while  she  was  crying 
over  this  diary,  Uncle  Philip  called, 
but  not  to  comfort  her,  I  promise 
you.  He  burst  on  her,  irate,  to  take 
her  to  task.  He  had  returned, 
learned  Christopher's  departure, 
and  settled  the  reason  in  his  own 
mind.  That  uxorious  iool  was 
gone  to  sea,  by  a  natural  re-action  ; 
his  eyes  were  open  to  his  wife  at 
last,  and  he  was  sick  of  her 
folly;  so  he  had  fled  to  distant 
climes,  as  who  would  not  that 
could  ? 

"  So,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  my 
nephew  is  gone  to  sea,  I  find — all 
in  a  hurry.  Pray,  may  I  ask  what 
he  has  done  that  for  ?  " 

It  was  a  very  simple  question,  yet 
it  did  not  elicit  a  very  plain  answer. 
She  only  stared  at  this  abrupt  in- 
quisitor, and  then  tried  piteously, 
"  O  Uncle  Philip  !  "  and  burst  out 
sobbing. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  You  will  hate  me  now.  He  is 
gone  to  make  money  for  me ;  and  I 
would  rather  have  lived  on  a  crust. 
Uncle,  don't  hate  me.  I'm  a  poor, 
bereaved,  heart-broken  creature,  that 
repents." 

"  Repents  !  heigho  !  why,  what 
have  you  been  up  to  now,  ma'am  ? 
No  great  harm,  I'll  be  bound. 
Flirting  a  little  —  with  some  fool 
—  eh  1 " 

"  Flirting  !  Me  !  a  married  wo- 
man !  " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  !  I  forgot.  Why, 
surely  he  has  not  deserted  you." 

"  My  Christopher  desert  me ! 
He  loves  me  too  well ;  far  more 
than  I  deserve,  but  not  more  than 
I  will.  Uncle  Philip,  I  am  too  con- 
fused and  wretched  to  tell  you 
all  that  has  happened  ;  but  I  know 
you  love  him  though  you  had  a  tiff. 
Uncle,  he  called  on   you,   to  shake 


A  SIMPLETON. 


115 


hands  and  ask  your  forgiveness, 
poor  fellow  !  He  was  so  sorry  you 
were  away.  Please  read  his  diary  : 
it  will  tell  you  all,  better  than  his 
poor  foolish  wife  can.  I  know  it 
by  heart.  I'll  show  you  where  you 
and  he  quarrelled  about  me.  There, 
see."  And  she  showed  him  the 
passage  with  her  finger.  "  He  never 
told  me  it  was  that,  or  I  would 
have  come  and  begged  your  par- 
don on  my  knees.  But  see  how 
sorry  he  was.     There,  see. 

"And  now  I'll  show  you  another 
place,  where  my  Christopher  speaks 
of  your  many,  many  acts  of  kind- 
ness. There,  see.  And  now  please 
let  me  show  you  how  he  longed 
for  reconciliation.  There,  see.  And 
it  is  the  same  through  the  book.  And 
now  I'll  show  you  how  grieved  he  was 
to  go  without  your  blessing.  I  told 
him  I  was  sure  you  would  give  him 
that,  and  him  going  away.  Ah, 
me  !  will  he  ever  return  ?  Uncle 
dear,  don't  hate  me.  You  are  his 
only  relative  ;  and  what  shall  I  do, 
now  he  is  gone,  if  you  disown  me ! 
Why,  you  are  the  only  Staines  left 
me  to  love." 

"  Disown  you,  ma'am  !  that  I'll 
never  do.  You  are  a  good-hearted 
young  woman,  I  find.  There,  run 
and  dry  your  eyes,  and  let  me 
read  Christopher's  diary  all  through. 
Then  I  shall  see  how  the  land  lies.  " 

Rosa  complied  with  this  propo- 
sal; and  left  him  alone  while  she 
bathed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  com- 
pose herself,  for  she  was  all  trem- 
blii)Lr  at  this  sudden  irruption. 

Wle'ii  Bhe  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room he  was  walking  about 
looking  grave  and  thoughtful. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,"  said  he 
rather  gently  :  "  a  misunderstanding. 
How  wise  our  ancestors  were  that 
first  ased    that    word   to   meat  a 

quarrel!  for  look  into  twenty  quar- 
rels,  and  you  shall  detect  a  score 
of  mis-under-standings.  Yet  our 
American  cousins  must  go  and 
substitute  the  unideaed  word,  '  diffi- 
culty  ;  '  that  is  wonderful.  I  had 
10* 


no  quarrel  with  him ;  delighted  to 
sec  either  of  you.  But  1  had  called 
twice  on  him  ;  so  I  thought  he 
ought  to  get  over  his  temper,  and 
call  on  a  tried  friend  like  me.  A 
misunderstanding!  Now,  my  dear, 
let  us  have  no  more  of  these 
misunderstandings.  You  will  always 
be  welcome  at  my  house  ;  and  I 
shall  often  come  here,  and  look 
after  you  and  your  interests. 
What  do  you  mean  to  do,  I  won- 
der 1 " 

"  Sir,  I'm  to  go  home  to  my 
father,  if  he  will  be  troubled  with 
me.     I  have  written  to  him." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  the 
Bijou  1 " 

"  My  Christie  thought  I  should 
like  to  part  with  it  and  the  fur- 
niture ;  but  his  own  writing-desk 
and  his  chair,  no,  I  never  will ;  and 
his  little  clock.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  But 
I  remember  what  you  said  about 
agents,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do ; 
for  I  shall  be  away." 

"  Then  leave  it  to  me.  I'll  come 
and  live  here  with  one  sen-ant : 
and  I'll  soon  sell  it  for  you." 

"You,  Uncle  Philip!" 

"  Well,  why  not  1 "  said  he 
roughly. 

"  That  will  he  a  great  trouble 
and  discomfort  to  you,  I'm  afraid." 

"  If  I  find  it  so,  I'll  soon  drop  it. 
I'm  not  the  fool  to  put  myself  out 
for  anybody.  When  you  are  ready 
to  go  out,  send  me  word,  and  I'll 
come  in." 

Soon  after  this  he  bustled  off. 
He  gave  her  a  hurried  ki>s  at  part* 
rag,  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  it, 
and  wanted  it  over  as  quickly  as 
possible, 

Next  day  her  father  came,  con- 
doled  with  her  politely,  assured  her 
there  was  nothing  to  cry  about ; 
husbands  were  asort  of  functionaries 
that  always  went  to  pea  at  some 
part  of  their  career,  and  no  harm 
ever  came  of  it.  On  the  contrary, 
"  Absence  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder,"  said  this  judicious  par- 
ent. 


114 


A   SIMPLETON. 


This  sentiment  happened  to  be 
just  a  little  too  true,  and  set  the 
daughter  crying  bitterly;  but  she 
fought  against  it.  "  Oh,  no !  "  said 
she.  "  /  mustn't.  I  will  not  be 
always  crying  in  Kent  Villa." 

"  Lord  "forbid  !  " 

"I  shall  get  over  it  in  time  —  a 
little." 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will.  But 
as  to  your  coining  to  Kent  Villa,  I 
am  afraid  you  would  not  be  very  com- 
fortable there.  You  know,  I  am 
superannuated.  Only  get  my  pen- 
sion now." 

"  I  know  that,  papa ;  and  — 
why,  that  is  one  of  the  reasons.  I 
have  a  good  income  now ;  and 
I  thought  if  we  put  our  means 
together." 

"  Oli !  that  is  a  very  different 
thing.  You  will  want  a  carriage, 
I  suppose.  I  have  put  mine 
down." 

"  No  carriage,  no  horse,  no 
footman,  no  luxury  of  any  kind, 
till  my  Christie  comes  back.  I  ab- 
hor dresj,  I  abhor  expense  ;  I  detest 
every  thing  I  once  liked  too  well! 
I  hate  every  folly  that  has  parted  us  ; 
and  I  hate  myself  worst  of  all.  Oh  ! 
oh !  oh !  Forgive  me  for  crying 
so." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  had  better 
come  at  once.  I  dare  say  there  are 
associations  about  this  place  that 
upset  you.  I  shall  go  and  make 
ready  for  you,  dear  ;  and  then  you 
can  come  as  soon  as  you  like." 

He  bestowed  a  paternal  kiss  on 
her  brow,  and  glided  doucely  away 
before  she  could  possibly  cry  a^aiti. 

The  very  next  week  Rosa  was  at 
Kent  Villa,  with  the  relics  of  her 
husband  about  her:  his  chair,  his 
writing-table,  his  clock,  his  waste- 
paper  basket,  a  very  deep  and  large 
one.  She  had  them  all  in  her  bed- 
room at  Kent  Villa, 

Here  the  days  glided  quietly  but 
heavily.  Shu  derived  some  com- 
fort from  Uncle  Philip,  His  rough 
friendly  way  was  a  tonic,  and  braced 
her.     He  called  several  times  about 


the  Bijou  ;  told  her  he  had  put  up 
enormous  boards  all  over  the  house, 
and  purled  it  finely.  "  I  have  had 
a  hundred  agents  at  me,"  said  he  ; 
"  and  the  next  thing,  I  hope,  will 
be  one  customer ;  that  is  about  the 
proportion."  At  last  he  wrote  her 
he  bad  hooked  a  victim,  and  sold 
the  lease  and  furniture  for  nine 
hundred  guineas.  Staines  had  as- 
signed the  lease  to  Rosa,  so  she  had 
full  powers ;  and  Philip  invested 
the  money,  and  two  hundred  more 
she  gave  him,  in  a  little  mortgage  at 
six  per  cent. 

.Now  came  the  letter  from  Ma- 
deira. It  gave  her  new  life.  Chris- 
topher was  well,  contented,  hopeful. 
His  example  should  animate  her. 
She  would  bravely  bear  the  present, 
and  share  his  hopes  of  the  future. 
With  these  brighter  views,  nature 
co-operated.  The  instincts  of  ap- 
proaching maternity  brightened  the 
future.  She  fell  into  gentle  rever- 
ies, and  saw  her  husband  return, 
and  saw  herself  place  their  infant 
in  his  arms  with  all  a  wife's,  a 
mother's,  pride. 

In  due  course  came  another  long 
letter  from  the  crpiator,  with  a  full 
journal,  and  more  words  of  hope. 
Home  in  less  than  a  year,  with 
reputation  increased  by  this  last 
cure  :   home,  to  part  no  more. 

Ah  !  what  a  changed  wife  he 
should  find  !  how  frugal,  how  can- 
did, how  full  of  appreciation,  admi- 
ration, and  love  of  the  noblest, 
dearest  husband  that  ever  breathed  ! 

Lady  Cicely  Trehcrne  waited 
some  weeks,  to  let  kinder  sentiments 
return.  She  then  called  in  Dear 
Street,  but  found  Mrs.  Staines  was 
jrone  to  Gravesend.  She  wrote  to 
her. 

In  a  few  days  she  received  a  re- 
ply, studiously  polite  and  cold. 

This  persistent  injustice  morti- 
fied her  at  last.  She  said  to  her- 
self, "  Does  she  think  his  departure 
was  no  loss  to  me  ?  It  was  to  her 
interests,  as  well  as  his,  I  sacrificed 


A   SIMPLETON. 


115 


my  own  selfish  wishes.  I  will  write 
to  her  no  more." 

This  resolution  she  steadily  main- 
tained. It  was  shaken  for  a  mo- 
ment, when  she  heard,  by  a  side 
wind,  that  Mrs.  Staines  was  fast 
approaching  the  great  pain  and 
peril  of  women.  Then  she  wa- 
vered. But  no  :  she  prayed  for  her 
by  name  in  the  liturgy,  but  she 
troubled  her  no  more. 

This  state  of  things  had  lasted 
some  six  weeks,  when  she  received 
a  letter  from  her  Cousin  Tadcaster, 
close  on  the  heels  of  his  last,  to 
which  she  had  replied  as  I  have  in- 
dicated. She  knew  his  handwrit- 
ing, and  opened  it  with  a  smile. 

That  smile  soon  died  off  her 
horror-stricken  face.  The  letter 
ran  thus  :  — 

"  Tristan  d'Acunha,  Jan.  6. 

"Dear  Cicely,  —  A  terrible 
thing  has  just  happened.  We  sig- 
nalled a  raft,  with  a  body  on  it ;  and 
poor  Dr.  Staines  leaned  out  of  the 
pptt-hole,  and  fell  overboard.  Three 
boats  were  let  down  after  him  ;  but 
it  all  went  wrong  somehow,  or  it 
was  too  late.  They  could  never 
find  him;  he  was  drowned;  and 
the  funeral  service  was  read  for  the 
poor  fellow. 

"  We  are  all  sadly  cut  up.  Every- 
body loved  him.  It  was  dreadful, 
next  day  at  dinner,  when  his  chair 
was  empty.  The  very  sailors  cried 
at  not  finding  him. 

"  First  of  all,  I  thought  I  ought 

to  write  to  his  wife.  I  know  where 
she  lives ;  it  is  called  Kent  Villa, 
Gravesend.  Hut  I  was  afraid:  it 
might  kill  her  ;  and  you  are  so 
(rood  ami  sensible,  I  thought  I  had 
better  write  to  you,  and  perhaps 
you  conld  break  it  to  her  by  de- 
crees, before  it.  get!  in  all  the  pa- 
pers. 

"I  send  this  from  the  island,  by 
a    small   vessel,    and   paid   him   tei:  ' 
pounds  to  take  it. 

"  Your  aflectionate  cousin, 

"  Tadcaster." 


Words  are  powerless  to  describe 
a  blow  like  this  :  the  amazement, 
the  stupor,  the  reluctance  to  be- 
lieve,—  the  rising,  swelling,  sur- 
ging horror.  She  sat  like  a  woman 
of  stone,  crumpling  the  letter. 
"Dead!  dead!" 

For  a  long  time  this  was  all  her 
mind  could  realize,  —  that  Christo- 
pher Staines  was  dead.  He  who  had 
been  so  full  of  life  and  thought  and 
genius,  and  worthier  to  live  than 
all  the  world,  was  dead ;  and  a 
million  nobodies  were  still  alive,  and 
he  was  dead. 

It  revealed  to  her,  in  one  wither- 
ing flash,  that  she  loved  him. 
She  loved  him,  and  he  was  dead. 

She  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  and 
all  the  power  left  her  limbs.  She 
could  not  move  a  hand. 

But  suddenly  she  started  up  ; 
for  a  noble  instinct  told  her  this 
blow  must  not  fall  on  the  wife 
as  it  had  on  her,  and  in  her  time  of 
peril. 

She  had  her  bonnet  on  in  a  mo- 
ment, and,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  darted  out  of  the  house  with- 
out her  maid.  She  flew  along  the 
streets,  scarcely  feeling  the  ground. 
She  got  to  Dear  Street,  and  ob- 
tained Philip  Staines's  address. 
She  flew  to  it,  and  there  learned  he 
was  down  to  Kent  Villa.  Instantly 
she  telegraphed  to  her  maid  to  come 
down  to  her  at  Gravesend,  with 
things  for  a  short  visit,  and  wait 
for  her  at  the  station  ;  and  she  went 
down  by  train  to  Gravesend. 

Hitherto  she  had  walked  on  air, 
driven  by  one  overpowering  im- 
pulse Now,  as  she  sat  in  the  train, 
she  thought  a  little  of  herself. 
What  was  before  her?  To  break 
to  Mrs.  Staines  that  her  husband 
was  dead.  To  tell  her  all  her  mis- 
Lrivintrs  were  more  than  justified. 
To  encounter  her  cold  civility,  and 
let  her  know,  inch  by  inch,  it  must  be 
exchanged  for  curses  and  tearing  of 

hair  :    her    husband   was    dead.      To 
tell  her  this,  ami  in  the  telling  of  it, 

perhaps  reveal  that  it  was  her  great 


116 


A   SIMPLETON. 


bereavement,  as  well  as  the  wife's  ; 
for  she  had  a  deeper  affection  for 
him  than  she  ought. 

Well,  she  trembled  like  an  aspen- 
leaf —  trembled  like  one  in  an  ague, 
even  as  she  sat ;  but  she  perse- 
vered. 

A  noble  woman  has  her  courage ; 
not  exactly  the  same  as  that  which 
leads  forlorn  hopes  against  bastions 
bristling  with  rifles,  and  tongued 
with  flames  and  thunderbolts,  yet 
not  inferior  to  it. 

Tadcaster,  small  and  dull,  but  no- 
ble by  birth  and  instinct,  had  seen  the 
right  thing  for  her  to  do  ;  and  she 
of  the  same  breed,  and  nobler  far, 
had  seen  it  too ;  and  the  great  soul 
steadily  drew  the  recoiling  heart 
and  quivering  body  to  this  fiery 
trial,  this  act  of  humanity,  to  do 
which  was  terrible  and  hard,  to 
shirk  it  cowardly  and  cruel. 

She  reached- Gravesend,  and  drove 
in  a  fly  to  Kent  Villa. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a 
maid. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Staines  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes  ma'am,  she  is  at  home ; 
but"  — 

"  Can  I  see  her  1 " 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am  :  not  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  But  I  must  see  her.  I  am  an 
old  friend.  Please  take  her  my 
card.     Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

The  maid  hesitated,  and  looked 
confused.  "Perhaps  you  don't 
know,  ma'am.  Mrs.  Staines,  she 
is  —  the  doctor  have  been  in  the 
house  all  day." 

"  Ah,  the  doctor !  I  believe  Dr. 
Philip  Staines  is  here." 

"  Why,  that  is  the  doctor,  ma'am. 
Yes,  he  is  here." 

"Then  pray  let  me  sec  him  —  or 
no  ;  1  had  better  see  Mr.  Lusignan." 

"  Master  have  gone  out  for  the 
day,  ma'am;  but,  if  you'll  step  in 
the  drawing-room,  I'll  tell  the 
doctor." 

Lady  Cicely  waited  in  the  draw- 
injr-room  some  time,  heart-sick  and 
trembling. 


At  last  Doctor  Philip  came  in, 
with  her  card  in  his  hand,  looking 
evidently  a  little  cross  at  the  inter- 
ruption. "  Now,  madam,  please 
tell  me,  as  briefly  as  you  can,  what 
I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Are  you  Dr.   Philip  Staines  ?  " 
"  I   am,  madam,  at  your  service 
—  for  five  minutes.     Can't  quit  my 
patient  long,  just  now." 

"  O  sir,  thank  God  I  have 
found  you !  Be  prepared  for  ill 
news  —  sad  news  —  a  terrible  calam- 
ity —  I  can't  speak.  Read  that, 
sir."  And  she  handed  him  Tad- 
caster's  note. 

He  took  it  and  read  it. 
He  buried  bis  face  in  his  hands. 
f  Christopher!    my    poor,    poor 
boy  !  "  he  groaned.     But   suddenly 
a  terrible  anxiety  seized  him.  "  Who 
knows  of  this  !  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  myself,  sir.  I  came  here  to 
break  it  to  her." 

"  You  are  a  good,  kind  lady,  for 
being  so  thoughtful.  Madam,  if  this 
gets  to  my  niece's  ears  it  will  kill  her, 
as  sure  as  we  stand  here." 

"  Then  let  us  keep  it  from  her. 
Command  me,  sir.  I  will  do  any 
thing.  I  will  live  here  —  take 
the  letters  in — the  journals  —  any 
thing." 

"  No,  no ;  you  have  done  your 
part,  and  God  bless  you  for  it.  I 
must  stay  here.  Your  ladyship's 
very  presence,  and  your  agitation, 
would  set  the  servants  talking,  and 
some  idiot-fiend  among  them  bab- 
bling ;  there  is  nothing  so  terrible 
as  a  fool." 

"  May  I  stay  at  the  inn,  sir,  just 
one  night  V 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  wish  you  would  !  and 
I  will  run  over,  if  all  is  well  with 
her —  well  with  her  1  poor  unfor- 
tunate girl  !  " 

Lady  Cicely  saw  he  wished  her 
gone,  and  she  went  directly. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  same  evening, 
as  she  lay  on  a  sofa  in  the  best  room 
of  the  inn,  attended  by  her  maid. 
Dr.  Philip  Staines  came  "to  her. 
She  dismissed  her  maid. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


117 


Dr.  Philip  was  too  old —  in  other 
words,  had  lost  too  many  friends  — 
to  be  really  broken  down  by  a  be- 
reavement ;  but  he  was  strangely 
subdued.  The  loud  tones  were  out 
of  him,  and  the  loud  laugh,  and 
even  the  keen  sneer.  Yet  he  was 
the  same  man,  but  with  a  gentler 
surface  ;  and  this  was  not  without 
its  pathos. 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  he  grave- 
ly and  quietly,  "  it  is  as  it  always  has 
been.  '  As  is  the  race  of  leaves,  so 
that  of  man.'  When  one  falls, 
another  comes.  Here's  a  little 
Christopher  come,  in  place  of  him 
that  is  gone  —  a  brave,  beautiful 
boy,  ma'am ;  the  finest  but  one  I 
ever  brought  into  the  world.  He  is 
come  to  take  his  father's  place  in 
our  hearts, — I  see  you  valued  his 
poor  father,  ma'am, —  but  he  comes 
too  late  for  me.  At  your  age, 
ma'am,  friendships  come  naturally; 
they  spring  like  loves  in  the  soft  heart 
of  youth  :  at  seventy,  the  gate  is  not 
BO  ojxmi  ;  the  soil  is  more  sterile. 
I  shall  never  care  tor  another  Chris- 
topher ;  never  see  another  grow  to 
man's  estate." 

"  The  mother,  sir,"  sobbed  Lady 
Cicely  :  "  the  poor  mother?  " 

"Like  them  all,  poor  creature! 
in  heaven,  madam  ;  in  heaven. 
New  life!  new  existence!  a  new 
character.  All  the  pride,  irlory,  rap- 
ture, and  amazement  of  maternity 
—  thanks  to  her  ignorance,  which 
we  must  prolong,  or  I  would  not 
give  one  straw  lor  her  life,  or  her 
son's.  I  shall  never  leave  the  boUBC 
till  she  does  know  it,  ami,  come 
when  it  may,  I  dread  the  hour. 
She  is  not  framed  by  nature  to  bear 
so  deadly  a  shock." 

"  Her  father,  sir,  —  weald  he  not 
be  the  besl  person  to  break  it  to  her  '. 
He  was  out  to-dav  " 

"  Her  father,  ina'am  ?  I  shall 
get  no  help  from  him.  He  is  one  of 
those  soft,  gentle  creatures  that 
COmC  into  the  world  with  what  your 

canting  fools   call  a  mission  ;  and 

his  mission  is  to  take  care  of  num- 


ber one.  Not  dishonestly,  mind 
you,  nor  violently,  nor  rudely,  but 
doucely  and  calmly.  The  care  a 
brute  like  me  takes  of  his  vitals, 
that  care  Lusignan  takes  of  his  outer 
cuticle.  His  number  one  is  a  sensi- 
tive plant.  No  scenes,  no  noise : 
nothing  painful  —  by  the  by,  the 
little  creature  that  writes  in  the 
papers,  and  calls  calamities  painful, 
is  of  Lusignan's  breed.  Out  to-day  ! 
of  course  he  was  out,  ma'am  :  he 
knew  from  me  his  (laughter  would 
be  in  peril  all  day,  so  he  visited  a 
friend.  He  knew  his  own  tender- 
ness, and  evaded  paternal  sensibili- 
ties :  a  self-defender.  I  count  on  no 
help  from  that  charming  man." 

"  A  man  !  I  call  such  men  wep- 
tiles  !  "  said  Lady  Cicely,  her  ghast- 
ly cheek  coloring  for  a  moment. 

"  Then  you  give  them  false  im- 
portance." 

In  the  course  of  this  interview, 
Lady  Cicely  accused  herself  sadly  of 
having  interfered  between  man  and 
wife,  and,  with  the  best  intentions, 
brought  about  this  cruel  calamity. 
"  Judge,  then,  sir,"  said  she,  "  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you  for  undertak- 
ing this  cruel  task.  I  was  her 
school-fellow,  sir,  and  I  love  her 
dearly  ;  but  she  has  turned  against 
me,  and  now,  oh,  with  what  horror 
she  will  regard  me  !  " 

"Madam,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there. 
is  nothing  more  mean  and  unjust 
than  to  judge  Others  by  events  that 
none  could  foresee.  Your  conscience 
is  clear.  You  did  your  best  for  my 
pool-  niece:  she  has  many  virtues, 
but  justice  is  one  you  must  not 
look  for  in  that  quarter.    Justice 

requires  brains.  It's  a  virtue  the 
heart  does  not  deal  in.  You  must 
be  content  with  your  own  good  con- 
science, and  an  old  man's  esteem. 
You  did  all  for  the  best  ;  and  ibis 
very  day  you  have  done  a  good  kind 
action.      God  bless  you  for  it  ! 

Then  he  left  her  ;  and  next  day 
she  went  sadly  home,  ami  lor  many 
a  k>ng  day  the  hollow  world  saw 
nothing  oi'  Cicely  Trcherue. 


118 


A   SIMPLETON. 


When  Mr.  Lusignan  came  home 
that  night,  Dr.  Philip  told  him  the 
miserable  story,  and  his  fears. 
He  received  it  not  as  Philip  had  ex- 
pected. The  bachelor  had  counted 
without  his  dormant  paternity. 
He  was  terror-stricken  —  abject  — 
fell  into  a  chair,  and  wrung  his 
hands,  and  wept  piteously.  To 
keep  it  from  his  daughter  till  she 
should  be  stronger  seemed  to  him 
chimerical,  impossible.  However, 
Philip  insisted  it  must  be  done; 
and  he  must  make  some  excuse  for 
keeping  out  of  her  way,  or  his  man- 
ner would  rouse  her  suspicions. 
He  consented  reauily  to  that,  and, 
indeed,  left  all  to  Dr.  Philip. 

Dr.  Philip  trusted  nobody,  not 
even  his  own  confidential  servant. 
He  allowed  no  journal  to  come  into 
the  house  without  passing  through 
his  hands;  and  he  read  them  all 
before  he  would  let  ony  other  soul 
in  the  house  see  them.  He  asked 
Eosa  to  let  him  be  her  secretary, 
and  open  her  letters,  giving  as  a 
pretext  that  it  would  be  as  well  she 
should  have  no  small  worries  or 
trouble  just  now. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I  was  never 
so  well  able  to  bear  them.  It  must 
be  a  great  thing  to  put  me  out  now. 
I  am  so  happy,  and  live  in  the  fu- 
ture. Well,  clear  uncle,  you  can 
if  you  like  —  what  does  it  matter? 
—  only  there  must  be  one  excep- 
tion :  "my  own  Christie's  letters,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course,"  said  he  wincing  in- 
wardly. 

The  very  next  day  came  a  letter 
of  condolence  from  Miss  Lucas. 
Dr.  Philip  intercepted  it,  and  locked 
it  up,  to  be  shown  her  at  a  more  fit- 
ting time. 

Put  how  could  he  hope  to  keep 
so  public,  a  thing  as  this  from  enter- 
ing the  house  in  one  of  a  hundred 
newspapers  ? 

He  went  into  Gravesend,  and 
searched  all  the  newspapers,  to  see 
what  he  had  to  contend  with.  To 
his    honor,  he  found  it    in  several 


dailies  and  weeklies,  and  in  two 
illustrated  papers.  He  sat  aghast 
at  the  difficulty  and  the  danger. 

The  best  thing  he  could  think  of 
was  to  buy  them  all,  and  cut  out 
the  account,  lie  did  so,  and  brought 
all  the  papers,  thus  mutilated,  into 
the  house,  and  sent  them  into  the 
kitchen.  He  said  to  his  old  servant, 
"  These  may  amuse  Mr.  Lusignan's 
people,  and  I  have  extracted  all 
that  interests  me." 

By  these  means  he  hoped  that 
none  of  the  servants  would  go  and 
buy  any  more  of  these  same  papers 
elsewhere. 

Notwithstanding  these  precau- 
tions, he  took  the  nurse  apart,  and 
said,  "  Now,  you  are  an  experienced 
woman,  and  to  be  trusted  about  an 
excitable  patient.  Mind,  I  object 
to  any  female  servant  entering  Mrs. 
Staines's  room  with  gossip.  Keep 
them  outside  the  door  for  the  pres- 
ent, please.  Oh!  and  nurse,  if  any 
thing  should  happen  likely  to  grieve 
or  worry  her,  it  must  be  kept  from 
her  entirely  :  can  I  trust  you'?" 

"  You  may,  sir." 

"  I  shall  add  ten  guineas  to  your 
fee  if  she  gets  through  the  month 
without  a  shock  or  disturbance  of 
any  kind." 

She  stared  at  him  inquiringly. 
Then  she  said,  — 

"  You  may  rely  on  me,  doctor." 

"  I  feci  I  may.  Still,  she  alarms 
me.  She  looks  quiet  now,  but  she 
is  very  excitable." 

Not  all  these  precautions  gave 
Dr.  Philip  any  real  sense  of  security  ; 
still  less  did  they  to  Mr.  Lnsignan. 
He  was  not  a  tender  father,  in  small 
things  ;  but  the  idea  of  actual  danger 
to  his  only  child  was  terrible  to  him  ; 
and  he  now  passed  his  life  in  a  con- 
tinual tremble. 

This  is  the  less  to  be  wondered 
at  when  I  tell  you  that  even  the 
stout  Philip  began  to  lose  his  nerve, 
his  appetite,  his  sleep,  under  this 
hourly  terror  and  this  hourly  tor- 
ture. 

Well  did   the  great  imagination 


A  SIMPLETON. 


119 


of  antiquity  feign  a  torment  too 
great  for  the  mind  long  to  endure, 
in  the  sword  of  Damocles  suspend- 
ed by  a  single  hair  over  his  head. 
Here  the  sword  hung  over  an  inno- 
cent creature,  who  smiled  beneath 
it  fearless  ;  but  these  two  old  men 
must  sit  and  watch  the  sword,  and 
ask  themselves  how  long  before  that 
subtle  salvation  shall  snap. 

"  111  news  travel  fast,"  says  the 
proverb.  "  The  birds  of  the  air 
shall  carry  the  matter,"  says  Holy 
Writ ;  and  it  is  so.  No  bolts 
nor  bars,  no  promises  nor  precau- 
tions, can  long  shut  out  a  great 
calamity  from  the  ears  it  is  to  blast, 
the  heart  it  is  to  wither.  The  very 
air  seems  full  of  it,  until  it  falls. 

Rosa's  child  was  more  than  a 
fortnight  old,  and  she  was  looking 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  as  is  often 
the  case  with  a  very  young  mother, 
and  Dr.  Philip  complimented  her 
on  her  looks.  "  Now,"  said  he, 
"you  reap  the  advantage  of  being 
good  and  obedient,  and  keeping 
quiet.  In  another  ten  days  or  so, 
1  may  take  you  to  the  sea-side  for 
a  week.  I  have  the  honor  to  in- 
form you  that  from  about  the  fourth 
to  the  tenth  of  March  there  is  always 
a  week  of  fine  weather,  which  takes 
everybody  by  surprise  except  me 
It  does  not  astonish  me,  because  I 
observe  it  is  invariable.  Now,  what 
would  you  say  if  I  gave  you  a  week 
at  Heme  Bay,  to  set  you  up  alto- 
get  her  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,  dear  uncle,"  said 
Mrs.  Staines,  with  a  sweet  smile. 
"  I  shall  l>e  very  happy  to  go  or 
to  stay.  I  shall  be  happy  every- 
where with  my  darling  boy  and  the 
thought  of  my  husband.  Why,  I 
count  the  days  till  he  shall  come 
back  to  me.  No,  to  us  — to  us,  my 
pet.  How  dare  a  naughty  mammy 
Bay  '  to  me,'  as  if  me  '  was  half  the 
"  portance  of  oo,  a  precious  pets." 

Dr.  Philip  was  surprised  into  a 
sigh. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear?" 
_said  Kosa  very  quickly. 


"  The  matter'?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  the  matter.  You 
sighed  —  you,  the  laughing  philoso- 
pher." 

"Did  I?  "  said  he,  to  gain  time. 
"  Perhaps  I  remembered  the  un- 
certainty of  human  life,  and  of  all 
mortal  hopes.  The  old  will  have 
their  thoughts,  my  dear.  They 
have  seen   so  much  trouble." 

"  But,  uncle  dear,  he  is  a  very 
healthv  child." 

"  Vejy." 

"  And  you  told  me  yourself  care- 
lessness was  the  cause  so  many  chil- 
dren die." 

"  That  is  true." 

She  gave  him  a  curious  and  rath- 
er searching  look  ;  then,  leaning 
over  her  boy,  said,  "Mammy's  not 
afraid.  Beautiful  Pet  was  not  born 
to  die  directly.  He  will  never  leave 
his  mamma.  No,  uncle,  he  never 
can.  For  my  life  is  bound  in  his 
and  his  dear  father's.  It  is  a  triple 
cord  :  one  go,  go  all." 

She  said  this  with  a  quiet  resolu- 
tion that  chilled  Uncle  Philip. 

At  this  moment  the  nurse,  who 
had  been  bending  so  pertinaciously 
over  some  work  that  her  eyes  were 
invisible,  looked  quickly  Up,  cast  a 
furtive  glance  at  Mrs.  Staines,  and, 
finding  she  was  employed  for  the  mo- 
ment, made  an  agitated  signal  to 
Dr.  Thilip.  All  she  did  was  to 
clinch  her  two  hands  and  lilt  them 
hall-way  to  her  face,  and  then 
cast  a  frightened  look  toward  the 
door;  but  Philip's  senses  were  so 
sharpened  by  constant  alarm  and 
watching  that  he  saw  at  once 
something  serious  was  the  matter. 
Hut,  as  be  asked  himself  what  he 
should  do  in  case  of  some  sudden 
alarm,  he  merely  gave  a  nod  of 
intelligence  to  the  nurse,  scarcely 
perceptible,  then  rose  quietly  from 
Ids  scat,  and  went  to  the  window. 
"  Snow  coming,  I  think,"  said  he. 
"  For  all  that,  WO  shall  have  the 
March  summer  in  ten  days.  You 
mark  my  words."  He  then  went 
leisurely  out  of  the  room.     At  the 


120 


A  SIMPLETON. 


door  he  turned,  and,  with,  alt  the  cun- 
ning he  was  master  of,  said,  "Oh  ! 
by  the  by,  come  to  my  room,  nurse, 
when  you  are  at  leisure." 

"  Yes,  doctor/'  said  the  nurse, 
but  never  moved.  She  was  too 
bent  on  hiding  the  agitation  she 
really  felt. 

"  Had  you  not  better  go  to  him, 
nurse  1  " 

"  Perhaps  I  had,  madam." 

She  rose  with  feigned  iudifference, 
and  left  the  room.  She  walked 
leisurely  down  the  passage,  then 
casting  a  hasty  glance  behind  her, 
for  fear  Mrs.  Staines  should  be 
watching  her,  burst  into  the  doctor's 
room.  They  met  at  once  in  the 
middle  of  the  room ;  and  Mrs.  Bris- 
coe burst  out,  "  Sir,  it  is  known  all 
over  the  house  ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  What  is 
known  ? " 

"  What  you  would  give  the  whole 
world  to  keep  from  her.  Why, 
sir,  the  moment  you  cautioned  me, 
of  course  I  saw  there  was  trouble  ; 
but  little  I  thought  —  sir,  not  a 
servant  in  the  kitchen  or  the  stable 
but  knows  that  her  husband  —  poor 
thing  !  poor  thing !  Ah  !  there  goe3 
the  house-maid  —  to  have  a  look  at 
her." 

"  Stop  her !  " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  had  not  waited  for 
this ;  she  rushed  after  the  woman, 
and  told  her  Mrs.  Staines  was 
sleeping,  and  the  room  must  not 
be  entered  on  any  account. 

"  Oh,  very  well !  "  said  the  maid 
rather  sullenly. 

Mrs.  Briscoe  saw  her  return  to 
the  kitchen,  and  came  back  to  Dr. 
Staines  :  he  was  pacing  the  room  in 
torments  of  anxiety. 

"  Doctor,"  said  she,  "  it  is  the 
old  story :  '  Servants'  friends,  the 
master's  enemies.'  An  old  servant 
came  here  to  gossip  with  her  friend 
the  cook  (she  never  could  abide  her 
while  they  were  together,  by  all 
accounts),  and  told  her  the  whole 
story  of  his  being  drowned  at  sea," 

Dr.    Philip    groaned.      "  Cursed 


chatterbox ! "  said  he.  "  What  is  to 
be  done  %  Must  we  break  it  to  her 
now  ?  Oh,  if  I  could  only  buy  a 
few  days  more !  The  heart  to  be 
crushed  while  the  body  is  weakl 
It  is  too  cruel.  Advise  me,  Mrs. 
Briscoe.  You  are  an  experienced 
woman,  and  I  think  you  are  a  kind- 
hearted  woman." 

"  Well,  sir,  "  said  Mrs.  Bris- 
coe, "I  had  the  name  of  it  when 
I  was  younger,  before  Briscoe 
failed,  and  I  took  to  nursing; 
which  nursing  hardens,  sir,  by  use, 
and  along  of  the  patients  them- 
selves ;  for  sick  folk  are  lumps 
of  selfishness  :  we  see  more  of  them 
than  you  do,  sir.  But  this  I  will 
say,  'tisn't  selfishness  that  lies  now 
in  that  room,  waiting  lor  the  blow 
that  will  bring  her  to  death's  door, 
I'm  afraid,  but  a  sweet,  gentle, 
thoughtful  creature,  as  ever  supped 
sorrow  :  for  I  don't  know  how  'tis 
doctor,  nor  why  'tis,  but  an  angel 
like  that  has  always  to  sup  sor- 
row." 

But  you  do  not  advise  me,"  said 
the  doctor,  in  agitation,  "  and  some- 
thing must  be  done." 

"  Advise  you,  sir !  it  is  not  for 
me  to  do  that.  I  am  sure  I'm  at  my 
wits'  end,  poor  thing!  Well,  sir, 
I  don't  see  what  you  can  do  but  try 
and  break  it  to  her.  Better  so  than 
let  it  come  to  her  like  a  clap  of  thun- 
der. But  I  think,  sir,  I'd  have  a 
wet-nurse  ready  before  I  said  much; 
for  she  is  very  quick,  and  ten  too 
one  but  the  first  word  of  such  a 
thing  turns  her  blood  to  gall.  Sir, 
I  once  knew  a  poor  woman  —  she 
was  a  carpenter's  wife  —  a-nursing 
her  child,  in  the  afternoon ;  and 
in  runs  a  foolish  woman,  and  tells 
her  he  was  killed  dead,  off  a  scaf- 
fold. 'Twas  the  man's  sister  told 
her.  Well,  sir,  she  was  knocked 
stupid  like;  and  she  sat  staring,  and 
nursing  of  her  child,  before  she 
could  take  it  in  rightly.  The  child 
was  dead  before  supper-time,  and 
the  woman  was  not  long  «fter. 
The  whole  family  was  swept  away  ; 


A  SIMPLETON. 


121 


sir,  in  a  few  hours,  and  I  mind  the 
table  was  not  cleared  he  had  dined 
on  when  they  came  to  lay  them  out. 
Well-a-day,  nurses  see  sorrow  !  " 

"  We  all  see  sorrow  that  live  long, 
Mrs.  Briscoe.  I  am  heart-broken 
myself;  I  am  desperate.  You  are 
a  good  soul,  and  I'll  tell  you. 
When  my  nephew  married  this  poor 
girl  I  was  very  anjjry  with  him, 
and  I  soon  found  she  was  not  fit 
to  be  a  struggling  man's  wife,  and 
then  I  was  very  an<sry  with  her. 
She  had  spoiled  a  first-rate  physi- 
cian, I  thought.  But  since  I  knew 
her  better  it  is  all  changed,  she  is 
so  lovable.  How  I  shall  ever  tell 
her  this  terrible  thing,  God  knows. 
All  I  know  is,  that  1  will  not  throw 
a  chance  away.  Her  body  shall  be 
stronger  before  I  break  her  heart. 
Cursed  idiots,  that  could  not  save  a 
single  man  with  their  boats  in  a 
calm  sea !  Lord  forgive  me  for 
blaming  people  when  I  was  not 
there  to  see !  I  say  I  will  give 
her  every  chance.  She  shall  not 
know  it  till  she  is  stronger  —  no, 
not  if  I  live  at  her  door,  and  sleep 
there,  and  all.  Good  God  !  inspire 
me  with  something.  There  is  al- 
ways something  to  be  done,  if  one 
could  but  see  it." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  sighed  and  said, 
"  Sir,  I  think  any  thing  is  better 
than  for  her  to  hear  it  from  a  ser- 
vant;  and  they  are  sure  to  blurt 
it  out.  Young  women  are  such 
fools." 

"No,  no  :  I  see  what  it  is,"  said 
Dr.  Philip.  "  I  have  gone  all  wrong 
from  the  first.  I  have  l>een  acting 
like  a  woman,  when  I  should  have 
acted  like  a  man.  Why,  I  only  trust- 
cil  i/nu  by  halves.  There  was  a  fool 
for  you.  Never  trust  people  by 
halves." 

"  That  is  true,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  now  I  shall  go  at  it 
like  a  man.  I  have  a  vile  opinion 
of  servants,  but  no  matter.  I'll 
try  them  :  tiny  are  human,  I  sup- 
pose. I'll  hit  them  between  the  eyes 
like  a  man.  Go  to  the  kitchen, 
11 


Mrs.  Briscoe,  and  tell  them  I  wish 
to  speak  to  all  the  servants,  in-doors 
or  out." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

She  stopped  at  the  door,  and  said, 
"  I  had  better  get  back  to  her  as 
soon  as  I  have  told  them." 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  what  shall  I  tell  her,  sir  ? 
Her  first  word  will  be  to  ask  me 
what  you  wanted  me  for.  I  saw 
that  in  her  eye.  She  was  curious  : 
that  is  why  she  sent  me  after  you  so 
quick." 

Doctor  Philip  groaned.  He  felt 
he  was  walking  among  pitfalls. 
He  rapidly  flavored  some  distilled 
water  with  orange-flower,  then  tint- 
ed it  a  beautiful  pink,  and  bottled  it. 
"  There,"  said  he  :  "I  was  mixing 
a  new  medicine.  Table-spoon  four 
times  a  day :  had  to  filter  it.  Any 
lie  you  like." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  went  to  the  kitchen 
and  gave  her  message,  then  went 
to  Mrs.  Staines  with  the  mixture. 
Dr.  Philip  went  down  to  the 
kitchen,  and  spoke  to  the  servants 
very  solemnly.  He  said,  "  My  good 
friends,  I  am  come  to  ask  your  help 
in  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  There 
is  a  poor  young  woman  up  stairs : 
she  is  a  widow,  and  does  not  know 
it,  and  must  not  know  it  yet.  If 
the  blow  fell  now,  I  think  it  would 
kill  her :  indeed,  if  she  hears  it  all 
of  a  sudden  at  any  time,  that  might 
destroy  her.  We  are  in  so  sore  a 
strait  that  a  feather  may  turn  the 
scale.  So  we  must  try  all  we  can 
to  gain  a  little  time,  and  then  trust 
to  God's  mercy  after  all.  Well, 
now  what  do  you  say !  Will  you 
help  me  keep  it  from  her  till  the 
tenth  of  March,  say  ?  and  then  I 
will  break  it  to  her  by  degrees. 
Forget  she  is  your  mistress.  Mas- 
ter and  servant,  that  is  all  very 
well  at  a  proper  time  ;  but  this  is 
the  time  to  remember  nothing  but 
that  we  are  all  one  flesh  and  blond. 
We  lie  down  together  in  the  church- 
yard, and  we  hope  to  rise  together 
where    there    will    be     do    master 


122 


A  SIMPLETON. 


and  servant.  Think  of  the  poor 
unfortunate  creature  as  your  own 
flush  and  blood,  and  tell  me,  will 
you  help  me  try  and  save  her  under 
this  terrible  blow  1  " 

"  Ay,  doctor,  that  we  will,"  said 
the  footman.  "  Only  you  give  us 
our  orders,  and  you  will  see." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  give  you 
orders  ;  but  I  entreat  you  not  to 
show  her,  by  word  or  look,  that  ca- 
lamity is  upon  her.  Alas  !  it  is  only 
a  reprieve  you  can  give  to  her  and 
to  me.  The  hitter  hour  must  come 
when  I  must  tell  her  she  is  a  widow, 
and  her  boy  an  orphan.  When 
that  day  comes,  I  will  ask  you  all' 
to  pray  for  me  that  I  may  find 
words.  But  now  I  ask  you  to  give 
me  that  ten  days'  reprieve.  Let 
the  poor  creature  recover  a  little 
strength  before  the  thunder-bolt  of 
affliction  falls  on  her  head.  Will 
you  promise  me  1 " 

They  promised  heartily ;  and 
more  than  one  of  the  women  began 
to  cry. 

"A  general  assent  will  not  sat- 
isfy me,"  said  Dr.  Philip.  "  I  want 
every  man  and  every  woman  to 
give  me  a  hand  upon  it;  then  I 
shall  feel  sure  of  you." 

The  men  gave  him  their  hands 
at  once.  The  women  wiped  their 
hands  with  their  aprons,  to  make 
sure  they  were  clean,  and  gave 
him  their  hands  too.  The  cook 
said,  "  If  any  one  of  us  goes  from 
it,  this  kitchen  will  be  too  hot  to 
hold  her." 

"  Nobody  will  go  from  it,  cook," 
said  the  doctor.  "  I'm  not  afraid 
of  that ;  and  now,  since  you  have 
promised  me,  out  of  your  own 
good  hearts,  I'll  try  and  he  even 
with  you.  If  she  knows  nothing 
of  it  by  the  tenth  of  March,  five 
guineas  to  every  man  and  woman 
in  this  kitchen.  You  shall  see, 
that,  if  you  can  be  kind,  we  can 
be  grateful." 

He.  then  hurried  away.  He 
found  Mr.  Lusignan  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, and    told    him   all    this. 


Lusignan  was  fluttered,  but  grate- 
ful. "  Ah,  my  good  friend,"  said 
he,  "  this  is  a  hard  trial  to  two  old 
men  like  you  and  me." 

"  It  is,"  said  Philip.  "  It  has 
shown  me  my  age.  I  declare  I  am 
trembling,  —  I,  whose  nerves  were 
iron.  Put  I  have  a  particular 
contempt  lor  servants.  Mercenary 
wretches!  I  think  Heaven  inspired 
me  to  talk  to  them.  After  all, 
who  knows  1  perhaps  we  might 
find  a  way  to  their  hearts,  if  we 
did  not  eternally  shock  their  vanity, 
and  forget  that  it  is,  and  must  be, 
far  greater  than  our  own.  The 
women  gave  me  their  tears,  and 
the  men  were  earnest.  Not  one 
hand  lay  cold  in  mine.  As  for 
your  kitchen-maid,  I'd  trust  my 
"life  to  that  girl  What  a  grip  she 
gave  me  !  What  strength  !  What 
fidelity  was  in  it !  My  hand  was 
never  (/rasped  before.  I  think  we 
are  sale  for  a  few  days  more." 

Lusignan  sighed.  "  What  docs 
it  all  come  to?  We  are  pulling 
the  trigger  gently,  that  is  all." 

"No,  no  ;  that  is  not  it.  Don't 
let  us  confound  the  matter  with 
similes,  please.  Keep  them  for 
children." 

Mrs.  Staines  left  her  bed,  and 
would  have  left  her  room,  but 
Dr.  Philip  forbade  her  strictly. 

One  day,  seated  in  her  arm-chair, 
she  said  to  the  nurse,  before  Dr. 
Philip,  "  Nurse,  why  do  the  servants 
look  so  curiously  at   me  1  " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  cast  a  hasty  glance 
at  Dr.  Philip,  and  then  said,  "  I 
don't  know,  madam.  I  never 
noticed  that." 

"  Uncle,  why  did  nurse  look  at 
you  before  she  answered  such  a 
simple  question  1 " 

"  I  don't  know.  What  ques- 
tion ?  " 

"  About  the  servants." 

"  Oh,  about  the  servants !  "  said 
he  contemptuously. 

"You  should  not  turn  up  your 
nose  at  them,  ibr  they  are  all  most 


A  SIMPLETON. 


123 


kind  and  attentive.  Only  I  catch 
tliem  looking  at  me  so  strangely ; 
really  —  as  if  they  "  — 

"  iiosa,  you  are  taking  me  quite 
out  of  my  depth.  The  looks  of 
servant-girls !  Why,  of  course  a 
lady  in  your  condition  is  an  object 
of  especial  interest  to  them.  I  dare 
say  they  are  saying  to  one  another, 
'  I  wonder  when  my  turn  will  come  ? ' 
A  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous 
kind  ;  that  is  a  proverb,  is  it 
not?" 

"  To  be  sure.     I  forgot  that." 

She  said  no  more,  but  seemed 
thoughtful,  and  not  quite  satisfied. 

On  this,  Dr.  Philip  begged  the 
maids  to  go  near  her  as  little  as 
possible.  "  You  are  not  aware  of 
it,"  said  he  ;  "  but  your  looks  and 
your  manner  of  speaking  rouse  her 
attention ;  and  she  is  quicker  than 
I  thought  she  was,  and  observes 
very   subtlely." 

This  was  done ;  and  then  she 
complained  that  nobody  came  near 
her.  She  insisted  on  coming  down 
st.iirs  :   it  was  so  dull. 

Dr.  Philip  consented,  if  she  would 
be  content  to  receive  no  visits  for 
a  week  " 

She  assented  to  that ;  and  now 
passed  some  hours  every  day  in  the 
drawing-room.  In  her  morning 
wrappers,  so  fresh  and  crisp,  she 
looked  lovely,  and  increased  in 
health  and   strength  every  day. 

Dr.  Philip  used  to  look  at  her, 
and  his  very  tlesh  to  creep  at  the 
thought,  that,  ere  long,  he  must 
hurl  tlii-i  fair  creature  into  the  dust 
of  affliction  ;    must,  with  a    word, 

take  tin-  ruby  from  her  lips,  the 
rose  from  her  cheeks,  the  sparkle 
from  her  glorious  eyes, — eye.,  that 

beamed  on  him  with  sweel  affec- 
tion, and  a  mouth  that  never  opened 
but  to  show  some  simplicity  of  the 
mind  or  some  pretty  burst  of  the 
sensitive  heart. 

He  put  off,  and  put  off:  and 
at  last  cowardice  began  to  whisper, 

"  Why  tell  her  tie-  whole  truth  at 
all?      Why   not  take    her    through 


stages  of  doubt,  alarm,  and,  after 
all,  leave  a  grain  of  hope  till  her 
child  gets  so  rooted  in  her  heart 
that" — But  conscience  and  good 
sense  interrupted  this  temporary 
thought,  and  made  him  see  to  what 
a  horrible  life  of  suspense  he  should 
condemn  a  human  creature,  and 
live  a  perpetual  lie,  and  be  always 
at  the  edge  of  some  pitfall  or 
other. 

One  day,  while  he  sat  looking 
at  her,  with  all  these  thoughts,  and 
many  more,  coursing  through  his 
mind,  she  looked  up  at  him,  and 
surprised  him.  "  Ah  !  "  said  she 
gravely. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing  ! "  said  she  cun- 
ningly. 

"  Uncle  dear,"  said  she  pres- 
ently, "  when  do  we  go  to  Heine 
Bay"  ?  " 

Now,  Dr.  Philip  had  given  that 
up.  He  had  got  the  servants 
at  Kent  Villa  on  his  side,  and 
he  felt  safer  here  than  in  any 
strange  place  ;  so  he  said,  "I  don't 
know:  that  all  depends.  There 
is  plenty  of  time." 

"  No,  uncle,  "  said  Posa  gravely. 
"  I  wish  to  leave  this  house.  I 
can  hardly  breath  in  it.  " 

"  What  !  your  native  air?  " 

"  Mystery  is  not  my  native  air, 
and  this  house  is  full" of  mystery. 
Voices  whisper  at  my  door,  and 
the  people  don't  come  in.  The 
maids  east  strange  glances  at  me, 
and  hurry  away.  I  scolded  that 
pert  girl,  Jane,  and  she  answered 
me  as  mail  as  .Moses.  I  catch  you 
looking  at  me,  with  love,  and 
something  r]^r.  What  is  that  some- 
thing !  It  is  pity  :  that  is  what 
it  is.  Do  you  think,  because  I  am 
called  a  simpleton,   that   I   have  no 

eyes,  nor   ears,  nor    Bense  '     What 

is  this  secret  which  you  are  all 
hiding  from  one  person,  and  that 
is  me  i  Ah  !  Christopher  has  not 
written  this  five  weeks.  Tell  me 
the   truth,  for    I  will  know  it."  and 

tarted  up  in  wild  excitement 


121 


A   SIMPLETON. 


Then  Dr.  Philip  saw  the  hour 
was  come. 

He  said,  "  My  poor  girl,  you 
have  read  us  aright.  I  am  anxious 
about  Christopher,  and  all  the  ser- 
vants know  it. " 

"Anxious,  and  not  tell  me  — 
his  wife  —  the  woman  whose  life 
is  bound  up  in  his  !  " 

"Was  it  for  us  to  retard  your 
convalescence,  and  set  you  fretting, 
and  perhaps  destroy  your  child  ? 
Rosa,  my  darling,  think  what  a 
treasure  Heaven  has  sent  you,  to 
love  and  care  for." 

"  Yes, "  said  she,  trembling, 
"  Heaven  has  been  good  to  me ; 
I  hope  Heaven  will  always  be  as 
good  to  me.  I  don't  deserve  it ; 
but  I  tell  God  so.  I  am  very 
grateful,  and  very  penitent.  I  never 
forget  that  if  I  had  been  a  good 
wile,  my  husband  —  five  weeks  is 
a  long  time.  Why  do  you  tremble 
so?  Why  are  you  so  pale  —  a 
strong  man  like  you?  Calamity! 
calamity  ! " 

Dr.  Philip  hung  his  head. 
She  looked  at  him,  started 
wildly  up,  then  sank  back  into 
her  chair.  So  the  stricken  deer 
leaps,  then  falls.  Yet  even  now 
she  put  on  a  deceitful  calm,  and 
said,  "  Tell  me  the  truth.  I  have 
a  right  to  know." 

He  stammered  out,  "  There  is 
a  report    of  an    accident    at    sea." 

She  kept  silence. 
"  Of    a     passenger    drowned  — 
ont    of    that    ship.     This,    coupled 
with    his  silence,    fills    our    hearts 
with  fear." 

"  It  is  worse  —  you  are  breaking 
it  to  me  —  you  have  gone  too  far 
to  stop.  One  word,  is  he  alive  ? 
Oh,  say  he  is  alive  !  " 

Philip  rang  the  bell  hard,  and 
said,  in  a  troubled  voice,  "  Rosa, 
think  of  your  child." 

"Not  when  my  husband  —  is 
he  alive,  or  dead  ?  " 

"  It  is   hard    to  say,  with    such 


a  terrible  report  about,  and  no 
letters,  "  faltered  the  old  man,  his 
courage  failing  him. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?  Do 
you  think  I  can't  die,  and  go  to 
him  ?  Alive,  or  dead  ?  "  and  she 
stood  before  him,  raging  and 
quivering  in  every  limb. 

The  nurse  came  in. 

"  Fetch  her  child,"  he  cried. 
"  God  have  mercy  on  her  ! " 

"  Ah,  then,  he  is  dead, "  said 
she,  with  stony  calmness.  "  I  drove 
him  to  sea,  and  he  is  dead. " 

The  nurse  rushed  in,  and  held 
the  child  to  her. 

She  would  not  look  at  it. 

"  Dead  ! " 

"  Yes,  our  poor  Christie  is  gone; 
but  his  child  is  here,  the  im- 
age of  him.  Do  not  forget  the 
mother.  Have  pity  on  his  child 
and  yours." 

"  Take  it  out  of  my  sight ! "  she 
screamed.  "Away  with  it,  or  I 
shall  murder  it,  as  I  have  murdered 
its  father.  My  dear  Christie,  before 
all  that  live  !  I  have  killed  him. 
I  shall  die  for  him.  I  shall  go 
to  him."  She  raved  and  tore  her 
hair.  Servants  rushed  in.  Rosa 
was  carried  to  her  bed,  screaming 
and  raving,  and  her  black  hair  all 
down  on  both  sides,  a  piteous 
sight. 

Swoon  followed  swoon  ;  and  that 
very  night,  brain-fever  set  in  with 
all  its  sad  accompaniments.  A 
poor  bereaved  creature,  tossing 
and  moaning ;  pale,  anxious,  but 
resolute  faces  of  the  nurse  and 
the  kitchen-maid  watching ;  on  one 
table  a  pail  of  ice,  and  on  another, 
alas  !  the  long,  thick,  raven  hair  of 
our  poor  simpleton,  lying  on  clean 
silver  paper.  Dr.  Philip  had  cut 
it  all  off  with  his  own  hand;  and 
he  was  now  folding  it  up,  and 
crying  over  it ;  for  he  thought  to 
himself,  "  Perhaps  in  a  few  days 
more,  only  this  will  be  left  of  her 
on  earth." 


A   SIMPLETON". 


125 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Staines  fell  head-foremost  into 
the  sea  with  a  heavy  plunge.  Be- 
ing an  excellent  swimmer,  he  struck 
out  the  moment  he  touched  the 
water ;  and  that  arrested  his  dive, 
and  brought  him  up  with  a  slant, 
shocked  and  panting,  drenched  and 
confused.  The  next  moment  he 
saw,  as  through  a  fog  —  his  eyes  be- 
ing  full  of  water  —  something  fall 
from  the  ship.  He  breasted  the  big 
waves,  and  swam  toward  it :  it  rose 
on  the  top  of  a  wave,  and  he  saw  it 
was  a  life-buoy.  Encumbered  with 
wet  clothes,  he  seemed  impotent  in 
the  big  waves  ;  they  threw  him  up 
so  high,  and  down  so  low. 

Almost  exhausted,  he  got  to  the 
lite-buoy,  and  clutched  it  with  a 
fierce  grasp  and  a  wild  cry  of  delight. 
Jle  got  it  over  his  head,  and,  placing 
his  arms  round  the  buoyant  circle, 
stood  with  his  breast  and  head  out 
of  water,  gasping. 

He  now  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
got  his  wet  hair  out  of  his  cya^, 
already  smarting  with  salt-water, 
and,  raising  himself  on  the  buoy, 
looked  out  for  help. 

He  saw,  to  his  great  concern,  the 
ship  already  at  a  distance.  She 
seemed  to  have  flown  ;  and  she  was 
still  drifting  fast  away  from  him. 

He  saw  no  signs  of  help.  His 
beart  began  to  turn  as  cold  as  his 
drenched  body.  A  horrible  fear 
crossed  him. 

Hut  presently  he  saw  the  wcather- 
boal  filled,  and  fall  into  the  water; 
and  then  a  wave  rolled  between  him 
and  the  ship,  and  he  ouly  saw  her 
topmast. 

The  next  time  he  rose  on  a  migh- 
ty wave,  he  saw  the  boats  together 
astern  of  the  vessel,  but  not  coming 
his  way  ;  and  the  gloom  was  thick- 
ening,  the  Bhip  becoming  indistinct, 

and  all  was  doubt  anil  horror. 

A  life  of  agony  passed  in  a  few 
minutes. 

He  rose  and  fell  like  a  cork  on 
11* 


the  buoyant  waves,  —  rose  and  fell, 
and  saw  nothing  but  the  ship's  lights, 
now  terribly  distant. 

But  at  last,  as  he  rose  and  fell, 
he  caught  a  few  fitful  glimpses  of  a 
smaller  light  rising  and  tailing  like 
himself.  "  A  boat !  "  he  cried,  and, 
raising  himself  as  high  as  he  could, 
shouted,  cried,  implored,  for  help. 
He  stretched  his  hands  across  the 
water.     "  This  way,  this  way  !  " 

The  light  kept  moving  ;  but  it 
came  no  nearer.  They  had  greatly 
underrated  the  drift.  The  other  boat 
had  no  light. 

Minutes  passed  of  suspense,  hope, 
doubt,  dismay,  terror.  Those  min- 
utes seemed  hours. 

In  the  agony  of  suspense  the 
quaking  heart  sent  beads  of  sweat 
to  the  brow,  though  the  body  was 
immersed 

And  the  gloom  deepened,  and  the 
cold  waves  flung  him  up  to  heaven 
with  their  giant  arms,  and  then 
down  again  to  hell ;  and  still  that 
light,  his  only  hope,  was  several  hun- 
dred yai'ds  from  him. 

Only  for  a  moment  at  a  time 
could  his  eyeballs,  straining  with 
agony,  catch  this  will-o'-the-wisp,  — 
the  boat's  light.  It  groped  the  sea 
up  and  down,  but  came  no  nearer. 

When  what  seemed  days  of  agony 
had  passed,  suddenly  a  rocket  rose 
in  the  horizon :  so  it  seemed  to 
him. 

The  lost  man  gave  a  shriek  of 
joy  ;  so  prone  arc  we  to  interpret 
things  hopefully. 

Misery  !  The  next  time  he  saw 
that  little  light,  that  solitary  spark 
of  hope,  it  was  not  quite  so  near  as 
before.  A  mortal  sickness  fell  on 
his  heart.  The  ship  had  recalled 
the  boats  by  rocket. 

He  shrieked,  he  cried,  he  screamed, 
he  raved,  "  O  Rosa,  Rosa  !  for  her 
sake,  men,  men,  do  not  have  me.  I 
am  here,  here!  " 

In  vain.  The  miserable  man  saw 
the  boat's  little  light  retire,  recede, 
and  melt  into  the  ship's  larger  light  J 
and  that  light  glided  away. 


126 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Then  a  cold,  deadly  stupor  fell  on 
him.  Then  Death's  icy  claw  seized 
his  heart,  and  seemed  to  run  from 
it  to  every  part  of  him.  He  was  a 
dead  man.  Only  a  question  of 
time.  Nothing  to  gain  by  float- 
ing. 

But  the  despairing  mind  could 
not  quit  the  world  in  peace;  and 
even  here  in  the  cold,  cruel  sea  the 
quivering  body  clung  to  this  frag- 
ment of  life,  and  winced  at  Death's 
touch,  though  more  merciful. 

He  despised  this  weakness;  he 
raged  at  it ;  he  could  not  overcome 
it. 

Unable  to  live  or  to  die,  condemn- 
ed to  float  slowly,  hour  by  hour, 
down  into  Death's  jaws. 

To  a  long,  death-like  stupor  suc- 
ceeded frenzy.  Fury  seized  this 
great  and  long-suffering  mind.  It 
rose  against  the  cruelty  and  injustice 
of  his  fate.  He  cursed  the  world, 
whose  stupidity  had  driven  him  to 
sea  ;  he  cursed  remorseless  nature  ; 
and  at  last  he  railed  on  the  God 
who  made  him,  and  made  the  cruel 
water  that  was  waiting  for  his  body. 
"  God's  justice  !  God's  mercy  ! 
God's  power  !  they  arc  all  lies,"  he 
shouted,  "  dreams,  chimeras,  like 
him,  the  all-powerful  and  good, 
men  babble  of  by  the  fire.  If  there 
was  a  God  more  powerful  than  the 
sea,  and  only  half  as  good  as  men 
arc,  he  would  pity  my  poor  Rosa 
and  mc,  and  send  a  hurricane  to 
drive  those  caitiffs  back  to  the 
wretch  they  have  abandoned. 
Nature  alone  is  mighty.  Oh  !  if  I 
could  have  her  on  my  side,  and  onlv 
God  against  me !  But  she  i ;  as 
deaf  to  prayer  as  he  is,  as  mechan- 
ical and  remorseless.  I  am  a  bubble 
melting  into  the  sea.  Soul  I  have 
none  :  my  body  will  soon  be  nothing, 
nothing.  80  ends  an  honest,  loving 
life.  I  always  tried  to  love  my  fel- 
low-creatures. Curse  them  !  curse 
them !  Curse  the  earth !  Curse 
the  sea !  Curse  all  nature  !  there  is 
no  other  God  for  me  to  curse." 

The  moon  came  out. 


He  raised  his  head  and  staring 
eyeballs,  and  cursed  her. 

The  wind  began  to  whistle,  and 
flung  spray  in  his  face. 

He  raised  his  fallen  head  and 
staring  eyeballs,  and  cursed  the 
wind. 

While  he  was  thus  raving,  he 
became  sensible  of  a  black  object  to 
windward. 

It  looked  like  a  rail,  and  a  man 
leaning  on  it. 

He  stared ;  he  cleared  the  wet  hair 
from  his  eyes,  and  stared  again. 

The  thing  being  larger  than  him- 
self, and  partly  out  of  water,  was 
drifting  to  leeward  faster  than 
himself. 

He  stared  and  trembled  ;  and  at 
last  it  came  nearly  abreast,  black, 
black. 

He  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  tried  to 
swim  toward  it;  but,  encumbered 
with  his  life-buoy,  he  made  little 
progress.  The  thing  drifted  abreast 
of  him  but  ten  yards  distant. 

As  they  each  rose  high  upon  the 
waves,  he  saw  it  plainly. 

It  was  the  very  raft  that  had  been 
the  innocent  cause  of  his  sad  fate. 

He  shouted  with  hope,  he  swam, 
he  struggled  ;  he  got  near  it,  but  not 
to  it ;  it  drifted  past,  and  he  lost  his 
chance  of  intercepting  it.  lie  strug- 
gled after  it.  The  life-buoy  would 
not  let  him  catch  it. 

Then  he  gave  a  cry  of  agony, 
rage,  despair,  and  flung  off  the  life- 
buoy, and  risked  all  on  this  one 
chance. 

He  gains  a  little  on  the  raft. 

He  loses. 

He  gains.  He  cries,  "Rosa, 
Rosa  !  "  and  struggles  with  all  bis 
soul,  as  well  as  his  body  :  he  gains. 

But,  when  almost  within  reach,  a 
wave  half  drowus  him,  and  he 
loses. 

He  cries,  "  Rosa,  Rosa  !  "  and 
swims  high  and  strong.  "  Rosa, 
Rosa,  Rosa !  " 

He  is  near  it.  lie  cries,  "Rosa, 
Rosa  !  "  ami,  with  all  the  energy  of 
love  and  life,  flings  himself  almost 


A   SIMPLETON. 


127 


out  of  the  water,  and  catches  hold 
ot  the  nearest  thin;;  on  the  raft. 

It  was  the  dead  man's  leg. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  would  come  away 
in  his  grasp.  He  dared  not  try  to 
pull  himself  up  by  that.  But  he 
held  on  by  it,  panting,  exhausting, 
faint. 

This  faintness  terrified  him.  "Oh," 
thought  he,  "  if  I  faint  now,  all  is 
over." 

Holding  by  that  terrible  and 
strange  support,  he  made  a  grasp, 
and  caught  hold  of  the  wood-work 
at  the  bottom  of  the  rail.  He  tried 
to  draw  himself  up.     Impossible. 

He  was  no  better  off  than  with 
his  life-buoy. 

But  in  situations  so  dreadful  men 
think  fast.  He  worked  gradually 
round  the  bottom  of  the  raft  by  his 
hands,  till  he  got  to  leeward,  still 
holding ou.  There  he  found  a  solid 
block  of  wood  at  the  edge  of  the 
raft.  lie  pried  himself  carefully 
up  :  the  rait  in  that  part  then  sank 
a  little.  He  got  his  knee  upon  the 
timber  of  the  raft,  and,  with  a  wild 
cry,  seized  the  nearest  upright,  and 
threw  both  arms  round  it,  and  clung 
tight.  Then  first  he.  found  breath 
to  speak.  "Thank  God!"  he 
cried,  kneeling  on  the  timber,  and 
grasping  the  upright  post,  —  "Oh, 

THANK  GOH,  THANK  OOD  !  " 


CHATTER,   XV. 

"  Thank  I  led  1  ''  why,  according 
to  his    theory,  if    should   have    1 u 

"  Thank  Nature."     But  I  observe, 
that,  in  sueli  cases,  even  philosophers 

are   ungrateful  to  the,  mistress  they 
worship. 

I  Mir  philosopher  not  only  thanked 
God,  but,  being  on  bis  knees,  prayed 
forgiveness  for  his  late  ravings, — 
prayed  hard,  with  one  arm  curled 
round  the  upright,  lest  the  sea,  which 
ever  and  anon  rushed  over  the 
bottom  of  the  raft,  should  swallow 
bun  up  in  a  moment. 


Then  he  rose  carefully,  and 
wedged  himself  into  the  corner  of 
the  raft  opposite  to  that  other  figure, 
ominous  relic  of  the  wild  voyage 
the  new-comer  had  entered  upon. 
He  put  both  arms  over  the  rail,  and 
stood  erect. 

The  moon  was  now  up ;  but  so 
was  the  breeze.  Fleecy  clouds  flew 
with  vast  rapidity  across  her  bright 
face,  and  it  was  by  fitful  though 
vivid  glances  Staines  examined  the 
raft  and  his  companion. 

The  raft  was  large,  and  well  made 
of  timbers  tied  and  nailed  together ; 
and  a  strong  rail  ran  round  it  resting 
on  several  uprights.  There  were 
also  some  blocks  of  a  very  light  wood 
sen  wed  to  the  horizontal  timbers; 
and  these  made  it  float  high. 

But  what  arrested  and  fascinated 
the  man's  gaze  was  his  dead  com- 
panion,—  sole  survivor,  doubtless, of 
a  horrible  voyage ;  since  the  raft  was 
not  made  for  one,  nor  by  one. 

It  was  a  skeleton,  or  nearly, 
whose  clothes  the  sea-birds  had  torn, 
and  pecked  every  limb  in  all  the 
fleshy  parts  :  the  rest  of  the  body 
had  dried  to  dark  leather  on  the 
bones.  The  bead  was  little  more 
than  an  eyeless  skull;  but,  in  the 
fitful  moonlight,  those  huge  hollow 
caverns  seemed  gigantic  lamp-like 
eyes,  and  glared  at  him  fiendishly, 
appallingly. 

lie  sickened  at  the  sight.  He 
tried  not  to  look  at  it;  but  it  would 
be  looked  at,  and  threaten  him  in 
the  moonlight  with  great  lack-lustre 
eyes- 

The  wind  whistled,  and  lashed  his 
face  with  spray  torn  off  the  big  waves; 
anil  the  water  was  nearly  always  up 
to  his  knees  ;  and  the  raft  tOBSed  60 
wildly,  it.  was  all  he  could  do  to  hold 

on  in  bis  corner.     In  which  struggle 

still  those  monstrous  lack-lustre  eyes, 
like  lamps  of  death,  glared  at  him  ill 

the  moon,  and  all  else  dark,  except 
the  fiery  crests  of  the  black  mountain 
billows,  tumbling  and  raging  all 
around. 

What  a  night! 


128 


A   SIMPLETON. 


But  before  morning  the  breeze 
sank,  the  moon  set,  and  a  sombre 
quiet  succeeded,  with  only  that  grim 
figure  in  outline  dimly  visible.  Ow- 
ing to  the  motion  still  retained  by  the 
waves,  it  seemed  to  nod  and  rear,  and 
be  ever  preparing  to  rush  upon  him. 

The  sun  rose  glorious  on  a  lovely 
scene  ;  the  sky  was  a  very  mosaic  of 
colors  sweet  and  vivid,  and  the  tran- 
quil, rippling  sea,  peach-colored  to 
the  horizon,  with  lines  of  diamonds 
where  the  myriad  ripples  broke  into 
smiles. 

Staines  was  asleep,  exhausted. 
Soon  the  light  awoke  him,  and  he 
looked  up.  What  an  incongruous 
picture  met  his  eye  !  —  that  Heaven 
of  color  all  above  and  around,  and 
right  before  him,  like  a  devil  stuck 
in  mid-heaven,  that  grinning  corpse, 
whose  fate  foreshadowed  his  own. 

But  daylight  is  a  great  strength- 
cner  of  the  nerves.  The  figure  no  lon- 
ger appalled  him,  a  man  who  had 
long  learned  to  look  with  Science's 
calm  eye  upon  the  dead.  When  the 
sea  became  like  glass,  and  from 
peach-color  deepened  to  rose,  he 
walked  along  the  raft,  and  inspected 
the  dead  man.  He  found  it  was  a 
man  of  color,  but  not  a  black.  The 
body  was  not  kept,  in  its  place,  as 
lie  had  supposed,  merely  by  being 
jammed  into  the  angle  caused  by  the 
rail :  it  was  also  lashed  to  the  corner 
upright  by  a  Ion;;,  stout  belt. 
Staines  concluded  this  had  kept  the 
body  there,  and  its  companions  had 
been  swept  away. 

This  was  not  lost  on  him.  He  re- 
moved the  belt  for  his  own  use  :  he 
then  found  it  was  not  only  a  belt,  but 
a  receptacle.  It  was  nearly  full  of 
small  hard  substances  that  felt  like 
stones. 

When  he  had  taken  it  off  the  body, 
he  felt  a  compunction.  "Ought 
he  to  rob  the  dead,  and  expose  it  to 
be  swept  into  the  sea  at  the  first 
wave,  like  a  dead  dog  ?  " 

He  was  about  to  replace  the  belt, 
when  a  middle  course  occurred  to 
him.     He  was  a  man  who  always 


carried  certain  useful  little  things 
about  him  ;  viz.,  needles,  thread,  scis- 
sors, and  string.  He  took  a  piece 
of  string,  and  easily  secured  this  poor 
light  skeleton  to  the  raft.  The  belt 
he  strapped  to  the  rail,  and  kept  for 
his  own  need. 

And  now  hunger  gnawed  him. 
No  food  was  near.  There  was  noth- 
ing but  the  lovely  sea  and  sky,  mo- 
saic with  color,  and  that  grim,  omi- 
nous skeleton. 

Hunger  comes  and  goes  many 
times  before  it  becomes  insupporta- 
ble. All  that  day  and  night,  and 
the  next  day,  he  suffered  its  pangs  ; 
and  then  it  became  torture,  but  the 
thirst  maddening. 

Toward  night  fell  a  gentle  rain. 
He  spread  a  handkerchief  and  caught 
it.     He  sucked  the  handkerchief. 

This  revived  him,  and  even  al- 
layed in  some  degree  the  pangs  of 
hunger. 

Next  day  was  cloudless.  A  hot 
sun  glared  on  his  unprotected  head, 
and  battered  down  his  enfeebled 
frame. 

He  resisted  as  well  as  he  could. 
He  often  dipped  his  head,  and  as 
often  the  persistent  sun,  with  cruel 
glare,  made  it  smoke  again. 

Next  day  the  same ;  but  the 
strength  to  meet  it  was  waning.  He 
lay  down  and  thought  of  Rosa,  and 
wept  bitterly.  He  took  the  dead 
man's  belt,  and  lashed  himself  to  the 
upright.  That  act,  and  his  tears  for 
his  beloved,  were  almost  his  last  acts 
of  perfect  reason  ;  for  next  day  came 
the  delusions  and  the  dreams  that 
succeed  when  hunger  ceases  to  tor- 
ture, and  the  vital  powers  begin  to 
ebb.  He  lay  and  saw  pleasant 
meadows,  with  meandering  streams, 
and  clusters  of  rich  fruit  that  courted 
the  hand,  and  melted  in  the  mouth. 

Ever  and  anon  they  vanished,  and 
he  saw  grim  Death  looking  clown 
on  him  with  those  big  cavernous 
eyes. 

By  and  by  —  whether  his  body's 
eye  saw  the  grim  skeleton,  or  his 
mind's  eye  the  juicy  fruits,  green 


A   SIMPLETON. 


129 


meadows,  and  pearly  brooks  —  all 
was  shadowy. 

So  in  a  placid  calm,  beneath  a 
lil  ii"  sky,  the  raft  drifted  dead,  with 
its  dead  freight,  upon  the  glassy  pur- 
ple ;  and  he  drifted,  too,  toward  the 
world  unknown. 

There  carnc  across  the  waters  to 
that  dismal  raft  a  thing  none  too 
common  by  sea  or  land,  —  a  good 
man. 

He  was  tall,  stalwart,  bronzed,  and 
had  hair  like  snow,  before  his  time ; 
for  he  had  known  trouble.  He  com- 
manded a  merchant  steamer  bound 
for  Calcutta,  on  the  old  route. 

The  man  at  the  mast-head  de- 
scried a  floating  wreck,  and  hailed 
the  deck  accordingly.  The  captain 
altered  his  course  without  one  mo- 
ment's hesitation,  and  brought  up 
alongside,  lowered  a  boat,  and 
brought  the  dead  and  the  breathing 
man  on  board. 

A  young  middy  lifted  Staines  in 
his  arms  from  the  wreck  to  the  boat. 
He  whose  person  I  described  in 
Chapter  I.  weighed  now  no  more 
than  that. 

Men  are  no*  always  rougher  than 
women.  Their  strength  and  nerve 
enable  them  now  and  then  to  lie  gen- 
tler than  butter-lingered  angels,  who 
drop  frail  things  through  sensitive 
agitation,  and  break  them.  These 
rough  men  saw  Staines  was  hover- 
ing between  life  and  death,  and  they 
handled  him  like  a  thing  the  ebbing 
life  might  be  shaken  out  of  in  a  mo- 
ment. It  was  pretty  to  see  howgin- 
j:erly  the  sailors  carried  the  sinking 
man  up  the  ladder;  and  one  fetched 
sw. ib~,  and  the  others  laid  him  down 
softly   on    them   at    their    captain's 

leet. 

"  Well  done,  men  ! "  said  ha 
"Poor  fellow!  Pray  Heaven  we 
may  not  have  come  too  late.  Now 
stand  aloof  a  bit.  Scud  the  surgeon 
all." 

The  surgeon  came,  and  looked, 
and  fell  tllO  heart.  He  shook  his 
head,    and  called  for    brandy.     He 


had  Staines's  head  raised,  and  got 
half  a  spoonful  of  diluted  brandy 
down  bis  throat.  But  there  was  an 
ominous  gurgling. 

After  several  such  attempts  at  in- 
tervals, he  said  plainly  the  man's  life 
could  not  be  saved  by  ordinary 
means. 

"  Then  try  extraordinary,"  said 
the  captain.  "  My  orders  are  that 
he  is  to  be  saved.  There  is  life  in 
him.  You  have  only  got  to  keep  it 
there.  He  must  be  saved ;  he  shall  be 
saved." 

'•  I  should  like  to  try  Dr.  Staines's 
remedv,"  said  the  surgeon. 

"  Try  it,  then  :  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  bath  of  beef-tea.  Dr.  Staines 
says  he  applied  it  to  a  starved  child 
—  in  the  Lancet." 

"  Take  a  hundred-weight  of  beef, 
and  boil  it  in  the  coppers." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  surgeon 
went  to  the  cook,  and  very  soon  beef 
was  steaming  on  a  scale  and  at  a 
rate  unparalleled. 

Meantime  Capt.  Dodd  had  the 
patient  taken  to  his  own  cabin  ;  and 
he  and  his  servant  administered 
weak  brandy  and  water  with  great 
caution  and  skill. 

There  was  no  perceptible  result. 
But,  at  all  events,  there  was  life  and 
vital  instinct  left,  or  he  could  not 
have  swallowed. 

Thus  they  hovered  about  him  for 
some  hours,  and  then  the  bath  was 
ready. 

Tiic  captain  took  charge  of  the 
patient's  clothes;  the  surgeon  and 
a  sailor  bathed  him  in  lukewarm 
beef-tea,  and  then  covered  him  very 
warm  with  blankets  next  the  skin. 
Guess hoW  near  a  thing  it  seemed 
to  them  when  I  tell  you  they  dared 
not  rub  him. 

Just  before  sunset  his  pulse .became 
perceptible.  The  surgeon  adminis- 
tered half  a  spoonful  of  egg-flip. 
The  patient  swallowed  it. 

By  and  by  he  sighed. 

"  lie  must  not  be  left  dav  or 
night,"  said  tho  captain.  "I  don't 
know  who  or  what  he  is  ;  but  he  is  a 


130 


A   SIMPLETON. 


man  ;  and  I  could  not  bear  Iiim  to 
die  now." 

That  night  Capt.  Dodd  over- 
hauled the  patient's  clothes,  and 
looked  for  marks  on  his  linen. 
There  were  none. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Capt.  Dodd. 
"  He  is  a  bachelor." 

Capt.  Dodd  found  his  pocket- 
book,  with  bank-notes  £200.  He 
took  the  numbers,  made  a  memoran- 
dum of  them,  and  locked  the  notes 
up. 

He  lighted  his  lamp,  examined  the 
belt,  unripped  it,  and  poured  out  the 
contents  on  his  table. 

They  were  dazzling.  A  great  many 
large  pieces  of  amethyst,  and  some 
of  white  topaz  and  rock-crystal,  a 
large  number  of  smaller  stones,  car- 
buncles, chrysolites,  and  not  a  few 
emeralds.  Dodd  looked  at  them 
with  pleasure,  sparkling  in  the  lamp- 
light. 

"  What  a  lot !  "  said  he.  "  I  won- 
der what  they  are  worth."  He  sent 
lor  the  first  mate,  who,  he  knew,  did 
a  little  private  business  in  pre- 
cious stones.  "  Mastcrton,"  said  lie, 
"oblige  me  by  counting  these  stones 
with  me,  and  valuing  them." 

Mr.  Mastcrton  stared,  and  his 
mouth  watered.  However,  he  named 
the  various  stones,  and  valued  them. 
He  said  there  was  only  one  stone,  a 
large  emerald  without  a  flaw,  that 
was  worth  a  heavy  sum  by  itself; 
but  the  pearls,  very  fine;  and,  look- 
ing at  the  great  number,  they  must 
be  worth  a  thousand  pounds. 

Capt.  Dodd  then  entered  the 
whole  business  carefully  in  the  ship's 
log.  The  living  man  he  described 
thus,  "About  five  feet  six  in  height, 
ami  about  fifty  years  of  age."  Then 
he  described  the  notes  and  the  stones 
very  exactly,  and  made  Mastcrton, 
the  valuer,  sign  the  log. 

Staines  took  a  good  deal  of  egg- 
flip  that  night,  and  next  day  ate  solid 
food  ;  but  they  questioned  him  in 
vain.  His  reason  was  entirely  in 
abeyance  :  he  had  become  an  eater, 
and"  nothing  else.     Whenever  they 


gave  him  food,  he  showed  a  sort  of 
fawning  animal  gratitude.  Other 
sentiment  he  had  none;  nor  did 
words  enter  his  mind  any  more  than 
a  bird's.  And,  since  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  dwell  on  the  wreck  of  a  fine 
understanding,  I  will  only  say  that 
they  landed  him  at  Cape  Town, 
out  of  bodily  danger,  but  weak,  and 
his  mind,  to  all  appearance,  a  hope- 
less blank. 

They  buried  the  skeleton,  read  the 
service  of  the  English  Church  over 
a  Malabar  heathen. 

Dodd  took  Staines  to  the  hospital, 
and  left  twenty  pounds  with  the  gov- 
ernor of  it  to  cure  him.  But  he  de- 
posited Staines's  money  and  jewels 
with  a  friendly  banker,  and  begged 
that  the  principal  cashier  might  see 
the  man,  and  be  able  to  recognize 
him  should  he  apply    for  his   own. 

The  cashier  came  and  examined 
him,  and  also  the  ruby  ring  on  his 
finger, —  a  parting  gift  from  Rosa, — 
and  remarked  this  was  a  new  way 
of  doing  business. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  only  one,  sir," 
said  Dodd.  "  How  can  we  give  you 
his  signature  1  He  is  not  in  his 
right  mind." 

"  Nor  never  will  be." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir.  Let  us 
hope  for  the  best,  poor  fellow." 

Having  made  these  provisions, 
the  worthy  captain  weighed  anchor 
with  a  warm  heart  and  a  good  con- 
science. Yet  the  image  of  the  man 
he  had  saved  pursued  him  ;  and  ho 
resolved  to  look  after  him  next  time 
he  should  coal  at  Cape  Town,  home- 
ward bound. 

Staines  recovered  his  strength  in 
about  two  months;  but  his  mind 
returned  in  fragments,  and  very 
Slowly.  For  a  long,  long  time  he 
remembered  nothing  that  had  pre- 
ceded his  great  calamity.  His  mind 
started  afresh,  aided  only  by  certain 
fixed  habits ;  for  instance,  he  could 
read  and  write.  But,  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  he  had  no  idea  who  he 
was ;  and,  when  his  memory  cleared 


A    SIMPLETON. 


131 


a  little  on  that  head,  he  thought  his 
surname  was  Christie;  but  he  was 
not  sure. 

Nevertheless,  the  presiding  phy- 
sician discovered  in  him  a  certain 
progress  of  intelligence,  which  gave 
him  <rreat  hopes.  In  the  fifth  month, 
having  shown  a  marked  interest  in 
the  other  sick  patients,  coupled  with 
a  disposition  to  he  careful  and  atten- 
tive, they  made  him  a  nurse,  or 
rather  a  sub-nurse  under  the  specical 
orders  of  a  responsible  nurse  I  really 
believe  it  was  done  at  first  to  avoid 
the  alternative  of  sending  him  adrift, 
or  transferring  him  to  the  insane 
ward  of  the  hospital.  In  this  con- 
genial pursuit  he  showed  such  watch- 
fulness and  skill  that  by  and  by  they 
found  they  had  got  a  treasure.  Two 
months  after  that,  he  began  to  talk 
about  medicine,  and  astonished  them 
still  more.  He  became  the  puzzle 
of  the  establishment.  The  doctor 
and  surgeon  would  converse  with 
him,  and  try  and  lend  him  to  his 
past  life  ;  but,  when  it  came  to  that, 
he  used  to  put  his  hands  to  bis  head, 
with  a  face  of  great  distress  ;  and  it 
was  clear  some  impassable  harrier 
lay  between  his  growing  intelligence 
and  the  past  events  of  his  life.  In- 
deed, on  one  occasion,  he  said  to  his 
kind  friend  the  doctor,  "  The  past ! 
—  a  black  wall,  a  black  wall!" 

Ten  months  after  his  admission 
he  was  promoted  to  be  an  attendant, 
with  a  salary. 

lie  put  by  every  shilling  of  it ;  for 
he  said,  "A  voire  from  the  dark  past 
tells  me  money  is  every  thing  in 
this  world." 

A  discussion  was  held  by  the 
authorities  as  to  whether  he  should 
be  informed  he  had  money  and  jew- 
el.-; at  I  he  bank  or  not. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  postpone  this  informa- 
tion, lest  he  should  throw  it  away. 
But  they  told  him  he  had  been  picked 
up  at  sea,  and  both  money  and  jew- 
els found  on  him-  they  were  in  sate 
bands;  only  the  person  was  away 
for  the  time.     Si  ill  he  was  nut    to 


look  upon  himself  as  cither  friend- 
less or  moneyless. 

At  this  communication  he  showed 
an  almost  childish  delight,  that  con- 
firmed the  doctor  in  his  opinion  he 
was  acting  prudently,  and  for  the 
real  benefit  of  an  amiable  and  af- 
flicted person  not  yet  to  be  trusted 
with  money  and  jewels. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Ix  his  quality  of  attendant  on  the 
|  sick,  Staines  sometimes  conducted  a 
;  weak  but  convalescent  patient  into 
the  open  air  ;  and   he  was   always 
I  pleased  to  do  this,  for  the  air  of  the 
Cape  carries  health  and  vigor  on  its 
wings      He  had  seen  its  line  rccrea- 
I  tive  properties;  and  he  divined,  some- 
j  how,  that  the  minds  of  convalescents 
j  ought  to  be  amused ;  and  so  he  often 
begged  the  doctor  to  let  him  take  a 
'  convalescent  abroad.     Sooner  than 
!  not,  he  would  draw  the  patient  sev- 
!  eral   miles   in   a   Bath   chair.      He 
rather  liked  this  ;  for  he  was  a   Her- 
cules, and  had  no  egotism  or  false 
pride  where  the  sick  were  concerned. 
Now.  these  open-air  walks  exerted 
a  beneficial   intluence   on   his   own 
.  darkened  mind.     It  is  one  thing  to 
j  struggle  from  idea  to  idea;  it  is  an- 
I  other  when  material  objects  mingle 
|  with  the   retrospect,    they  seem    to 
I  supply  stepping-stones  in  the  grad- 
|  ual    resuscitation    of  memory    and 
j  reason. 

The  ships  going  out  of  port  were 
!  such  a  stepping-stone  to  him  ;  and  a 
1  vague  consciousness    came    back  to 
him  of  having  been  in  a  ship. 

Unfortunately,  along  with  this 
reminiscence  came  a  desire  to  go  in 
on.'  again  ;  and  this  sowed  discon- 
tent in  his  mind  ;  and,  tic  more  that 
mind  enlarged,  the  more  he  b 
to  dislike  the  hospital  and  its  con- 
:  fincment.  The  reeling  urew,  and 
bid"  fair  to  disqualify  him  for  his 
humble  office.  The  authorities  could 
I  not  fail  lo    heat'  of  this;  and  they 


132 


A   SIMPLETON". 


hail  a  little  discussion  about  parting 
■with  him;  but  they  hesitated  to  turn 
him  adrift,  and  they  still  doubted 
the  propriety  of  trusting  him  with 
money  and  jewels. 

While  matters  were  in  this  state, 
a  remarkable  event  occurred.  He 
drew  a  siek  patient  down  to  the  quay 
one  morning,  and  watched  the  busi- 
ness of  the  port  with  the  keenest  in- 
terest. A  ship  at  anchor  was  un- 
loading, and  a  great  heavy  boat  was 
sticking  to  her  side  like  a  black  leech. 
Presently  this  boat  came  away,  and 
moved  sluggishly  toward  the  shore, 
rather  by  help  of  the  tide  than  of  the 
two  men,  who  went  through  the  form 
of  propelling  her  with  two  monstrous 
sweeps,  while  a  third  steered  her. 
She  contained  English  goods  :  agri- 
cultural implements,  some  cases, 
four  horses,  and  a  buxom  young 
woman  with  a  thorough  English 
face.  The  woman  seemed  a  little 
excited  ;  and,  as  she  neared  the  land- 
ing-place, she  called  out  in  jocund 
tones  to  a  young  man  on  the  shore, 
"  It  is  all  right,  Dick  :  they  are  beau- 
tics."  And  she  patted  the  beasts  as 
people  do  who  are  fond  of  them. 

She  stepped  lightly  ashore ;  and 
then  came  the  slower  work  of  land- 
ing her  imports.  She  bustled  about 
like  a  hen  over  her  brood,  and  wasn't 
always  talking,  but  put  in  her  word 
every  now  and  then,  never  crossly, 
and  always  to  the  point. 

Staines  listened  to  her,  and  exam- 
ined her  with  a  sort  of  puzzled  look ; 
but  she  took  no  notice  of  him,  her 
whole  soul  was  in  the  cattle. 

They  got  the  things  on  board  well 
enough ;  but  the  horses  were  fright- 
ened at  the  gangway,  and  jibbed. 
Then  a  man  was  for  driving  them, 
and  poked  one  of  them  in  the  quar- 
ter :  he  snorted  and  reared  directly. 

"  Man  alive  !  "  cried  the  young 
woman,  "  that  is  not  the  way.  They 
are  docile  enough,  but  frightened. 
Encourage  'em,  and  let  'em  look  at 
it.  Give  'em  time.  More  haste,  less 
speed,  with  timorsome  cattle." 

"  That  is  a  very  pleasant  voice," 


said  poor  Staines,  rather  more  dic- 
tatorially  than  became  the  present 
state  of  his  intellect.  He  added 
softly,  "A  true  woman's  voiec;" 
then,  gloomily,  "  a  voice  of  the  past, 
—  the  dark,  dark  past." 

At  this  speech  intruding  itself 
upon  the  short  sentences  of  business, 
!  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter ;  and 
j  Phccbe  Falcon  turned  sharply  round 
to  look  at  the  speaker.  She  stared 
J  at  him  ;  she  cried  "  Oh ! "  and  clasped 
i  her  hands,  and  colored  all  over. 
',  "  Why,  sure,"  said  she,  "I  can't  be 
I  mistook.  Those  eyes  —  'tis  you, 
!  doctor,  isn't  it?" 

"  Doctor  !  "   said    Staines  with  a 
!  puzzled  look.     "  Yes :  I  think  they 
called  mc  doctor  once.     Pm  an  at- 
tendant in  the  hospital  now  " 

"Dick !  "  cried  Phoebe  in  no  little 
agitation  "Come  here  this  minute  i" 

"  What,  afore  I  get  the  horses 
ashore  ?  " 

"  Ay,  before  you  do  another  thing, 
or  say  another  word.  Come  here 
now  !  "  So  he  came  ;  and  she  told 
him  to  take  a  good  look  at  the  man. 
"Now,"  said  she,  "who  is  that  ?  " 

"  Blest  if  I  know,"  said  he. 

"What,  not  know  the  man  that 
saved  your  own  life !  0  Dick ! 
what  arc  your  eyes  worth  ?  " 

This  discourse  brought  the  few 
persons  within  hearing  into  one  band 
of  excited  starers. 

Dick  took  a  good  look,  and  said, 
"  I'm  blest  if  I  don't,  though.  It  is 
the  doctor  that  cut  my  throat." 

This  strange  statement  drew  forth 
quite  a  shout  of  ejaculations. 

"  Oh  !  better  breathe  through  a  slit 
than  not  at  all,"  said  Dick.  "  Saved 
my  life  with  that  cut,  he  did  —  didn't 
he   Pheeb?" 

"  That  he  did,  Dick !  Dear  heart, 
I  hardly  know  whether  I  am  in  my 
senses  or  not,  seeing  him  a-looking 
so  blank.     You  try  him." 

Dick  came  forward.  "  Sure  you 
remember  me,  sir.  Dick  Dale.  You 
cut  my  throat,  and  saved  my  life." 

"  Cut  your  throat !     Why,  that 
would  kill  you." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


133 


"Not  the  way  you  done  it.  Well, 
sir,  you  ain't  the  man  you  was,  that 
is  clear:  but  you  was  a  good  friend 
to  me ;  and  there's  my  hand." 

"  Thank  you,  Dick,"  said  Staines, 
and  took  his  hand.  "I  don't  remem- 
ber you.  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  the 
past.  The  past  is  a  dead-wall  to 
me,  —  a  dark  dead-wall."  And  he 
put  his  hands  to  his  head  with  a 
look  of  distress. 

Everybody  there  now  suspected 
the  truth ;  and  some  pointed  myste- 
riously to  their  own  heads. 

Phoebe  whispered  an  inquiry  to 
the  sick  person. 

He  said  a  little  pettishly,  "All  I 
know  is,  he  is  the  kindest  attendant 
in  the  ward,  and  very  attentive." 

"Oh  !  then  he  is  in  the  public  hos- 
pital." 

"Of  course  he  is." 

The  invalid,  with  the  selfishness 
of  his  class,  then  begged  Staines  to 
take  him  out  of  all  this  bustle  down 
to  the  beach.  Staines  complied  at 
once  with  the  utmost  meekness,  and 
said,  "Good-by,  old  friends;  forgive 
me  for  not  remembering  you.  It  is 
my  great  allliction  that  the  past  is 
gone  from  me,  —  gone,  gone."  And 
he  went  sadly  away,  drawing  his 
sick  charge  like  a  patient  mule. 

Phoebe  Falcon  looked  after  him, 
and  began  to  cry- 

"  Nay,  nay,  Phoebe,'*  said  Dick  : 
"don't  ye  take  on  about  it." 

"I  wonder  at  you,"  sobbed  Phoebe. 
"Good  peoples,  I'm  fonder  of  my 
brother  than  he  is  of  himself,  it 
seems;  for  I  can't  take  it  bo  easy. 
Well,  the  world  is  full  of  trouble. 
Lei  us  do  what  we  are  here  for. 
But  I  slmll  pray  lor  the  poor  soul 
every  night,  that  bis  mind  may  be 
given  back  to  him." 

So  then  Bhe  bustled,  and  gave 
herself  to  getting  the  cattle  on  shore, 
and  the  things  put  on  board  her 
wagon. 

But,  when  this  was  done,  she  said 
to  her  brother,  "  Diek,  I  did  not 
think  any  thing  on  earth  could  take 

my  heart  off   the   cattle  and   the 

12 


things  we  have  got  from  home  ;  but 
I  can't  leave  this  without  going,  to 
the  hospital  about  our  poor  dear 
doctor ;  and  it  is  late  for  making  a 
start,  any  way.  And  you  mustn't 
forget  the  newspapers  for  Reginald, 
he  is  so  fond  of  them;  and  you 
must  contrive  to  have  one  sent  out 
regular  after  this  ;  and  I'll  go  to  the 
hospital." 

She  went,  and  saw  the  head  doc- 
tor, and  told  him  he  had  got  an  at- 
tendant there  she  had  known  in 
England  in  a  very  different  condi- 
tion. And  she  had  come  to  see  if 
there  was  any  thing  she  could  do  for 
him ;  for  she  felt  very  grateful  to 
him,  and  grieved  to  see  him  so. 

The  doctor  was  pleased  and  sur- 
prised, and  put  several  questions. 

Then  she  gave  him  a  clear  state- 
ment of  what  he  had  done  for  Dick 
in  England. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  be- 
lieve it  is  the  same  man  ;  for,  now 
you  tell  me  this  —  yes,  one  of  the 
nurses  told  me  he  knew  more  medi- 
cine than  she  did.  His  name,  if  you 
please." 

"  His  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  his  name.  Of  course  you 
know  his  name.     Is  it  Christie  ?  " 

"  Doctor,"  said  Phoebe,  blushing, 
"  I  don't  know  what  you  will  think 
of  me;  but  I  don't  know  his  name. 
Laws  forgive  me,  I  never  had  tbe 
sense  to  ask  it." 

A  shade  of  suspicion  crossed  the 
doctor's  face. 

Phoebe  saw  it,  and  colored  to  the 
temples.  "O  sir!"  she  cried  pite- 
ously,  "don't  go  for  to  think  I 
have  told  you  a  lie  !  Why  should  I  ! 
And  indeed  I  am  not  of  that  son, 
nor  Dick  neither.  Sir,  I'll  bring  him 
to  you,  and  he  will  say  tbe  same. 
Well,  we  were  all  in  terror  and  con- 
fusion, and  I  met  him  accidentally  in 
the  -treet.  lb'  was  only  a  custom- 
er till  then,  and  paid  ready  money  : 
so  that  is  how  I  never  knew  bis 
name;    but,    if  I    hadn't    been    the 

greatest  fool  in  England,  I  should 

have  asked  his  wife." 


134 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"What!  he  has  a  wife?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  loveliest  lady  you 
ever  clapped  eyes  on,  and  he  is 
almost  as  handsome:  has  eyes  in 
his  head  like  jewels  ;  'twas  by  them 
I  knew  him  on  the  quay ;  and  I  think 
he  knew  my  voice  again,  —  said  as 
good  as  he  had  heard  it  in  past 
times." 

"  Did  he  ?  Then  we  have  got 
him,"  cried  the  doctor  energetically. 

"  La,  sir." 

"  Yes :  if  he  knows  your  voice, 
you  will  he  able,  in  time,  to  lead  his 
memory  back  :  at  least,  I  think  so. 
Do  you  live  in  Cape  Town  ?  " 

"Dear  heart,  no!  I  live  at  my 
own  farm,  a  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  from  this." 

"  What  a  pity  ! " 

"  Why,  sir  1 " 

"  Well  —  hum  !  " 

"  Oh !  if  you  think  I  could  do  the 
poor  doctor  good  by  having  him 
with  me,  you  have  only  to  say  the 
word,  and  out  he  goes  with  Dick 
and  me  to-morrow  morning.  We 
should  have  started  for  home  to- 
night but  for  this." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  madam  ?  " 
said  the  doctor,  opening  his  eyes. 
"  Would  you  really  encumber  your- 
self with  a  person  whose  reason  is 
in  suspense,  and  may  never  return  1 " 

"  But  that  is  not  his  fault,  sir. 
Why,  if  a  dog  had  saved  my  broth- 
er's life,  I'd  take  it  home,  and  keep 
it  all  its  days ;  and  this  is  a  man, 
and  a  worthy  man.  O  sir !  when 
I  saw  him  brought  down  so,  and 
his  beautiful  eyes  clouded  like,  my 
very  bosom  yearned  over  the  poor 
soul.  A  kind  act  done  in  dear  old 
England — who  could  see  the  man 
in  trouble  here,  and  not  repay  it,  ay, 
if  it  cost  one's  blood  ?  But,  indeed, 
he  is  strong  and  healthy,  and  hands 
always  scarce  our  way ;  and  the 
odds  are  he  will  earn  his  meat  one 
way  or  t'other ;  and,  if  he  doesn't, 
why,  all  the  better  for  me:  I  shall 
have  the  pleasure  of  serving  him  for 
nought  that  once  served  mc  for 
neither  money  nor  reward." 


"  You  are  a  good  woman,"  said 
the  doctor  warmly. 

"  There's  better,  and  there's 
worse,"  said  Phcebe  quietly,  and 
even  a  little  coldly. 

"More  of  the  latter,"  said  the  doc- 
tor dryly.     "  Well,  Mrs."— 

"  Falcon,  sir." 

"  We  shall  hand  him  over  to  your 
care  ;  but  first,  — just  for  form,  —  if 
you  are  a  married  woman,  we 
shou'd  like  to  sec  Dick  here  :  he  is 
your  husband,  I  presume." 

Phcebe  laughed  merrily.  "  Dick 
is  my  brother ;  and  he  can't  be 
spared  to  come  here  Dick !  he'd 
say  black  was  white  if  I  told  him  to." 

"  Then  let  us  see  your  husband 
about  it,  — just  for  form." 

"  My  husband  is  at  the  farm.  I 
could  not  venture  so  far  away,  and 
not  leave  him  in  charge."  If  she 
had  said,  "  I  will  not  bring  him  into 
temptation,"  that  would  have  been 
nearer  the  truth.  "  Let  that  fly 
stick  on  the  wall,  sir.  What  I  do 
my  husband  will  approve." 

"  I  see  how  it  is.  You  rule  the 
roost." 

Phoebe  did  not  reply  point-blank 
to  that :  she  merely  said,  "  All  my 
chickens  are  happy,  great  and 
small ;  "  and  an  expression  of  lofty, 
womanly,  innocent  pride  illumi- 
nated her  face,  and  made  it  superb 
for  a  moment. 

In  short,  it  was  settled  that 
Staines  should  accompany  her  next 
morning  to  Dale's  Kloof  Farm,  if 
he  chose.  On  inquiry,  it  appeared 
that  he  had  just  returned  to  the  hos- 
pital with  his  patient.  He  was  sent 
for,  and  Phoebe  asked  him  sweetly 
if  he  would  go  with  her  to  her  house, 
one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  away, 
and  she  would  he  kind  to  him. 

"On  the  water?" 

"Nay,  by  land;  hut 'tis  a  fine 
country,  and  you  will  see  beautiful 
deer,  and  things  running  across  the 
plains,  and  " — 

"  Shall  I  find  the  past  again,  the 
past  again  1 " 

"  Ay,  poor  soul,   that  wc  shall, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


135 


God  willing.     You  and  I,  we  will 
hunt  it  together." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  gave  her 
his  hand.  "  1  will  go  with  you. 
Your  lace  belongs  to  the  past,  so 
does  your  voice." 

He  then  inquired,  rather  abruptly, 
had  she  any  children.     She  smiled. 

"  Ay,  that  I  have,  the  loveliest 
little  boy  you  ever  saw.  When  you 
arc  as  you  used  to  be,  you  will  be 
his  doctor,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  1  will  nurse  him,  and  you 
will  help  me  find  the  past." 

Phbcee  then  begged  Staines  to  he 
ready  to  start  at  six  in  the  morning. 
She  and  1  )ick  would  take  him  up  on 
their  way. 

While  she  was  talking  to  him,  the 
doctor  slipped  out ;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  he  went  to  consult  with 
another  authority  whether  he  should 
take  this  opportunity  of  telling 
Staines  that  he  had  money  and 
jewels  at  the  bank.  He  himself  was 
half  inclined  to  do  so;  but  the  other, 
who  had  not  seen  Phoebe's  face, 
advised  him  to  do  nothing  of  the 
kind.  "  They  are  always  short  of 
money,  these  colonial  farmers."  said 
he  :  '•  she  would  get  every  shilling 
out  of  him.'' 

'■  Most  would;  but  this  is  such  an 
honest  face  !  " 

"  Well ;  but  she  is  a  mother,  you 
say." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  what  mother  could  be  just 
to  a  lunatic  with  her  own  sweet 
angel  babes  to  provide  for "?  " 

'That    is    true,"    said  Dr. . 

"  Maternal  love  is  apt  to  modify 
the  conscience." 

"  What  I  would  do,  I  would  take 
her  addn  m,  and  make  her  promise 
to  write  if  h"  gets  well;  and,  if  he 
does  get  well,  then  write  to  him 
and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Dr. acted  on  this  shrewd  ad- 
vice, and  ordered  a  bundle  to  he 
made  up  for  the  traveller  out  of  the 
hospital  Btores:  it  contained  a  nice 
light  summer  suit,  and  two  changes 
of  iiucu. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Next  morning  Staines  and  Dick 
Dale  walked  through  the  streets  of 
Cape  Town  side  by  side.  Dick  felt 
the  uneasiness  of  a  sane  man,  not 
familiar  with  the  mentally  afflicted, 
who  suddenly  finds  himself  alone 
with  one.  Insanity  turns  men  o'ten- 
est  into  sheep  and  hares ;  but  it  docs 
now  and  then  make  them  wolves  and 
tigers  ;  and  that  has  saddled  the  in- 
sane in  general  with  a  character  for 
ferocity.  Young  Dale,  then,  cast 
many  a  suspicious  glance  at  his  com- 
rade as  he  took  him  along.  These 
glances  were  re-assuring.  Christo- 
pher's face  had  no  longer  the  mobil- 
ity, the  expressive  chane.es,  that 
mark  the  superior  mind.  His 
countenance  was  monotonous;  but 
the  one  expression  was  engaging. 
There  was  a  sweet,  patient,  lamb- 
like look,  the  glorious  eye  a  little 
troubled  and  perplexed,  but  wonder- 
fully mild.  Dick  Dale  looked  and 
looked  :  and  his  uneasiness  vanished. 
And  the  more  he  looked  the  more 
did  a  certain  wonder  creep  over  him, 
and  make  him  scarce  believe  the 
thing  he  knew  :  viz.,  that  a  learned 
doctor  had  saved  him  from  the  jaws 
of  death  by  rare  knowledge,  saga- 
city, courage,  and  skill  combined, 
and  that  mighty  man  of  wisdom  was 
brought  down  to  this  lamb,  and 
would  go  north,  south,  east,  or  west, 
witli  sweet  and  perfect  submission, 
even  as  he,  Die!;  Dale,  should  ap- 
point. With  these  reflections  hon- 
i  '  Dick  felt  his  eyes  get  a  little 
misty  ;  and  to  use  those  words  of 
Scripture,  which  nothing  can  sur- 
pass or  equal,  Ins  bowels  yearned 
over  the  man. 

As  for  Christopher,  he  looked 
straight  forward,  ami  said  not  a 
word  till  they  chared  the  town  ;  but 
when  he  saw  the  vast  flowery  vale, 
an  I  the  tar  oil'  violet  hills,  like  Scot- 
land glorified,  he  turned  to  Dick 
with  an  ineffable  expression  of  sweet- 
ness and  good-fellow.- hip,  and  .-aid, 


136 


A  SIMPLETON". 


"  Oh,    beautiful !    We'll    hunt   the 
past  together." 

"  We  —  will  —  so,"  said  Dick  with 
a  sturdy,  and  indeed  almost  a  stern 
resolution. 

Now,  this  he  said,  not  that  he 
cared  for  the  past,  nor  intended  to 
waste  the  present  by  going  upon  its 
predecessor's  trail ;  but  he  had  come 
to  a  resolution  —  full  three  minutes 
ago  —  to  humor  his  companion  to 
the  top  of  his  bent,  and  say  "  Yes  " 
with  hypocritical  vigor  to  every 
thing  not  directly  and  immediately 
destructive  to  him  and  his. 

The  next  moment  they  turned  a 
corner,  and  came  upon  the  rest  of 
their  party,  hitherto  hidden  by  the 
apricot  hedge  and  a  turning  in  the 
road.  A  biue-blaek  Caffre  with  two 
yellow  Hottentot  drivers,  man  and 
boy,  was  harnessing,  in  the  most 
primitive  mode,  four  horses  on  to 
the  six  oxen  attached  to  the  wagon  ; 
and  the  horses  were  flattening  their 
cars,  and  otherwise  resenting  the 
incongruity.  Meantime  a  fourth 
figure,  a  colossal  young  Caffre  wo- 
man, looked  on  superior  with  folded 
arms  like  a  sable  Juno,  looking 
down  with  that  absolute  composure 
upon  the  struggles  of  man  and  other 
animals,  which  Lucretius  and  his 
master  Epicurus  assigned  to  the 
divine  nature.  Without  jesting,  the 
grandeur,  majesty,  and  repose  of 
this  figure,  were  unsurpassable  in 
nature,  and  such  as  have  vanished 
from  sculpture  two  thousand  years 
and  more. 

Dick  Dale  joined  the  group  imme- 
diately, and  soon  arranged  the  mat- 
ter. Meantime  Phoebe  descended 
from  the  wagon,  and  welcomed 
Christopher  very  kindly,  and  asked 
him  if  he  would  like  to  sit  beside 
her,  or  to  walk. 

He  glanced  into  the  wagon  :  it  was 
covered  and  curtained,  and  dark  as 
a  cupboard.  "  I  think,"  said  he 
timidly,  "  I  shall  see  more  of  the 
past  out  here." 

"  So  you  will,  poor  soul,"  said 
Phcebe  kiudly,  "  and  better  for  your 


health.  But  you  must  not  go  far 
from  the  wagon,  for  I'm  a  fidget  ; 
and  I  have  got  the  care  of  you  now, 
you  know,  for  want  of  a  better. 
Come,  Ucatella,  you  must  ride  with 
me,  and  help  me  sort  the  things  : 
they  are  ail  higgledy-piggledy." 
So  those  two  got  into  the  wagon 
through  the  back  curtains.  Then 
the  Calfre  driver  flourished  his  kam- 
bok,  or  long  whip,  in  the  air,  and 
made  it  crack  like  a  pistol,  and  the 
horses  reared,  and  the  oxen  started, 
and  slowly  bored  in  between  them, 
for  they  whinnied  and  kicked,  and 
spread  out  like  a  fan  all  over  the 
road  :  but  a  flick  or  two  from  the  ter- 
rible kambok  soon  sent  them  bleed- 
ing and  trembling,  and  rubbing 
shoulders,  and  the  oxen  mildly  but 
persistently  gorging  their  recalci- 
trating haunches,  the  intelligent 
animals  went  ahead,  and  revenged 
themselves  by  breaking  the  harness  ; 
but  that  goes  for  little  in  Cape 
travel. 

The  body  of  the  wagon  was  long 
and  low  and  >ery  stout.  The  tilt 
strong  and  tight  made.  The  roof 
inside,  and  most  of  the  sides,  lined 
with  green  baize.  Curtains  of  the 
same  to  the  little  window  and  the 
back.  There  was  a  sort  of  hold 
literally  built  full  of  purchases,  a 
small  fire-proof  safe,  huge  blocks  of 
salt,  saws,  axes,  pickaxes,  adzes, 
flails,  tools  innumerable,  bales  of 
wool  and  linen  stuff,  hams,  and  two 
hundred  empty  sacks  strewn  over 
all.  In  large  pigeon-holes  fixed  to 
the  sides  were  light  goods,  groceries, 
collars,  glaring  cotton  handkerchiefs 
for  Pha'be's  aboriginal  domestics, 
since  not  every  year  did  she  go  to 
(/ape  Town,  —  a  twenty-days'  jour- 
ney by  wagon  :  things  dangled  from 
the  very  roof;  but  no  hard  goods 
there,  if  you  please,  to  batter  one's 
head  in  a  spill.  Outside  were  latticed 
grooves  with  tent,  tent-poles,  and 
rifles.  Great  pieces  of  cork  and  bags 
of  hay  and  corn  hung  dangling  from 
mighty  hooks;  the  latter  to  feed 
the  cattle,  should  they  be  compelled 


A   SIMPLETON. 


137 


to  camp  out  on  some  sterile  spot  in 
the  Veldt,  and,  methinks,  to  act  as 
buffers,  should  the  whole  concern 
roll  down  a  nullah,  or  little  precipice, 
—  no  very  uncom  non  incident  in  the 
blessed  region  they  must  pass  to 
reach  Hale's  Kloof. 

Harness  mended  ;  fresh  start. 
The  Hottentots  and  Caffre  vociferated 
and  yelled,  and  made  the  unearthly 
row  of  a  dozen  wild  beasts  wran- 
gling. The  horses  drew  the  bullocks, 
they  the  Wagon :  it  crawled  and 
creaked,  and  its  appendages  wabbled 
finely. 

Slowly  they  creaked  and  wabbled 
past  apricot-hedges  and  detached 
houses  and  huts,  and  got  into  an 
open  country  without  a  tree,  but  here 
and  there  a  stunted  camel-thorn. 
The  soil  was  arid,  and  grew  little 
foid  for  man  or  beast,  yet,  by  a  sin- 
gular freak  of  nature,  it  put  forth 
abundantly  things  that,  here  at  homo 
we  find  it  harder  to  raise  than 
homely  grass  and  oats.  The  ground 
was  thickly  clad  with  flowers  of  de- 
lightful hues ;  pyramids  of  snow  or 
rosecolor  bordered  the  track;  yel- 
low and  crimson  stars  bejewelled  the 
ground  ;  and  a  thousand  bulbous 
plants  burst  into  all  imaginable  col- 
or-, and  spread  a  rainbow  carpet  to 
the  foot  of  the  violet  hills  :  and  all 
this  glowed  and  gleamed  and  glit- 
tered in  a  son  shining  with  incredible 
brightness  and  purity  of  light,  but, 
somehow,  without  giving  a  headache, 
or  making  the  air  sultry. 

Christoph  -r  fell  to  gathering  flow- 
ers, and  interrogating  the  past  by 
means  of  them  ;  tor  he  had  studied 
botany.  The  past  <x&\e  him  back 
some  pitiably  vague  ide  is.  II  ■  slgh- 
cd.  "  Never  mind,"  said  he  to  I  Hck, 
and  tapped  his  forehead  :  it  is  here  : 
it  is  only  locked  up 

"All right,"  Baid  Dick  :  "nothing 
is  lost  when  you  know  where  'tis." 

"  This    Is   a    beautiful    country," 

suggested  Christopher.  "  It  is  all 
flowers.  It  is  like  the  garden  of  — 
the  garden  of —     Locked  op." 

"It     is    de— light— ful,"    replied 
12* 


the  self-compelled  optimist  sturdily. 
But  here  nature  gave  way.  He 
was  obliged  to  relieve  his  agricultural 
bile  by  getting  into  the  cart,  and  com- 
plaining to  his  sister.  "  'Twill  take 
us  all  our  time  to  cure  him.  He 
have  been  bepraising  this  here  soil, 
which  it  is  only  fit  to  clean  the  wo- 
men's kettles.  'Twouldn't  feed  three 
larks  to  an  acre,  I  know ;  no,  nor 
half  so  many." 

"  Poor  soul  !  Mayhap  the  flow- 
ers have  took  his  eye.  Sit  here  a 
bit,  Dick.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  a  many  things." 

While  these  two  were  conversing, 
Ucatella,  who  was  very  fond  of 
Phoebe,  but  abhorred  wagons,  step- 
ped out,  and  stalked  by  the  side  like 
an  ostrich,  a  camclopard,  or  a  Tng- 
lioni  ;  nor  did  the  effort  with  which 
she  subdued  her  stride  to  the  pace 
of  the  procession  appear:  it  was  the 
poetry  of  walking.  Christopher  ad- 
mired it  a  moment  ;  but  the  noble 
expanse  tempted  him,  and  he  strode 
forth  like  a  giant,  his  lungs  inflating 
in  the  glorious  air,  and  soon  left  I  lie 
wagon  far  behind. 

The  consequence  was,  that  when 
they  came  to  a  halt,  ami  Dick  and 
Phoebe  got  out  to  release  and  water 
the  cattle,  there  was  Christopher's 
figure  retiring  into  space. 

"  Hanc  rem  a'gre  tulit  Phnbe," 
as  my  old  friend  Livy  would  say. 
"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear !  If  he  strays 
so  far  from  us,  he  will  be  eaten  up 
at  nightfall  by  jackals  or  lions  or 
something.  One  of  you  must  go 
after  him." 

"  Me  go,  missy,"  said  Ucatella 
zealously,  pleased  with  an  excuse  lor 
stretching  her  magnificent  limbs. 

"  Ay  ;  but  mayhap  he  will  not  come 
back  with  you  :  will  he,  Dick  !  " 

"  That  he  will,  like  a  lamb." 
Dick  wanted  to  look  after  the  cattle. 

"  Yuke,  my  girl,"  said  Phoebe, 
"listen.  lie  lias  been  a  good  friend 
of  ours  in  trouble  ;  and  now  heis  not 
quite  right  hm  .  So  be  very  kind  to 
him  ;  but  be  sure  and  bring  him  back, 
or  keep  biui  till  wecoiuc." 


133 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  Me  bring  him  back  alive,  certain 
sure,"  said  Ucatella,  smiling  from 
ear  to  ear.  She  started  with  a  sud- 
den glide,  like  a  boat  taking  the 
water,  and  appeared  almost  to  saun- 
ter away,  so  easy  was  the  motion  ; 
but,  when  you  looked  at  the  ground 
she  was  covering,  the  stride,  or  glide, 
or  whatever  it  was,  was  amazing  — 

"She  seemed  in  walking  to  devour  the 
way." 

Christopher  walked  fast,  but  noth- 
ing like  this ;  and  as  he  stopped  at 
times  to  botanize,  and  gaze  at  the 
violet  hills,  and  interrogate  the  past, 
she  came  up  with  him  about  rive 
miles  from  the  halting-place. 

She  laid  her  band  quietly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  said  with  a  broad,  ge- 
nial smile  and  a  musical  chuckle, 
"  Ucatella  come  for  you.  Missy 
want  to  speak  you." 

"  Oh  !  very  well ;"  and  he  turned 
back  with  her  directly  ;  but  she  took 
him  by  the  hand  to  make  sure  ;  and 
they  marched  hack  peaceably,  in 
silence,  and  band  in  hand.  But  be 
looked  and  looked  at  her ;  and  at  last 
he  stopped  dead  short,  and  said  a  lit- 
tle arrogantly,  "  Come !  I  know 
you.  You  are  not  locked  up  :"  and 
he  inspected  her  point-blank.  She 
stood  like  an  antique  statue,  and 
faced  the  examination.  "  You  are 
'  the  noble  savage,'  "  said  he,  having 
concluded  his  inspection. 

"  Nay,"  said  she.  "  I  be  the  house- 
maid." 

"The  house-maid  !  " 

"Iss,  the  house-maid,  Ucatella. 
So  come  on."  And  she  drew  him 
along,  sore  perplexed. 

They  met  the  cavalcade  a  mile 
from  the  halting-place;  and  Phoebe 
apologized  a  Utile  to  Christopher. 
"  1  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said 
she  ;  "  hut  I  am  just  for  all  the  world 
like  a  hen  with  her  chickens  :  if  but 
one  strays,  I'm  all  in  a  flutter  till  I 
get  him  hack." 

".Madam,"  said  Christopher,  "  I 
am  very  unhappy  at  the  way  things 
ure  locked  up.     Please  tell  me  truly, 


is  this  'the  house-maid,'  or  the  '  noble 
savage  1 '  " 

"  Well,  she  is  both,  if  you  go  to 
that,  and  the  best  creature  ever 
breathed." 

"Then  she  is  the  '  noble  savage.' " 

"  Ay,  so  they  call  her,  because  she 
is  black." 

"Then,  thank  Heaven!"  said 
Christopher,  "  the  past  is  not  all 
locked  up." 

That  afternoon  they  stopped  at 
an  inn.  But  Dick  slept  in  the  cart. 
At  three  in  the  morning  they  took 
the  road  again,  and  creaked  along 
supernaturally  loud  under  a  purple 
firmament  studded  with  huge  stars, 
all  bright  as  moons,  that  lit  the  way 
quite  clear,  and  showed  black  things 
innumerable  flitting  to  and  fro:  these 
made  Phoebe  shudder,  but  were  no 
doubt  harmless  ;  still  Dick  carried 
his  double  rifle,  and  a  revolver  in  his 
belt. 

They  made  a  fine  march  in  tho 
cool,  until  some  slight  mists  gath- 
ered, and  then  they  halted,  and  break- 
fasted near  a  silvery  kloof,  and  wa- 
tered the  cattle.  While  thus  em- 
ployed, suddenly  a  golden  tinge 
seemed  to  fall  like  a  lash  on  the  va- 
pors of  night ;  they  scudded  away 
directly,  as  jackals  before  the  lion. 
The  stars  paled  ;  and  with  one  in- 
credible bound  the  mighty  sun  leaped 
into  the  horizon,  and  rose  into  the 
sky.  In  a  moment  all  the  lesser 
lamps  of  heaven  were  out,  though 
late  so  glorious  ;  and  there  was  noth- 
ing but  one  vast  vaulted  turquoise, 
and  a  great  flaming  topaz  mount- 
ing with  eternal  ardor  to  its  centre. 

This  did  not  escape  Christopher. 
"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  he.  "  No  twi- 
light. The  tropics!"  He  managed 
to  dig  that  word  out  of  the  past  in  a 
moment. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  sun  was  so  hot 
that  they  halted,  and  let  the  oxen 
loose  till  sundown.  Then  they 
began  to  climb  the  mountains. 

The  way  was  steep  and  rutrged  ; 
indeed,  so  rough  in  places,  that  tli3 


A   SIMPLETON. 


139 


cattle  had  to  jump  over  the  holes,  and, 
as  the  wagon  could  not  jump  so 
cleverly,  it  jolted  appallingly,  and 
many  a  scream  issued  forth. 

Near  the  summit,  when  the  poor 
beasts  were  dead  heat,  they  got  into 
clouds  and  storms  ;  and  the  wind 
rushed  howling  at  them  through  the 
narrow  pass  with  such  fury,  it  flat- 
tened the  horses'  ears,  and  bade  fair 
to  sweep  the  whole  cavalcade  to  the 
plains  below. 

Christopher  and  Dick  walked  close 
behind  under  the  lee  of  the  wagon. 
Christopher  said  in  Dick'sear,  "D'ye 
hear  that  1  Time  to  reef  topsails, 
captain." 

"  It  is  time  to  do  something,"  said 
Dick.  He  took  advantage  of  a  jut- 
ting rock,  drew  the  wagon  half  behind 
it  and  across  the  road,  propped  the 
wheels  with  stones  ;  and  they  all 
huddled  to  leeward,  man  and  beast 
indiscriminately , 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Christopher  approv- 
ingly :  "we  are  lying  to, — a  very 
proper  course." 

They  huddled  and  shivered  three 
hours ;  and  then  the  sun  leaped  into 
the  sky,  and,  lo  !  a  transformation 
scene.  The  cold  clouds  were  first 
rosy  fleeces,  then  golden  ones,  then 
gold-dust,  then  gone:  the  rain  was 
big  diamonds,  then  crystal  sparks, 
then  -one  :  the  rocks  and  the  bushes 
sparkled  with  gem-like  drops,  and 
shone  and  smiled. 

The  shivering  party  bustled,  and 
toasted  the  potent  luminary  in  hot 
coffee ;  for   Phoebe's   wagon  had   a 

stove  and   chimney  ;   and    then    they 

yoked  their  miscellaneous  cattle 
again,  and  breasted  the  hill.     With 

many  a  jinn|i    and   bump   and  jolt, 

and  scream  from  inside,  they  reached 
the  summit,  and  looked  down  on  a 
vast  slope  flowering  but  arid, — 
a  region  i>f  gaudy  sterility. 

The  descent  was  more  tremendous 
than  the  ascent ;  and  Phoebe  got  out, 
and  told  Christopher  she  would  liev- 
er  cross  the  ocean  twice  than  this 
dreadful  mountain  once, 

The  Hottentot  with  the  reins  was 


now  bent  like  a  bow  all  the.  time, 
keeping  the  cattle  from  flowing 
diverse  over  precipices,  and  the  Cafl're 
with  his  kanibok  was  here  and  there 
and  everywhere,  his  whip  flicking 
like  a  lancet,  and  cracking  like  a 
horse-pistol,  and  the  pair  vied  like 
Apollo  and  Pan,  not  which  could 
sing  sweetest,  but  swear  loudest. 
Having  the  lofty  hill  for  some  hours 
between  them  and  the  sun,  they 
bumped  and  jolted,  and  stuck  in 
mud  holes,  and  flogged  and  swore 
the  cattle  out  of  them  again,  till  at 
last  they  got  to  the  bottom,  where 
ran  a  turbid  kloof,  or  stream.  It 
was  fordable  ;  but  the  recent  rains 
had  licked  away  the  slope  :  so  the 
existing  hank  was  two  feet  above  the 
stream.  Little  recked  the  demon 
drivers  or  the  parched  cattle  :  in  they 
plunged  promiscuously,  with  a  flop 
like  thunder,  followed  by  an  awful 
splashing.  The  wagon  stuck  fast 
in  the  mud,  the  horses  tied  them- 
selves in  a  knot,  and,  rolled  about 
in  the  stream,  and  the  oxen  drank, 
imperturbable. 

"  Oh  the  salt !  the  salt ! " 
screamed  Phoebe;  and  the  rocks  re- 
echoed her  lamentations. 

The  wagon  was  inextricable,  the 
cattle  done  up,  the  savages  lazy  :  so 
they  staid  for  several  hours.  Chris- 
topher botaui/.ed,  but  not  alone. 
Phoebe  drew  Ucatella  apart,  and  ex- 
plained to  her,  that,  when  a  man  is  a 
little  wrong  in  the  head,  it  makes  a. 
child  of  him.  "  So,"  said  she,  "  you 
mu.-t  think  he  is  your  child,  and 
never  let  him  out  of  your  sight." 

"All  right,"  said  the  sable  Juno, 
who     spoke      English     ridiculously 

well,  and  rapped  out  idioms,  espe- 
cially "  Come  on,"  and  "  All  right." 
About  dusk  what  the  drivers   had 

foreseen,  though  they  had  not  the 
sense  to  explain  it,  took  place :  the 

kloof  dwindled  to  a  men'  gutter, 
and  the  wagon  Btuck  high  .and  dry. 
Phoebe  waved  her  handkerchief  to 
Ucatella  Ucatella,  who  had  dogged 
Christopher  about  four  hours  with- 
out a  word,   now    took    his    hand, 


140 


A   SIMPLETON. 


and  said,  "My  child,  missy  wants 
us  ;  come  on  ;  "  and  so  led  him  un- 
resistingly. 

The  drivers,  flogging  like  devils, 
cursing  like  troopers,  and  yelling 
like  hyenas  gone  mad,  tried  to  get 
the  wagon  oft';  but  it  was  last  as  a 
rock.  Then  Dick  and  the  Hotten- 
tot put  their  shoulders  to  one  wheel, 
and  tried  to  pry  it  up,  while  the 
Caffre  encouraged  the  cattle  with  his 
thong.  Observing  this,  Christopher 
went  in,  with  his  sable  custodian  at 
his  heels,  and  heaved  at  the  other 
embedded  wheel.  The  wagon  was 
lifted  directly,  so  that  the  cattle 
tugged  it  out,  and  they  got  clear.  ( >n 
examination,  the  salt  had  just  es- 
caped 

Says  Ucatella  to  Phcebe  a  little 
ostentatiously,  "  My  child  is  strong 
and  useful ;  make  little  missy  a 
good  slave." 

"A  slave !  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said 
Phoebe.  "  He'll  be  a  father  to  us  all, 
once  he  gets  his  head  back;  and  I 
do  think  it  is  coming  —  but  very 
slow." 

The  next  three  days  offered  the 
ordinary  incidents  of  African  travel, 
but  nothing  that  operated  much  on 
Christopher's  mind,  which  is  the 
true  point  of  this  narrative  ;  and,  as 
there  are  many  admirable  books  of 
African  travel,  it  is  the  more  proper 
I  should  confine  myself  to  what 
may  be  called  the  relevant  incidents 
of  the  journey. 

On  the  sixth  day  from  Cape 
Town  they  came  up  with  a  large 
wagon  stuck  in  a  mudhole.  There 
was  (juite  a  party  of  Boers,  Hotten- 
tots, Caftres,  round  it,  armed  with 
whips,  kamboks,  and  oaths,  lashing 
and  cursing  without  intermission, 
or  any  good  effect ;  and  there  were 
the  wretched  beasts  straining  in 
vain  at  their  choking  yokes,  moan- 
ing with  anguish,  trembling  with 
terror*  their  poor  mild  eyes  dilated 
with  agony  and  fear;  and  often, 
when  the  blows  of  the  cruel  kamboks 
cut  open  their  bleeding  flesh,  they 


bellowed  to  Heaven  their  miserable 
and  vain  protest  against  this  devil's 
work. 

Then  the  past  opened  its  stores, 
and  lent  Christopher  a  word. 

"Barbarians  !"  he  roared,  and 
seized  a  gigantic  Caffre  by  the  throat, 
just  as  his  kambok  descended  for 
the  hundredth  time.  There  was  a 
mighty  struggle,  as  of  two  Titans  ; 
dust  Mew  round  the  combatants  in 
a  cloud;  a  whirling  of  big  bodies, 
and  down  they  both  went  with  an 
awful  thud,  the  Saxon  uppermost, 
by  Nature's  law. 

The  Caffre  s  companions,  amazed 
at  first,  began  to  roll  their  eyes  and 
draw  a  knife  or  two  ;  but  Dick  ran  • 
forward,    and    said,  "  Don't     hurt 
him  :  he  is  wrong  here.'" 

This  representation  pacified  them 
more  readily  than  one  might  have 
expected.  Dick  added  hastily, 
"We'll  get  you  out  of  the  hole  our 
way,  and  cry  quits." 

The  proposal  was  favorably  re- 
ceived ;  and  the  next  minute  Chris- 
topher and  Ucatella  at  one  wheel, 
and  Dick  and  the  Hottentot  at  the 
other,  with  no  other  help  than  two 
pointed  iron  bars  bought  for  their 
shepherds,  had  effected  what  sixteen 
oxen  could  not.  To  do  this  Dick 
Dale  had  bared  his  arm  to  the 
shoulder.  It  was  a  stalwart  limb, 
like  his  sister's ;  and  he  now  held 
it  out  all  swollen  and  corded,  and 
slapped  it  with  his  other  hand. 
"  Look'ee  here,  you  chaps,"  said 
he.  "  The  worst  use  a  man  can  put 
that  there  to  is  to  go  cutting  out  a 
poor  beast's  heart  for  not  doing 
more  than  he  can.  You  are  good 
fellows,  you  Caffres  ;  but  I  think  you 
have  sworn  never  to  put  your 
shoulder  to  a  wheel.  But,  bless 
your  poor  silly  hearts !  a  little 
strength  put  on  at  the  right  place  is 
better  than  a  deal  at  the  wrong." 

"  You  hear  that,  you  Caffre 
chaps  ?  "  inquired  Ucatella  a  little 
arrogantly  —  tor  a  Caffre. 

The  CatTres,  who  bad  stood  quite 
silent    to    imbibe     these     remarks, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


141 


bowed  their  heads  with  all  the  I 
dignity  and  politeness  of  Roman 
senators,  Spanish  grandees,  &c. ;  and 
one  of  the  said  party  replied  gravely, 
"  The  words  of  the  white  man  are 
always  wise." 

"  And  his  arm  blanked  '  strong," 
said  Christopher's  late  opponent, 
from  whose  mind,  however,  all  re- 
sentment had  vanished. 

Thus  spake  the  Cafl'res,  yet  to  this 
day  never  hath  a  man  of  all  their 
tribe  put  his  shoulder  to  a  wheel,  so 
strong  is  custom  in  South  Africa, 
probably  in  all  Africa ;  since  I  re- 
mem  ber  St.  Auyustin  found  it 
stronger  than  he  liked  at  Carthage. 

Ueatella  went  to  Phoebe,  and 
said,  "Missy,  my  child  is  good  and 
brave." 

"  Bother  you  and  your  child  !  " 
said  poor  Phoebe.  "  To  think  of  his 
flying  at  a  giant  like  that,  and  you 
letting  of  him.  I  m  all  of  a  tremble 
from  head  to  foot;"  and  Phoebe 
relieved  herself  with  a  cry. 

"  Oh,  missy  !"  said  Ueatella. 

"  There,  never  mind  me.  Do  go 
and  look  after  your  child,  and  keep 
him  out  of  more  mischief.  I  wish 
we  were  safe  at  Dale's  Kloof,  I  do." 

Ueatella  complied,  and  went  bot- 
anizing with  Dr.  Staines;  bat  that 
gentleman,  in  the  course  of  his 
scientific  researches  into  camomile 
flowers  and  blasted  Death,  which 
were  all  that  lovely  region  afforded, 

suddenly  succumbed,  and  stretched 
out  his  limbs,  and  said  sleepily, 
"Good-night,  I  — cat"  —  and  was 
off  into  the  land  of  Nod. 

The  wagon,  which,  by  the  way, 
had  passed  the  larger  but  slower 
vehicle,  found  him  fast  asleep,  and 
Ueatella  st. Hiding  by  him,  :is  or- 
dered, motionless  and'  grand! 

"Oh.    dear!     what     now!"    said 

l'luiiie;  bat  being  a  sensible  woman, 

though  in  the  ben  and  chickens  line, 
she  said,  "  '  Tis  the  fighting  and  the 

excitement.      '  I'will    do    bim    more 
good  than  harm,  I  think  ;  "  and  she 

'  I  take  this  very   naeful  expn 
from  a  delightful  veluuic  by  Mr.  Boyle. 


had  him  bestowed  in  the  wagon,  and 
never  disturbed  him  night  nor  day. 
He  slept  thirty-six  hours  at  a 
stretch;  and,  when  he  awoke,  she 
noticed  a  slight  change  in  his  eye. 
lie  looked  at  her  with  an  interest 
he  had  not  shown  before,  and  said, 
"  Madam,  I  know  you." 

"Thank  Cod  for  that!"  said 
Phccbe. 

"  You  kept  a  little  shop  in  the 
other  world." 

Pheebe  opened  her  eyes  with  some 
little  alarm. 

"  You  understand  —  the  world 
that  is  locked  up  —  for  the  present." 

"Well,  sir,  so  I  did,  and  sold  you 
milk  and  butter.   Don't  you  mind  I  " 

"No  —  the  milk  and  butter  — 
they  are  locked  up." 

The  country  became  wilder,  the 
signs  of  life  miserably  sparse  ;  about 
every  twenty  miles  the  farm-house 
or  hut  of  a  degenerate  Boer,  whose 
children  and  slaves  pigged  together, 
and  all  ran  jostling,  and  the  mistress 
screamed  in  her  shrill  Dutch,  and 
the  Hottentots  all  chirped  together, 
and  confusion  reigned  for  want  of 
method  :  often  they  went  miles,  and 
saw  nothing  but  a  hut  or  two,  with 
a  nude  Hottentot  eating  flesh  burned 
a  little,  but  not  cooked,  at  the 
door;  and  the  kloofs  became  deeper 
and  more  turbid ;  and  Phoebe  was  in 
agony  about  her  salt ;  and  Christo- 
pher "advised  her  to  break  it  in  big 
lumps,  and  hang  it  all  about  the 
Wagon  in   sacks;    and  she  did,  and 

Hoatella    said    profoundly,    "My 

child  is  wise;"  and  they  Regan  to 
draw  near  home,  and  Phoebe  to 
fidget  ;  and  she  said  to  Christopher, 

"  <  )h,  dear  !  I  hope  they  are  all  alive 
and  well  :once  you  leave  home,  you 
dott't  know  what  may  have  hap- 
pened by  then  you  come  back.    One 

Comfort,  I've  gOl  Sophy  :  she  is  very 
dependable,  and  no  beauty,  thank 
my  stars  I  " 

'That  night,  the  last   they  had   to 
travel,   was    cloudy    for    a   wonder, 
and  they  groped  with  lanterns. 
I  Vatella  aud  her    child    brought 


142 


A  SIMPLETON. 


up  the  rear.  Presently  there  was  a 
light  pattering-  behind  them.  The 
swift-cared  Ucatella  clutched  Chris- 
topher's arm,  and,  turning  round, 
pointed  back,  with  eyeballs  white 
and  rolling.  There  were  full  a 
dozen  animals  following  them, 
whose  bodies  seemed  colorless  as 
shadows,  but  their  eyes  little  balls  of 
flaming  lime-light. 

"  Gun  !  "  said  Christie,  and  gave 
the  Caflre's  arm  a  pinch.  She 
flew  to  the  caravan  :  he  walked 
backward,  facing  the  foe.  The 
wagon  was  halted;  and  Dick  ran 
back  with  two  loaded  rifles.  In  his 
haste  he  gave  one  to  Christopher, 
and  repented  at  leisure ;  but 
Christopher  took  it,  and  handled  it 
like  an  experienced  person,  and 
said  with  delight,  "  Volunteer" 
But  with  this  the  cautious  animals 
had  vanished  like  bubbles.  But 
Dick  told  Christopher  they  would 
be  sure  to  come  back.  He  ordered 
Ucatella  into  the  wagon,  and  told 
her  to  warn  Phcebe  not  to  be  fright- 
ened if  guns  should  be  fired.  This 
soothing  message  brought  Phoebe's 
white  face  out  between  the  curtains  ; 
and  she  implored  them  to  get  into 
the  wagon,  and  not  tempt  Provi- 
dence. 

"  Not  till  I  have  got  thee  a  kaross 
of  jackal's  fur." 

"  I'll  never  wear  it !  "  said  Phoebe 
violently,  to  divert  him  from  his 
purpose. 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  Dick 
dryly.  "  These  varmint  are  on  and 
oil'  like  shadows,  and  as  cunning  as 
old  Nick.  We  two  will  walk  on 
quite  unconcerned  like;  and,  as  soon 
as  ever  the  varmint  are  at  our  heels, 
you  give  us  the  office  ;  and  we'll 
pepper  their  fur,  won't  we,  doctor?" 

"  We  —  will  —  pepper  —  their 
fur,"  said  Christopher,  repeating 
what  to  him  was  a  lesson  in  the 
ancient  and  venerable  English 
tongue. 

So  they  walked  on  expectant ; 
and  by  and  by  the  four-footed  shad- 
ows with  large  lime-light  eyes  came 


stealing  on  ;  and  Phoebe  shrieked, 
and  they  vanished  before  the  men 
could  draw  a  bead  on  them. 

"Thou's  no  use  at  this  work, 
Pheeb,"  said  Dick.  "  Shut  thy 
eyes,  and  let  us  have  Yuke." 

"  Iss,  master  :  here  I  be." 

"  You  can  bleat  like  a  lamb  ;  for 
I've  heard  ye." 

"  Iss,  master.  I  bleats  beauti- 
ful ;"  and  she  showed  snowy  teeth 
from  ear  to  ear. 

"Weil,  then,  when  the  varmint 
are  at  our  heels,  draw  in  thy  woolly 
head,  and  bleat  like  a  young  lamb. 
They  won't  turn  from  that,  I  know, 
the  vagabonds." 

Matters  being  thus  prepared,  they 
sauntered  on;  but  the  jackals  were 
very  wary.  They  came  like  shad- 
ows, so  departed,  —  a  great  many 
times  ;  but  at  last,  being  re-enforced, 
they  lessened  the  distance,  and  got 
so  close  that  Ucatella  withdrew  her 
head,  and  bleated  faintly  inside  the 
wagon.  The  men  turned,  levelling 
their  rifles,  and  found  the  troop 
within  twenty  yards  of  them.  They 
wheeled  directly  ;  but  the  four  bar- 
rels poured  their  flame,  four  loud 
reports  startled  the  night,  and  one 
jackal  lay  dead  as  a  stone,  another 
limped  behind  the  flying  crowd,  and 
one  lay  kicking.  He  was  soon  des- 
patched, and  both  carcasses  flung 
over  the  patient  oxen  ;  and  good-by, 
jackals,  for  the  rest  of  that  journey. 

Ucatella,  with  all  a  Caffre's  love 
of  lire-arms,  clapped  her  hands  with 
delight.  "  My  child  shoots  loud 
and  strong,"  said  she. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  Phoebe : 
"  they  are  all  alike.  Wherever 
there's  men,  look  for  quarrelling  and 
firing  off.  We  had  only  to  sit  quiet 
in  the  wagon." 

"  Ay,"  said  Dick,  "  the  cattle  es- 
pecially, —  for  it  is  them  the  varmint 
were  after,  —  and  let  'em  eat  my 
Hottentots." 

At  this  picture  of  the  cattle  inside 
the  wagon,  and  the  jackals  supping 
on  cold  Hottentot  alongside,  Plue- 
be,  who  had  no  more  humor  than  a 


A  SIMPLETON". 


u: 


cat,  but  a  heart  of  gold,  shut  up, 
and  turned  red  with  confusion  at 
her  false  estimate  of  the  recent 
transaction  in  fur. 

When  the  sun  rose,  they  found 
themselves  in  a  tract  somewhat  less 
arid  and  inhuman  ;  and  at  last,  at 
the  rise  of  a  gentle  slope,  they  saw, 
half  a  mile  before  them,  a  large 
farmhouse  partly  clad  with  creepers, 
and  a  little  plot  of  turf,  the  fruit 
of  eternal  watering  ;  item,  a  flower 
bed ;  item,  snow-white  palings ; 
item,  an  air  of  cleanliness  and  neat- 
ness  scarcely  known  to  those  dirty 
descendants  of  clean  ancestors,  the 
Boers.  At  some  distance  a  very 
large  dam  glittered  in  the  sun,  and 
a  troop  of  snow-white  sheep  were 
watering  at  it. 

"England  !  "  cried  Christopher. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe  ;  "  as 
ni<_'h  as  man  can  make  it."  But 
soon  she  began  to  fret.  "  Oh,  dear  ! 
where  are  they  all  1  If  it  was  me, 
I'd  he  at  the  door  looking  out.  Ah, 
there  goes  Yuke  to  rouse  them  up." 

"  Come,  Pheeb,  don't  von  fidget," 
said  Dick  kindly.  "  Why,  the  lazy 
lot  are  scarce  out  of  their  beds  by 
this  time." 

"More  shame  for 'em  !  If  they 
were  away  from  me,  and  coming 
home,  I  should  be  at  the  door  day 
and  night,  I  know.     Ah  !  " 

She  uttered  a  scream  of  delight; 
forjust  then  out  came  (Jcatella,  with 
little  Tommy  <>n  her  shoulder,  and 
danced  along  to  meet  her.  As  she 
cam''  close,  she  raised  the  chubby 
child  high  in  the  air,  ami  he  crowed  ; 
and  then  she  lowered  him  to  his 
mother,  who  rushed  at  him,  seized 
and  devoured  him  with  a  hundred 
inarticulate  cries  of  joy  and  love 
unspeakable. 

"Natdhb!"   said     Christopher 

dogmatically,  recognizing  an  old 
acquaintance,  and  booking  it  as  one 
more  conquest  gained  over  the  past. 
But  there  was  too  much  excitement 

Over    tin'    cherub  to  attend   to   him. 

So  he  watched  the  women  gravely, 

and  begnn  to  moralize  with  all   his 


might.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  what 
we  used  to  call  maternal  love ;  and 
all  animals  had  it,  and  that  is  why 
the  noble  savage  went  for  him.  It 
was  very  good  of  you,  Miss  Savage," 
said  the  poor  soul  sententiously. 

"  Good  of  her  !  "  cried  Phoebe. 
"  She  is  all  goodness.  Savage  ! 
Find  me  a  Dutchwoman  like  her. 
I'll  give  her  a  good  cuddle  for  it." 
And  she  took  the  Caffre  round  the 
neck,  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss, 
and  made  the  little  boy  kiss  her  too. 

At  this  moment  out  came  a  colly- 
dog,  hunting  Ucatella  by  scent 
alone,  which  process  landed  him 
headlong  in  the  group.  He  gave 
loud  barks  of  recognition,  fawned 
on  Phoebe  and  Dick,  smelled  poor 
Christopher,  gave  a  growl  of  suspi- 
cion, and  lurked  about,  squinting, 
dissatisfied,  and  lowering  his  tail. 

"  Thou  art  wrong,  lad,  for  once," 
said  Dick  ;  "  for  he's  an  old  friend, 
atid  a  good  one." 

"  After  the  clog,  perhaps  some 
Christian  will  come  to  welcome  us," 
said  poor  Phoebe. 

Obedient  to  the  wish,  out  walked 
Sophy,  the  English  nurse,  a  scraggy 
woman,  with  a  very  cocked  nose 
and  thin  pinched  lips,  and  an  air  of 
respectability  and  pertness  mingled. 
She  dropped  a  short  courtesy,  shot 
the  glance  of  a  basilisk  at  Ucatella, 
and  said  stiffly,  "  You  arc  welcome 
home,  ma'am."  Then  she  took 
the  little  boy  as  one  having  author- 
ity. Not  that  Phoebe  would  have 
surrendered  him,  but  jusf  then  Mr. 
Falcon  strolled  out  with  a  cigar  in 
his  mouth  ;  and  Phoebe,  with  her 
heart  in  her  mouth,  Hew  to  meet  him. 
There    was    a    rapturous     conjugal 

embrace,  followed  by  mutual  inqui- 
ries, and  the  wagon  drew  up  at  the 
door.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  Fal- 
con observed  Staines,  saw  at  once 
he  was  a  gentleman,   and   touched 

his  hat  to  him,    to    which     Chris  tO- 

pher  responded  in  kind, and  remem- 
bered he  had  done  so  in  the  locked- 
up  past. 

Phojhe   instantly  drew   her   bus- 


144 


A  SIMPLETON. 


band  apart  by  the  sleeve.  "  Who 
do  you  think  that  is  1  You'll  never 
guess.  'Tis  the  great  doctor  that 
saved  Dick's  life  in  England  with 
cutting  of  his  throat.  But  oh,  my 
dear,  he  is  not  the  man  he  was.  He 
is  afflicted.  Out  of  his  mind  partly. 
Well,  we  must  cure  him,  and  squire 
the  account  for  Dick.  I'm  a  proud 
woman  at  finding  him,  and  bringing 
him  here  to  make  him  all  right 
again,  I  can  tell  you.  Oh  !  I  am 
happy,  I  am  happy.  Little  did  I 
think  to  be  so  happy  as  I  am.  And, 
my  dear,  I  have  brought  you  a 
whole  sackful  of  newspapers  old 
and  new." 

"  That  is  a  good  girl.  But  tell 
me  a  little  more  about  him.  What 
is  his  name  ?  " 

"  Christie." 

"Dr.  Christie?" 

"  No  doubt.  He  wasn't  an  apoth- 
ecary or  a  chemist,  you  may  be  sure, 
but  a  high  doctor,  and  the  cleverest 
ever  was  or  ever  will  be.  And  isn't 
it  sad,  love,  to  see  him  brought  down 
so  ?  My  heart  yearns  for  the  poor 
man  :  and  then  his  wife  —  the  sweet- 
est, loveliest  creature  you  ever  — 
oh  !  " 

Phcebe  stopped  very  short,  for 
she  remembered  something  all  of  a 
sudden  ;  nor  did  she  ever  again  give 
Falcon  a  chance  of  knowing  that 
the  woman  whose  presence  had  so 
disturbed  hiin  was  this  very  Dr. 
Christie's  wife.  "  Curious  !  "  thought 
she  to  herself,  "  the  world  to  be  so 
large,  and  yet  so  small."  Then 
aloud,  "  They  are  unpacking  the 
wagon  ;  come,  dear.  1  don't  think 
I  have  forgotten  any  thing  of  yours. 
There's  cigars  and  tobacco,  and 
powder  and  shot  and  bullets,  and 
every  thing  to  make  you  comforta- 
ble, as  my  duty  'tis ;  and  —  oh,  but 
I'm  a  happy  woman  !  " 

Hottentots  big  and  little  clus- 
tered about  the  wagon.  Treasure 
after  treasure  was  delivered  with 
cries  of  delight.  The  dogs  found  out 
it  was  a  .joyful  time,  and  barked 
about  the  wheeled  treasury  ;  and  the 


place  did  not  quiet  down  till  sun- 
set. 

A  plain  but  tidy  little  room  was 
given  to  Christopher  ;  and  he  slept 
there  like  a  top.  Next  morning  his 
nurse  called  him  up  to  help  her  water 
the  grass.  She  led  the  way  with  a  tub 
on  her  head,  and  two  buckets  in  it. 
She  took  him  to  the  dam  :  when  she 
got  there,  she  took  out  the  buckets, 
left  one  on  the  bank,  and  gave  the 
other  to  Christie.  She  then  went 
down  the  steps  till  the  water  was  up 
to  her  neck,  and  bade  Christie  fill 
the  tub.  He  poured  eight  bucket- 
fuls  in.  Then  she  came  slowly  out, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  balancing  this 
tub  full  on  her  head.  Then  she 
held  out  her  hands  for  the  two  buck- 
ets. Christie  tilled  them,  wonder- 
ing, and  gave  them  to  her.  She 
took  them  like  toy  buckets,  and 
glided  slowly  home  with  this  enor- 
mous weight,  and  never  spilled  a 
drop.  Indeed,  the  walk  was  more 
smooth  and  noble  than  ever,  if  possi- 
ble. 

When  she  reached  the  house,  she 
hailed  a  Hottentot ;  and  it  cost  the 
man  and  Christopher  a  great  effort 
of  strength  to  lower  her  tub  between 
them. 

"  What  a  vertebral  column  you 
must  have  !  "  said  Christopher. 

"  You  must  not  speak  bad  words, 
my  child,"  said  she.  "  Now  you 
water  the  grass  and  the  flowers." 
She  gave  him  a  watering-pot,  and 
watched  him  maternally,  but  did 
not  put  a  band  to  it.  She  evident- 
ly considered  this  part  of  the  busi- 
ness as  child's  play,  and  not  a  fit 
exercise  of  her  powers. 

It  was  only  by  drowning  that 
little  oasis  twice  a  day,  that  the  grass 
was  kept  green  and  the  flowers  alive. 

She  found  him  other  jobs  in  course 
of  the  day  ;  and,  indeed,  he  was  al- 
ways helping  somebody  or  other, 
and  became  quite  ruddy,  bronzed, 
and  plump  of  cheek,  and  wore  a 
strange  look  of  happiness,  except  at 
times  when  he  got  apart,  and  tried 
to  recall  the  distant  past.      Then  he 


A   SIMPLETON. 


145 


would  knit  his  brow,  and  look    per- 
plexed and  sad. 

They  were  getting  quite  used  to 
him,  and  he  to  them,  when  one  day 
he  did  not  eome  in  to  dinner.  Phoe- 
be sent  out  tor  him  ;  but  they  could 
not  rind  him. 

The  sun  set.  Phoebe  became 
greatly  alarmed  ;  and  even  Dick  was 
anxious. 

They  all  turned  out  with  guns 
and  dogs,  and  hunted  for  him  be- 
neath the  stars. 

Just  before  daybreak,  Dick  Dale 
saw  a  fire  sparkle  by  the  side  of  a 
distant  thicket.  He  went  to  it;  and 
there  was  Ucatella  seated,  calm  and 
grand  as  antique  statue,  and  Chris- 
topher lying  by  her  side  with  a 
shawl  thrown  over  him.  As  Dale 
came  hurriedly  up,  she  put  her  finder 
to  her  lips,  and  said,  "  My  child 
sleeps.  Do  not  wake  him.  "When 
he  sleeps,  he  hunts  the  past,  as 
Colly  hunts  the   springbok. 

"  Here's  a  go !  "  said  Dick.  Then, 
hearing  a  chuckle,  he  looked  up,  and 
was  aware  of  a  comical  appendage 
to  the  scene.  There  hung,  head 
downward,  from  a  branch,  a  Caffre 
boy,  who  was  in  fact  the  brother  of 
the  stately  Ucatella,  only  went  far- 
ther inio  antiquity  for  his  models  of 
deportment;  for,  as  she  imitated  the 
antique  marbles,  he  reproduced  the 
habits  of  that  epoch  when  man 
roosted,  and  was  arboreal.  Wheel 
somersaults,  and,  above  all,  swing- 
ing head  downward  from  a  branch, 
were  the  sweetness  of  his  existence. 

"  Oli !  you  are  there,  are  you  1  " 
said  Dick. 

"  las,"  said  Ucatella.  "  Tim 
good  boy.     Tim  found  my  child." 

•'  Well/'  said  Dick,  "  he  has  cho- 
sen a  nice  place.  This  is  the  clump 
the  last  lion  came  out  of:  at  least 
they  say  so.  For  my  part,  I  never 
saw  an  African  lion.  Falcon  says 
they've    all   took    ship,  and    gone 

to  England.  However,  1  shall  stay 
here  with  my  rifle  till  daybreak 
'Tis   tempting   Providence    to    lie 

down  ou  the  skirt  of  the  wood  for 
13 


Lord  knows  what  to  jump    out   on 
ye  unawares." 

Tim  was  sent  home  for  Hottentots ; 
and  Christopher  was  carried  home, 
still  sleeping,  and  laid  on  his  own 
bed. 

He  slept  twenty-four  hours  more  ; 
and,  when  he  was  fairly  awake,  a 
sort  of  mist  seemed  to  clear  away  in 
places,  and  he  remembered  things  at 
random.  He  remembered  being  at 
sea  on  the  raft  with  the  dead  body  : 
that  picture  was  quite  vivid  to  him. 
He  remembered,  too,  being  in  the 
hospital,  and  meeting  Phoebe,  and 
every  succeeding  incident ;  but,  as 
respected  the  more  distant  past,  he 
could  not  recall  it  by  any  effort  of  his 
will.  His  mind  could  only  go  into 
that  remoter  past  by  material  step- 
ping-stones ;  and  what  stepping- 
stones  he  had  about  him  here  led 
him  back  to  general  knowledge, 
but  not  to  his  private  history. 

In  this  condition  he  puzzled  them 
all  strangely  at  the  farm  :  his  mind 
was  alternately  so  clear,  and  so  ob- 
scure. He  would  chat  with  Phoebe, 
and  sometimes  give  her  a  good  prac- 
tical hint,  but  the  next  moment 
helpless  for  want  of  memory, —  that 
great  (acuity  without  which  judg- 
ment cannot  act,  having  no  mate- 
rial. 

After  some  days  of  this  he  had 
another  great  sleep.  It  brought  him 
back  the  distant  past  in  chapters, 
—  his  wedding-day,  bis  wife's  face 
and  dress  upon  that  day,  his  part- 
ing with  her,  his  whole  voyage  out ; 
but,  strange  to  say,  it  swept  away 
one-half  of  that  which  he  had  recov- 
ered at  his  last  sleep,  and  he  no 
longer  remembered  clearly  how  he 
came  to  be  at  Dale's  Kloof. 

Thus  his  mind  might  be  compared 
to  one  climbing  a  slippery  place,  who 
gains  a  foot  or  two,  then  slips  back, 
but,  on  the  whole,  gains  more  than 
he  loses. 

He  took  a  great  liking  to  Falcon. 
That  gentleman  had  the  art  of  pleas- 
ing, and  the  tact  never  to  offend. 

Falcon  affected  to  treat  the  poor 


146 


A   SIMPLETON. 


soul's  want  of  memory  as  a  common 
infirmity ;  pretended  he  was  himself 
very  often  troubled  in  the  same  way, 
and  advised  him  to  read  the  news- 
papers. "  My  good  wife."  said  he, 
'•  has  brought  me  a  whole  file  of  the 
Cape  Gazette.  I'd  read  them  if  I  was 
you.  The  deuse  is  in  it,  if  you  don't 
rake  up  something  or  other." 

Christopher  thanked  him  warmly 
for  this  :  he  got  the  papers  to  his  own 
little  room,  and  had  always  one  or 
two  in  his  pocket  for  reading.  At 
first  he  found  a  good  many  hard 
words  that  puzzled  him;  and  he 
borrowed  a  pencil  of  Pheebe,  and 
noted  them  down.  Strange  to  say, 
the  words  that  puzzled  him  were 
always  common  words,  that  his  un- 
accountable memory  had  forgotten : 
a  hard  word  —  he  was  sure  to  re- 
member that. 

One  day  he  had  to  ask  Falcon 
the  meaning  of  "  spendthrift."  Fal- 
con told  him  briefly.  He  could 
have  illustrated  the  word  by  a  strik- 
ing example ;  but  he  did  not.  He 
added,  in  his  polite  way,  "No  fellow 
can  understand  all  the  words  in  a 
newspaper.  Now,  here's  a  word 
in  mine,  'Anemometer:'  who  the 
deuse  can  understand  such  a  word  ? " 
"Oh,  that  is  a  common  word 
enough,"  said  poor  Christopher. 
"It  means  a  machine  for  measur- 
ing the  force  of  the  wind." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  Falcon  ;  but 
did  not  believe  a  word  of  it. 

One  sultry  day  Christopher  had 
a  violent  headache,  and  complained 
to  Ucatclla.  She  told  Phoebe,  and 
they  bound  his  brows  with  a  wet 
handkerchief,  and  advised  him  to 
keep  in-doors.  He  sat  down  in  the 
coolest  part  of  the  house,  and  held 
his  head  with  his  hands,  for  it  seemed 
as  if  it  would  explode  into  two  great 
fragments. 

All  in  a  moment  the  sky  was 
overcast  with  angry  clouds,  whirl- 
ing  this  way  and  that.  Huge  drops 
of  hail  pattered  down,  and  the  next 
minute  came  a  tremendous  flash  of 
lightning,  accompanied,  rather  than 


followed,  by  a   crash  of   thunder 
close  over  their  heads. 

This  was  the  opening.  Down 
came  a  deluge  out  of  clouds  that 
looked  mountains  of  pitch,  and 
made  the  day  night  but  for  the  fast 
and  furious  strokes  of  lightning 
that  fired  the  air.  The  scream  of 
wind  and  awful  peals  of  thunder 
completed  the  horrors  of  the  scene. 
In  the  midst  of  this,  by  what 
agency  I  know  no  more  than  science 
or  a  sheep  does,  something  went  off 
inside  Christopher's  head,  like  a 
pistol-shot.  He  gave  a  sort  of 
scream,  and  dashed  out  into  the 
weather. 

Phoebe  heard  his  scream  and  his 
flying  footstep,  and  uttered  an 
ejaculation  of  fear.  The  whole 
household  was  alarmed,  and,  under 
other  circumstances,  would  have 
followed  him ;  but  you  could  not  see 
ten  yards. 

A  chill  sense  of  impending  mis- 
fortune settled  on  the  house.  Phoebe 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
rocked  in  her  chair. 

Dick  himself  looked  very  grave. 
Ucatclla  would  have  tried  to  fol- 
low him ;  but  Dick  forbade  ber. 
"  'Tis  no  use,"  said  he  "  When  it 
clears,  we  that  be  men  will  go  for 
him." 

"  Pray  Heaven  you  may  find  him 
alive." 

"  I  don't  think  but  what  we  shall. 
There's  nowhere  he  can  fall  down 
to  hurt  himself,  nor  yet  drown  him- 
self, but  our  dam;  and  he  has  not 
gone  that  way.  But  " — 
"  But  what  ?  " 

"  If  we  do  find  him,  we  must  take 
him  back  to  Cape  Town,  before  he 
does  himself,  or  some  one,  a  mis- 
chief. Why,  Phoebe,  don't  you  see 
the  man  has  j«one  ravinir  mad  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The   electrified   man  rushed  out 
into  the  storm ;  but  he  scarcely  felt 


A   SIMPLETON. 


147 


it  in  his  body  :  the  effect  on  his  mind 
overpowered  hailstones.  The  light- 
ning seemed  to  light  up  the  past; 
tiie  mighty  explosions  of  thunder 
seemed  cannon-strokes  knocking 
down  a  wall,  and  letting  in  his  whole 
life. 

Six  hours  the  storm  raged ;  and 
before  it  ended  he  had  recovered 
nearly  his  whole  past.  Except  his 
voyage  with  Capt.  Dodd  —  that, 
indeed,  he  never  recovered  —  and 
the  things  that  happened  to  him  in 
the  hospital  before  he  met  Phoebe 
Falcon  and  her  brother ;  and,  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  his  lost 
memory,  his  body  began  to  shiver  at 
the  hail  and  rain,  lie  tried  to  find 
his  way  home,  but  missed  it;  not  so 
much,  however,  but  that  he  recov- 
ered it  as  soon  as  it  began  to  clear  : 
and,  just  as  they  were  coming  out 
to  look  for  him,  lie  appeared  before 
them,  dripping,  shivering,  very  pale 
ond  worn,  with  the  handkerchief 
still  about  his  head. 

At  sight  of  him,  Dick  slipped  back 
to  his  sister,  and  said  rather  roughly, 
"  There  now,  you  may  leave  off  cry- 
ing :  he  is  come  home  ;  and  to-mor- 
row I  take  him  to  Cape  Town." 

Christopher  crept  in,  a  dismal, 
sinister  figure. 

"()  sir  !  "  said  Phcebe,  "  was  this 
a  day  for  a  Christian  to  be  out  in  ? 
How  could  you  go  and  frighten  us 
so  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  madam,"  said 
Christopher  humbly.  "I  was  not 
myself* 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do  now 
is  to  e.o  to  bed,  and  let  us  send  you 
up  something  warm." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Chris- 
topher, and  retired  with  the  air 
of  one  too  full  of  great  amazing 
thoughts  to  gossip 

lb-  slept  thirty  hours  at  a  stretch  ; 
and  then,  awaking  in  the  dead  of 
night,  he  saw  the  past  even  more 
clear  and  vivid,  lie  lighted  his  can- 
dle, ami  began,  to  grope  in  the  < 'n/" 
to  d  ites,  he  now  re- 
membered when  he  had   sailed  from 


England,  and  also  from  Madeira. 
Following  up  this  clew,  he  found  in 
the  (jdzette  a  notice  that  H.  M.  ship 
Ampliptrite  had  been  spoken  oif  the 
Cape,  and  had  reported  the  mel- 
ancholy loss  of  a  promising  physi- 
cian and  man  of  science,  Dr.  Staines. 

The  account  said  every  exertion 
had  been  made  to  save  him,  but  in 
vain. 

Staines  ground  his  teeth  with  rage 
at  this.  "  Every  exertion  !  the  false- 
hearted curs  !  they  left  me  to  drown 
without  one  manly  effort  to  save  me. 
Curse  them,  and  curse  all  the 
world !  " 

Pursuing  his  researches  rapidly, 
he  found  a  much  longer  account  of 
a  raft  picked  up  by  Capt.  Dodd, 
with  a  while  man  on  it  and  a  dead 
body,  the  white  man  having  on  him 
a  considerable  sum  in  money  and 
jewels. 

Then  a  new  anxiety  chilled  him. 
There  was  not  a  word  to  identify 
him  with  Dr.  Staines.  The  idea  had 
never  occurred  to  the  editor  of  the 
(Jape  Gazette.  Still  less  would  it 
occur  to  any  one  in  England.  At 
this  moment  his  wife  must  be  mourn- 
ing for  him.     ''Poor,  poor  Rosa!" 

But  perhaps  the  fatal  news  might 
not  have  reached  her. 

That  hope  was  dashed  away  as 
soon  as  found.  Why,  these  were 
all  old  newspapers.  That  gentle- 
manly man  who  had  lent  them  to 
him  had  said  so. 

Old  !  yet  they  completed  the  year 
L8G7. 

lie  now  tore  through  them  for  the 
dates  alone,  and  soon  found  they 
went  to  1868.  Yet  they  were  old 
papers.  He  had  sailed  in  May, 
1807. 

"  My  God!"  he  cried   in  agony, 

"I   II  \\V.  LOST    A.   YKAIS." 

This  thought  crushed  him.  By 
and  by  he  began  to  carry  this  awful 
thought    into    delai.s.      "  My     UoSa 

has  worn  mourning  fur  me,  and  put 
it  off  again.     1  am  dead  to  her  ami 

to  all  the  world.'' 

lie  wept  long  and  bitterly. 


148 


A   SIMPLETON. 


Those  tears  cleared  his  brain  still 
more.  For  all  that,  he  was  not  yet 
himself,  at  least  I  doubt  it :  his  in- 
sanity, driven  from  the  intellect, 
fastened  one  lingering  claw  into  his 
moral  nature,  and  hung  on  by  it. 
His  soul  filled  with  bitterness  and  a 
desire  to  be  revenged  on  mankind 
for  their  injustice  ;  and  this  thought 
possessed  him  more  than  reason. 

He  joined  the  family  at  breakfast, 
and  never  a  word  all  the  time.  But 
when  he  got  up  to  go  he  said  in  a 
strange,  dogged  way,  as  if  it  went 
against  the  grain,  "  God  bless  tha 
house  that  succors  the  afflicted ! " 
Then  he  went  out  to  brood  alone. 

"  Dick,"  said  Phoebe,  "  there's  a 
change,  I'll  never  part  with  him  : 
and  look,  there's  Colly  following 
him,  that  never  could  abide  him." 

"  Part  with  him  1  "  said  Reginald. 
"  Of  course  not.  He  is  a  gentleman, 
and  they  are  not  so  common  in 
Africa." 

Dick,  who  hated  Falcon,  ignored 
this  speech  entirely,  and  said,  "  Well, 
Phoebe,  you  and  Colly  are  wiser 
than  I  am.  Take  your  own  way, 
and  don't  blame  me  if  any  thing 
happens." 

And  soon  Christopher  paid  the 
penalty  of  returning  reason,  lie 
suffered  all  the  poignant  agony  a 
great  heart  can  endure. 

So  this  was  his  reward  for  his 
great  act  of  self-denial  in  leaving 
his  beloved  wife,  lie  had  lost  his 
patient ;  he  had  lost  the  income  from 
that  patient ;  his  wife  was  worse  off 
than  before,  and  had  doubtless  suf- 
fered the  anguish  of  a  loving  heart 
bereaved.  His  mind,  which  now 
seemed  more  vigorous  than  ever 
after  its  long  rest,  placed  her  before 
his  very  eyes,  pale  and  worn  with 
grief,  in  her  widow's  cap. 

At  the  picture  he  cried  like  the 
rain.  He  could  give  her  joy  by  writ- 
ing ;  but  he  could  not  prevent  her 
from  suffering  a  whole  year  of  mis- 
cry. 

Turning  this  over  in  connection 
with  their  poverty,  his  evil  genius 


whispered,  "  By  this  time  she  has 
received  the  six  thousand  pounds 
for  your  death.  She  would  never 
think  of  that :  but  her  father  has ; 
and  there  is  her  comfort  assured,  in 
spite  of  the  caitiff's  who  left  her  hus- 
band to  drown  like  a  dog." 

"  I  know  my  Rosa,"  he  thought. 
"  She  has  swooned  —  ah,  my  poor 
darling  !  —  she  has  raved,  she  has 
wept," — he  wept  himself  at  the 
thought,  —  "  she  has  mourned  every 
indiscreet  act  as  if  it  was  a  crime. 
But  she  has  done  all  this.  Her  good 
and  loving  but  shallow  nature  is 
now  at  rest  from  the  agonies  of  be- 
reavement, and  nought  remains  but 
sad  and  tender  regrets.  She  can 
better  endure  that  than  poverty, 
cursed  poverty,  which  has  brought 
her  and  me  to  this,  and  is  the  only 
real  evil  in  the  world  but  bodily 
pain." 

Then  came  a  struggle  that  lasted 
a  whole  week,  and  knitted  his  brows 
and  took  the  color  from  his  cheek ; 
but  it  ended  in  the  triumph  of  love 
and  hate  over  conscience  and  com- 
mon sense.  His  Rosa  should  not 
be  poor ;  and  he  would  cheat  some 
of  those  contemptible  creatures  called 
men,  who  had  done  him  nothing  but 
injustice,  and  at  last  had  sacrificed 
his  life  like  a  rat's. 

When  the  struggle  was  over,  and 
the  fatal  resolution  taken,  then  he 
became  calmer,  less  solitary,  and 
more  sociable. 

l'hube,  who  was  secretly  watch- 
ing him  with  a  woman's  eye,  ob- 
served this  change  in  him,  and  with 
benevolent  intentions  invited  him 
one  day  to  ride  round  the  farm  with 
her.  He  consented  readily.  She 
showed  him  the  fields  devoted  to 
maize  and  wheat,  and  then  the  sheep- 
folds.  Tim's  sheep  were  apparent- 
ly deserted ;  but  he  was  discovered 
swinging,  head  downward,  from  the 
branch  of  a  camel-thorn,  and,  seeing 
him,  it  did  strike  one,  that,  if  he  had 
had  a  tail,  he  would  have  been  swing- 
ing l>y  that.  Phabe  called  to  him. 
He  never  answered,  but  set  off'  run- 


A  SIMPLETON. 


149 


ning  to  her.  and  landed  himself  un- 
der her  nose  in  a  wheel  somersault, 

"I  hope  you  are  watching  them, 
Tim,"  said  his  mistress. 

"Iss,  missy,  always  washing  'em." 

"  Why,  there's  one  straying  to- 
ward the  wood  now." 

"  He  not  go  far,"  said  Tim  coolly. 
The  young  monkey  stole  off  a  little 
way,  then  Cell  flat,  and  uttered  the 
cry  of  a  jackal  with  startling  pre- 
cision. Back  went  the  sheep  to  his 
comrades  post-haste ;  and  Tim  af- 
fected a  somersault  and  a  chuckle. 

"  You  arc  a  clever  boy,"  said 
Phoebe.  "  So  that  is  how  you  man- 
age them." 

"Dat  one  way,  missy,"  said  Tim, 
not  earing  to  reveal  all  his  resources 
at  oner. 

Then  Phoebe  rode  on,  and  showed 
Christopher  the  ostrich  pan.  It  was 
a  large  basin,  a  form  the  soil  often 
takes  in  these  parts;  and  in  it  strut- 
ted several  full  grown  ostriches  and 
their  young,  bred  on  the  premises 
There  was  a  little  dam  of  water,  and 
plenty  of  food  ;ihout.  They  were 
herded  l>y  a  Caffre  infant  of  ahout 
six,  black,  glossy,  Bit,  and  clean, 
being  in  the  water  six  times  a  day. 

Sometimes  one  of  the  older  birds 
would  show  an  inclination  to  stray 
out  of  the  pan.  Then  the  infant 
rolhd  after  her,  and  tapped  her  an- 
kles with  a  wand.  She  instantly 
came  hack,  but  without  any  loss  of 
dignity  ;  for  she  strutted  with  her 
nose  in  the  air,  affecting  completely 
to  ignore  the  inferior  little  animal, 
that  was  nevertheless  controlling  her 
movements.  ''There's  a  fane." 
said  Phoebe.  "But  yon  would  not 
believe  the  money  they  cost  me,  nor 
the  money  they  bring  me  in.  Grain 
will  not  'sell  here  For  a  quarter  its 

value  :  and  we  can't  afford  to  send  it 
to  Cape  Town,  twt  nty  days  and 
back  :  hut  finery,  that  sells  every- 
where I  gather  sixty  pounds  the 
year  off  those  poor  fowls'  hacks  — 
cl(  ar  profit." 

She  showed  him  the  granary,  and 

told  him  there  wasn't  such  another 

la* 


in  Africa.  This  farm  had  belonged 
to  one  of  the  old  Dutch  settlers,  and 
that  breed  had  been  going  down  this 
many  a  year.  "You  see,  sir,  Dick 
and  I  being  English,  and  not  down- 
right in  want  of  money,  we  can't 
bring  ourselves  to  sell  grain  to  the 
middle-men  for  nothing  :  so  we  store 
it,  hoping  for  better  times,  that  may 
be  will  never  come.  Now  I'll  show 
you  how  the  dam  is  made." 

They  inspected  the  dam  all  round. 
"  This  is  our  best  friend  of  all,"  said 
she.  "  Without  this  the  sun  would 
turn  us  all  to  tinder, —  crops,  flowers, 
beasts,  and  folk." 

•'Oh,  indeed!"  said  Staines. 
"  Then  it  is  a  pity  you  have  not 
built  it  more  scientifically.  I  must 
have  a  look  at  this." 

"Ay,  do,  sir,  and  advise  us  if  you 
see  any  thing  wrong.  But  hark  !  it 
is  milking-time.  Come  and  see  that." 
So  she  led  the  way  to  some  sheds  ; 
and  there  they  found  several  cows 
being  milked,  each  by  a  little  calf 
and  a  little  Hottentot  at  the  same 
time,  and  both  lighting  and  jostling 
each  other  for  the  udder.  Now  and 
then  a  young  cow,  unused  to  incon- 
gruous twins,  would  kick  impatient- 
ly at  both  animals,  and  scatter 
them. 

"  That  is  their  way,"  said  Phoebe. 
"They  have  got  it  into  their  silly 
Hottentot  heads  as  kye  won't  yield 
their  milk  if  tin-  calf  is  taken  away  ; 
and  it  is  no  use  arguing  with  'em: 
they  will  have  their  own  way.  But 
they  an-  very  trusty  and  honest, 
poor  things.  Wc  soon  found  that 
out.     When  we  came  here   lirst,    it 

was  in  a  lured  wagon,  and  Hotten- 
tot drivers:  so,  when  wc  came  to 
settle,    I   made  ready    for  a  bit  of  a 

wrangle.     But   my    maid    Sophy, 

that  is  nurse  now,  and  a  great  00- 
spiscr  of  In  athi  as,  she  saj  a,  '  1  >on't 

you  trouble;  them  nasty  ignorant 
blacks  never  (barges  more  than  their 
due.'  '  I  forgive  'em,'  says  1.  '  1 
wish  all  white  folk  was  as  nice.' 
However,  1  did  give  them  a  trifle 
over   lor  luck :    and  then  they  got 


150 


A   SIMPLETON. 


together,  and  chattered  something 
near  the  door,  hand  in  hand.  '  La, 
Sophy,'  says  I,  '  what  is  up  now  2 ' 
Says  she,  '  They  arc  blessing  of  us. 
Things  is  conic  to  a  pretty  pass  for 
ignorant  Musiinmen  heathen  to  be 
blessing  Christian  folk.'—'  Well,' 
says  I, '  it  won't  hurt  us  any.'  — '  I 
don't  know,'  says  she..  '  1  don't 
want  the  devil  prayed  over  me.' 
Ho  she  cocked  that  long  nose  of  hers, 
and  followed  it  in-doors." 

By  this  time  they  were  near  the 
house;  and  Phoebe  was  obliged  to 
come  to  her  postscript,  for  the  sake 
of  which,  believe  me,  she  had  ut- 
tered every  syllable  of  this  varied 
chat.  "  Well,  sir,"  said  she,  af- 
fecting to  proceed  without  any  con- 
siderable change  of  topic,  "and  how 
do  you  find  yourself  i  Have  you 
discovered  the  past  I  " 

"I  have,  madam.  I  remember 
every  leading  incident  of  my  life." 

"  And  has  it  made  you  happier  1  " 
said  Phoebe  soitly. 

"No,"  said  Christopher  gravely. 
"Memory  has  brought  me  misery." 

"  I  feared  as  much  ;  for  you  have 
lost  your  fine  color,  and  your  eyes  arc 
hollow,  and  lines  on  your  poor  brow 
that  were  not  there  before.  Arc  you 
not  sorry  you  have  discovered  the 
past  ■?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Falcon.  Give  me  the 
sovereign  gift  of  reason,  with  all  the 
torture  it  can  inflict.  I  thank  God 
for  returning  memory,  even  with  the 
misery  it  brings." 

Phoebe  was  silent  a  long  time  : 
then  she  said  in  a  low,  gentle  voice, 
and  with  the  indirectness  of  a  truly 
feminine  nature,  "  I  have  plenty  of 
writing-paper  in  the  house ;  and  the 
post  goes  south  to  morrow,  such  as 
'tis." 

Christopher  struggled  with  his 
misery,  and  trembled. 

He  was  silent  a  long  time.  Then 
he  sail,  "No.  It  is  her  interest 
that  I  should  be  dead," 

"Weil,  but  sir  — take  a  though!." 

"Not  a  word  more,  I  implore 
you.    I  am  the  most  miserable  man 


that  ever  breathed."     As  he  spoke, 
two  bitter  tears  forced  their  way. 

Phoebe  cast  a  look  of  pity  on  him, 
and  said  no  more;  but  she  shook 
her  head.  Her  plain  common-sense 
revolted. 

However,  it  did  not  follow  he 
would  be  in  the  same  mind  next 
week  :  so  she  was  in  excellent  spirits 
at  her  protv/e's  recovery,  and  very 
proud  of  her  cure,  and  celebrated 
the  event  with  a  roaring  supper,  in- 
cluding an  English  ham  and  a  bot- 
tle of  port-wine ;  and,  ten  to  one, 
that  was  English  too. 

Dick  Dale  looked  a  little  incredu- 
lous ;  but  he  did  not  spare  the  ham 
any  the  more  for  that. 

After  supper,  in  a  pause  of  the 
conversation,  Staines  turned  to 
Dick,  and  said  rather  abruptly, 
"  Suppose  that  dam  of  yours  were 
to  burst,  and  empty  its  contents, 
would  it  not  be  a  great  misfortune 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Misfortune,  sir !  Don't  talk  of 
it.  Why,  it  would  ruin  us,  beast 
and  body." 

"  Well,  it  will  burst  if  it  is  not 
looked  to." 

"  Dale's  Kloof  dam  burst !  —  the 
biggest  and  strongest  for  a  hundred 
miles  round." 

"  You  deceive  yourself.  It  is  not 
scientifically  built,  to  begin ;  and 
there  is  a  cause  at  work  that  will 
infallibly  burst  it  if  not  looked  to 
in  time." 

"  And  what  is  that,  sir  ?  " 
"  The  dam  is  full  of  crabs." 
"  So  'tis ;  but  what  of  them  ?  " 
"  I  detected  two  of  them  that  had 
perforated  the  dike  from  the  wet 
side  to  the  dry ;  and  water  was  tric- 
kling through  the  channel  they  had 
made.  Now,  for  me  to  catch  two 
that  had  come  right  through,  there 
must  be  a  great  many  at  work 
honey-combing  your  dike.  Those 
channels,  once  made,  will  be  en- 
larged by  the  permeating  water; 
and  a  mere  cupful  of  water  forced 
into  a  dike  by  the  great  pressure  of 
a  heavy  column  has  an  expansive 


A  SIMPLETON. 


151 


power  qnitc  out  of  proportion  to 
the  quantity  forced  in.  Colossal 
dilo  g  have  been  burst  in  thi.s  way 
with  disastrous  effects.  Indeed,  it 
is  only  a  question  of  time ;  and  I 
would  not  guarantee  your  dike 
twelve  hours.  It  is  full,  too,  with 
the  heavy  rains." 

"  Here's  a  go,"  said  Dick,  turn- 
ing pale.  "  Weil,  if  it  is  to  burst, 
it  must." 

"  Why  so  ?  You  can  make  it  safe 
in  a  few  hours.  You  have  got  a 
clumsy  contrivance  for  letting  off 
the  exce>s  of  water :  let  us  go  and 
relieve  the  dam  at  once  of  two  feet 
of  water.  That  will  make  it  safe 
for  a  day  or  two  :  and  to-morrow  we 
will  puddle  it  afresh,  and  demolish 
those  busy  excavators." 

lie  spoke  with  such  authority 
and  earnestness,  that  tin  y  all  got  up 
from  table.  A  horn  was  blown  that 
soon  brought  the  Hottentots  ;  and 
they  all  proceeded  to  the  dam. 
With  infinite  difficulty  they  opened 
the  waste  sluice,  lowered  the  water 
two  feet,  and  so  drenched  the  arid 
soil,  that  in  forty-eight  hours  flowers 
unknown  sprang  up. 

Next  morning,  under  the  doctor's 
orders,  all  the  black  men  and  boys 
wen-  diving  with  lumps  of  stiff  clay, 
and  puddling  the  endangered  wa  1 
with  a  thick  coat  of  it.  This  took 
all  the  people  the  whole  day. 

Next  day,  the  clay  wall  was  car- 
ried two  feet  higher;  and  then  the 
doctor  made  them  work  on  the  other 
side,  and  buttress  the  dike  with  sup- 
ports bo  enormous  as  seemed  ex- 
travagant to  Dick  and  Phoebe;  but, 
after  all,  it  was  as  well  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,  they  thought.  And  soon 
they  were  sure  of  it ;  for  the  whole 
work  was  hardly  finished,  when 
news  come  in  thai  the  dil  •■  of  a 
neighboring  Boer,  ten  miles  oil',  had 
exploded  like  a  cannon,  and  emp- 
tied itself  in  five  minutes,  drowning 
the  farm-yard,  and  floating  the  fur- 
niture, but  leaving  them  all  to  perish 
of  drought.  And.  indeed,  the  Boer's 
cart  caine   every  day,  with    empty 


barrels,  for  some  time,  to  beg  water 
of  the  Dales.  Ueatella  pondered 
all  this,  and  said  her  doctor  child 
was  wise. 

This  brief  excitement  over, 
Staines  went  back  to  his  own 
gloomy  thoughts  ;  and  they  scarcely 
saw  him,  except  at  supper-time. 

One  evening  he  surprised  them 
all  by  asking  if  they  would  add  to 
all  their  kindness  by  lending  him  a 
horse  and  a  spade  and  a  few  pounds, 
to  go  to  the  diamond  fields. 

Dick  Dale  looked  at  his  sister. 
She  said,  "  We  had  rather  lend  them 
you  to  go  home  with,  sir,  if  you  must 
leave  us.  But,  dear  heart,  1  was  half 
in  hopes —  Dick  and  I  were  talking- 
it  over  only  yesterday  —  that  you 
would  go  partners  like  with  us; 
ever  since  you  saved  the  dam." 

"  1  have  too  little  to  oiler  for  that, 
Mrs.  Falcon,  and,  besides,  I  am 
driven  into  a  corner.  I  must  make 
money  quickly,  or  not  at  all :  the 
diamonds  are  only  three  hundred 
miles  off.  For  Heaven's  sake,  let 
me  try  my  luck." 

They  tried  to  dissuade  him,  and 
told  him  not  one  in  fifty  did  any 
good  at  it. 

"  Ay ;  but  /  shall,"  said  he. 
"  Great  bad  luck  is  followed  by 
great  good  luck,  and  I  feel  my  turn 
is  come.  Not  that  I  rely  on  luck. 
An  accident  directed  my  attention 
to  the  diamond  a  few  \  ears  ago  ;  and 
I  read  a  number  of  prime  works 
ujkjii  the  subject,  that  told  me  things 
not  known  to  the  miners.  It  is 
clear,  from  the  Cape  journals,  that 
they  are  looking  lor  diamonds  in 
the  river  only.  Now.  1  am  sure 
that  is  a  mistake.  Diamonds,  like 
gold,  have  their  matrix;  and  it  is 
comparatively    few    gems    that    get 

washed  into  the  river.  1  am  confi- 
dent that  I  shall  find  the  volcanie 
matrix,  and  perhaps  make  my  for- 
tune in  a  w   ek  or  two." 

Win  n  the  dialogue  took  this  turn, 

Reginald  Falcon's  cheek  began  to 
Hush,  and  bis  eyes  to  glitter, 

Christopher     continued,    "  You 


152 


A  SIMPLETON. 


who  have  befriended  me  so  will  not 
turn  back,  1  am  sure,  when  I  have 
such  a  chance  before  me>  and,  as  lor 
the  small  sum  of  money  I  shall  re- 
quire, 1  will  repay  you  some  day, 
even  if    — 

"  La,  sir,  don't  talk  so.  If  you 
put  it  that  way,  why,  the  best  horse 
we  have,  and  fifty  pounds  in  good 
English  gold,  they  are  at  your  ser- 
vice to-morrow." 

"  And  pick  and  spade  to  boot," 
said  Dick,  "  and  a  double  rifle ;  for 
there  are  lions,  and  Lord  knows 
what,  between  this  and  the  Vaal 
River."' 

"  God  bless  you  both ! "  said 
Christopher.  "I  will  start  to-mor- 
row." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Regi- 
nald Falcon. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  IIeavex  forbid ! "  said  Phoebe. 
"No,  my  dear,  no  more  diamonds 
for  us.  We  never  had  but  one ;  and 
it  brought  us  trouble." 

"  Nonsense,  Phoebe ! "  replied  Fal- 
con: "it  was  not  the  diamond's 
fault.  You  know  I  have  often 
wanted  to  go  there ;  but  you  ob- 
jected. You  said  you  were  afraid 
some  evil  would  befall  me.  But 
now  Solomon  himself  is  going  to 
the  mines,  let  us  have  no  more  of 
that  nonsense.  We  will  take  our 
rifles  and  our  pistols." 

"  There,  there,  rifles  and  pistols !  " 
cried  Phoebe:  "that  shows." 

"  And  we  will  be  there  in  a  week, 
stay  a  month,  and  home  with  o;ir 
pockets  full  of  diamonds." 

"  And  find  me  dead  of  a  broken 
heart." 

"  Broken  fiddlestick !  We  have 
been  parted  longer  than  that ;  and 
yet  here  we  are  all  right." 

"  Ay ;  but  the  pitcher  that  goes 
too  often  to  the  well  gets  broke  at 
last.  No,  Reginald,  now  I  have 
tasted  three  years'  happiness  and 


peace  of  mind,  I  cannot  go  through 
what  I  used  in  England.  0  doc- 
tor !  have  you  the  heart  to  part  man 
and  wife  that  have  never  been  a  day 
from  each  other  all  these  years'?  " 

"  Mrs  Falcon,  I  would  not  do  it 
for  all  the  diamonds  in  Brazil.  No, 
Mr.  Falcon,  I  need  hardly  say  how 
charmed  I  should  be  to  have  your 
company,  but  that  is  a  pleasure  I 
shall  certainly  deny  myself,  after 
what  your  good  wife  has  said.  I 
owe  her  too  much  to  cause  her  a 
single  pang." 

"  Doctor,''  said  the  charming 
Reginald,  "you  are  a  gentleman, 
and  side  with  the  lady.  Quite  ri^ht. 
It  adds  to  my  esteem,  if  possible. 
Make  your  mind  easy :  I  will  go 
alone.  I  am  not  a  farmer.  I  am 
dead  sick  of  this  monotonous  life ; 
and,  since  I  am  compelled  to  speak 
my  mind,  a  little  ashamed,  as  a 
gentleman,  of  living  on  my  wife  and 
brother,  and  doing  nothing  lor  my- 
self So  I  shall  go  to  the  Vaal 
River,  and  see  a  little  life  :  here 
there's  nothing  but  vegetation, 
and  not  much  of  that.  Not  a  word 
more,  Phoebe,  if  you  please.  I  am 
a  good,  easy,  affectionate  husband ; 
but  I  am  a  man,  and  not  a  child 
to  be  tied  to  a  woman's  apron- 
strings,  however  much  1  may  love 
and  respect  her." 

Dick  put  in  his  word.  "  Since 
you  are  so  independent,  you  can  walk 
to  the  Vaal  River.  I  can't  spare  a 
couple  of  horses." 

This  hit  the  Sybarite  hard ;  and 
he  cast  a  bitter  glance  of  hatred  at 
his  brother-in-law,  and  fell  into  a 
moody  silence. 

But  when  he  got  Phoebe  to  him- 
self he  descanted  on  her  selfishness, 
Dick's  rudeness,  and  his  own 
wounded  dignity,  till  he  made  her 
quite  anxious  he  should  have  his 
own  way.  She  came  to  Staines 
with  red  eyes,  and  said,  "  Tell  me, 
doctor,  will  there  be  any  women  up 
there  —  to  take  care  of  you  1 " 

"  Not  a  petticoat  in  the  place,  I 
believe.    It  is  a  very  rough  life ;  and 


A   SIMPLETON. 


153 


how  Falcon  could  think  of  leaving 
you  and  sweet  little  Tommy,  and 
this  life  of  health  and  peace  and 
comfort" — 

"  Yet  yon  do  leave  us,  sir  " 

"  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  man 
upon  the  earth  :  Falcon  is  one  of  the 
happiest.  Would  I  leave  wife  and 
child  to  go  there  !  Ah,  me!  I  am 
dead  to  those  I  love.  This  is  my 
one  chance  of  seeing  my  darling 
again  for  many  a  long  year  perhaps. 
Oh  !  I  must  not  speak  of  litr  it  un- 
mans me.  My  good,  kind  friend, 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  When  we 
arc  all  at  supper,  let  a  horse  be  sad- 
dled and  left  in  the  yard  for  me. 
I'll  bid  you  all  good-night,  and  I'll 
put  fifty  miles  between  us  before 
morning.  Even  then  he  need  not 
be  told  1  am  yone .  he  will  not  fol- 
low me." 

"  You  are  very  good,  sir,"  said 
Phiebc ;  "  but  no.  Too  much  has 
been  said.  I  can't  have  him  hum- 
bled by  my  brother,  nor  any  one. 
lie  says  I  am  selfish.  Perhaps  I 
am ;  though  1  never  was  called  so. 
I  can't  bear  he  should  think  me  self- 
ish He  will  go  ;  and  so  let  us  have 
no  ill  blood  about  it.  Since  he  is  to 
go,  of  course  I'd  much  liever  he 
should  go  \vi:  b  you  than  by  himself. 
You  are  sure  there  are  no  women 
up  there  —  to  take  care  of — you  — 
l)oth  '  You  must  be  purse-bearer, 
sir,  and  look  to  ev<  rv  penny,  lie 
is  too  generous  when  he  has  got 
money  to  sjn'iid  " 

In  short,  Reginald  had  played  so 
upon  her  heart,  thai  Bho  now  urged 
the  joint  expedition  ,  only  she  asked 
a  delay  of  a  day  or  two  to  equip 
them,  and  steel  herself  to  the  sepa- 
ration. 

Staines  did  not  share  those  vague 

fears  that  overpowered  the  wife, 
whose  bitter  -  xp  Ticnces  were  un- 
known to  him;  but  he  felt  uncom- 
fortable -t  her  condition,  —  for  now 
she  was  often  in  tears,  —  and  he  said 
all  he  could  to  comfort  her;  and  he 
a'soadvi  ■  i|  h<  '•  how  loprofl!  bythese 
U  rri1'!--  di  '  ,  i:i  her  way.     lie 


pointed  out  to  her  that  her  farm  lay 
right  in  the  road  to  the  diamonds ; 
yet  the  traffic  all  shunned  her,  pass- 
ing twenty  miles  to  the  westward. 
Said  he,  "  You  should  profit  by  all 
your  resources.  You  have  \\  ood,  a 
great  rarity  in  Africa.  Order  a  por- 
table lbrge  ;  run  up  a  building  where 
miners  can  sleep,  another  where 
they  can  feed  ;  the  grain  you  have, 
so  wisely  refused  to  sell,  —  grind  it 
into  flour. ' 

"  Dear  heart !  why,  there's  neither 
wind  nor  water  to  turn  a  mill." 

"  But  there  are  oxen.  I'll  show 
you  how  to  make  an  ox-mill.  Semi 
your  Cape  cart  into  Cape  Town  for 
iron  lathes,  for  coffee  and  tea  and 
groceries  by  the  hundred-weight. 
The  moment  you  are  ready,  —  lor 
success  depends  on  the  order  in 
which  we  act,  —  then  prepare  great 
boards,  and  plant  them  twenty  miles 
south.  Write  or  paint  on  them, 
very  large.  '  The  nearest  way  to  the 
Diamond  Mines,  through  Dale's 
Kloof,  where  is  excellent  accommo- 
dation for  man  and  beast.  Tea,  cof- 
fee, home-made  bread,  fresh  butter, 
&c.,  &c..'  Do  this,  and  you  will 
soon  leave  off  decrying  diamonds. 
This  is  the  sure  way  to  coin  them. 
I  myself  take  the  doubtful  way  ; 
but  I  can't  help  it.  I  am  a  dead 
man  ;  and  swift  good  fortune  will 
give  me  life  You  can  afford  to  go 
the  slower  road  and  the  surer." 

Then  he  drew  her  the  model  of 
an  ox-mill,  and  of  a  miners'  dormi- 
tory, the  partitions  six  feet  six  apart, 
so  that  these  very  partitions  formed 
the  bedstead  ;  the  bed-sacking  being 

hooked  to  the  uprights,  lie  drew 
his  model  for  twenty  bedrooms. 

The  portable  forge  and  the  ox-mill 
pleased  I  >ick  Dale  most ;  but  the 
partitioned  bedsteads  charmed  Phoe- 
be. She  said,  "()  doctor!  how 
can  one  man's  head  hold  BO  many 
things?  If  there's  a  man  on  carta  I 
can  trust  my  husband  with,  'tis  you. 
But,  if  things  go  cross  up  there, 
promise  mo  you  wi!l  come  back  at 
once  and  cast  in  your   lot   with  us. 


154 


A   SIMPLETON. 


We  have  got  money  and  stock,  and 
you  have  got  head-piece  :  we  might 
do  very  well  together.  Indeed,  in- 
deed, we  might.  Promise  me.  Oh, 
do,  please  promise  me  !  " 

"  I  promise  you." 

And  on  this  understanding  Staines 
and  Falcon  were  equipped  with  rifles, 
pickaxe,  shovels,  water-proofs,  and 
lull  saddle-bags,  and  started,  with 
many  shakings  of  the  hand  and 
many  tears  from  Phcebe,  for  the 
diamond  washings. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PnrEBii's  tears  at  parting  made 
Staines  feel  uneomfortable;  and  he 
said  so. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !  "  said  Falcon  : 
"  crying  for  nothing  does  a  woman 
good." 

Christopher  stared  at  him. 

Falcon's  spirits  rose  as  they  pro- 
ceeded. He  was  like  a  boy  let  loose 
from  school.  His  fluency  and  charm 
of  manner  served,  however,  to  cheer 
a  singularly  dreary  journey. 

The  travellers  soon  entered  on  a 
vast  and  forbidding  repion  that 
wearied  the  eye  :  at  their  feet  a  dull 
rusty  carpet  of  dried  grass  and  wild 
camomile,  with  pale  red  sand  peep- 
ing through  the  burned  and  scanty 
herbage.  On  the  low  mounds,  that 
looked  like  heaps  of  sifted  ashes, 
struggled  now  and  then  into  sickli- 
ness a  ragged,  twistetl  shrub.  There 
were  flowers  too,  but  so  sparse,  that 
they  sparkled  vainly  in  the  color- 
less waste  which  stretched  to  the 
horizon.  The  farm-houses  were 
twenty  miles  apart;  and  nine  out  of 
ten  were  new  ones  built  by  the 
Boers  since  they  degenerated  into 
white  savages,  —  mere  huts  with 
domed  kitchens  behind  them.  In 
the  dwelling-house  the  whole  family 
pigged  together,  with  raw  flesh  dry- 
ing on  the  rafters,  stinking  skins  in 
a  corner,  parasitical  vermin  of  all 
sorts   blackening  the  floor,  and  par- 


ticularly a  small,  biting,  and  odoriF- 
erous  tortoise,  compared  with  which 
the  insect  a  London  washer-wonum 
brings  into  your  house  in  her  basket 
is  a  stroke  with  a  feather;  and  all 
this  without  the  excuse  of  penury; 
for  many  of  these  were  shepherd 
kings,  sheared  four  thousand  fleeces 
a  year,  and  owned  a  hundred  horses 
and  horned  cattle. 

These  Boers  are  compelled,  by 
unwritten  law,  to  receive  travellers, 
and  water  their  cattle.  But  our 
travellers,  after  one  or  two  experi- 
ences, ceased  to  trouble  them ;  for, 
added  to  the  dirt,  the  men  were  sul- 
len ;  the  women  moody,  silent,  brain- 
less ;  the  whole  reception  churlish. 
Staines  detected  in  them  an  uneasy 
consciousness  that  they  had  descend- 
ed, in  more  ways  than  one,  from  a 
civilized  race;  and  the  superior  bear- 
ing of  a  European  seemed  to  remind 
them  what  they  had  heen,  and  might 
have  been,  and  were  not :  so,  after 
an  attempt  or  two,  our  adventurers 
avoided  the  Boers,  and  tried  the 
Caffres.  They  found  the  savages 
socially  superior ;  though  their  moral 
character  does  not  rank  high. 

The  Caffre  cabins  they  entered 
were  caves,  lighted  only  by  the  door, 
but  delieiously  cool,  and  quite  clean  ; 
the  floors  of  puddled  clay  or  ants' 
nests,  and  very  clean.  On  entering 
these  cool  retreats,  the  flies,  that  hail 
tormented  them,  shirked  the  cool 
grot,  and  buzzed  off  to  the  nearest 
farm  to  batten  on  congenial  foul- 
ness. On  the  fat,  round,  glossy  ba- 
bies not  a  speck  of  dirt:  whereas  the 
little  Boers  were  cakes  thereof.  The 
Caffre  woidd  meet  them  at  the  door, 
his  clean  black  'ace  all  smiles  ami 
welcome.  The  women  and  grown 
^irls  would  fling  a  spotless  handker- 
chief over  their  shoulders  in  a  mo- 
ment, and  display  their  snowy  teeth 
in  unaffected  joy  at  sight  of  an  Eng- 
lishman. 

At  one  of  these  huts  one  evening, 
they  met  with  something  St.  Paul 
ranks  above  cleanliness  even  ;  viz., 
Christianity.     A   neighboring   lion 


A  SIMPLETON. 


155 


had  just  eaten  a  Hottentot  /hide  de 
mienjc ;  and  these  good  Caffrcs  want- 
ed the  Europeans  not  to  go  on  at 
nighty  and  be  eaten  for  dessert.  But 
they  could  not  speak  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish ;  and  pantomimic  expression  ex- 
ists in  theory  alone.  In  vain  the  wo- 
men held  our  travellers  by  the  coat- 
tails,  and  pointed  to  a  distant  wood. 
In  vain  Catfre/Jt're  went  on  all-tours, 
and  growled  sore.  But  at  last  a  sav- 
age youth  ran  to  the  kitchen,  —  for 
they  never oook  in  the  house,  —  and 
came  back  with  a  brand,  and  sketch- 
ed on  the  wall  of  the  hut  a  lion 
with  a  mane  down  to  the  ground, 
and  a  saueer-eyc  not  loving.  The 
creature's  paw  rested  on  a  hat  and 
coat,  and  another  fragment  or  two 
of  a  European.  The  rest  was  fore- 
shortened, or  else  eaten. 

The  picture  completed,  the  fe- 
males looked,  approved,  and  raised 
a  dismal  howl. 

"  A  lion  on  the  road,"  said  Chris- 
topher gravely. 

Then  the  undaunted  Falcon  seized 
the  charcoal,  and  drew  an  English- 
man in  a  theatrical  attitude,  —  left 
foot  well  forward,  firing  a  gun,  and 
a  lion  rolling  head  over  heels  like  a 
buck  rabbit,  and  blood  squirting  out 
of  a  hole  in  his  perforated  car*  i>>. 

The  Bavages  saw,  and  exalted. 
They  were  so  off  their  guard  as  to 
confound  representation  with  fact. 
They  danced  round  the  white  war- 
rior, and  launched  him  to  victory. 

"  Aha!  "  said  Falcon.  "I  took 
the  shine  out  of  their  lion,  didn'l  I  '" 

"  You  did.  And  one  there  was  a 
sculptor  who  showed  a  lion  his  mar- 
ble (froup,—  a  man  trampling  a  lion, 
extracting  his  tongne,  ami  so  on  ; 
but  report  says  it  did  not  convince  the 

"  Why,  no,  a  lion  is  not  an  ns. 
But,  for  your  comfort,  there  are  no 
lions  in  this  part  ef  the  world.  They 
act  myths.  There  were  lions  in 
Africa.  But  now  they  are  all  at  the 
Zoo.     And  I  \v i - 1 1  1  was  there  too." 

"  In  what  character,  —  oft  discon 
tented  auimal,  with  every  blessing  ' 


They  would  not  take  you  in  ;  too 
common  in  England.  Halloo  !  this  is 
something  new.  What  lots ol  bush- 
es !  We  should  not  have  much 
chance  with  a  lion  here." 

"  There  are  no  lions  :  it  is  not  the 
Zoo,"  said  Falcon  ;  but  he  spurred 
on  faster. 

■  The  country,  however,  did  not 
change  its  feature:  bushes  and  little 
acacias  prevailed,  and  presently  dark 
forms  began  to  glide  across  at  inter- 
vals. 

The  travellers  held  their  breath, 
and  pushed  on  :  but  at  last  their 
horses  nagged  :  so  they  thought  it 
best  to  stop  and  light  a  fire,  and 
stand  upon  their  guard. 

They  did  so  ;  and  Falcon  sat  with 
his  rifle  cocked,  while  Staines  boiled 
coffee,  and  they  drank  it,  and,  after 
two  hours'  halt  pushed  on.  And  at 
last  the  bushes  got  more  scattered, 
and  they  were  on  the  dreary  plain 
again.  Falcon  drew  the  rein  with 
a  sigh  of  relief ;  and  they  walked  their 
horses  side  by  side. 

"  Well,  what  is  become  of  the 
lions?"  said  Falcon  jauntily.  Ho 
turned  in  bis  saddle,  and  saw  a  large 
animal  stealing  behind  them  with  its 
belly  to  the  very  earth,  and  eyes  hot 
coals.  He  uttered  an  eldrich  screech, 
Bred  both  barrels,  with  no  more  aim 
than  a  baby,  and  spurred  away,  yell- 
ing like  a  demon.  The  animal  fled 
another  way,  in  equal  trepidation  at 
those  tongues  of  flame  and  loud  re- 
ports; and  Christopher's  horse  reared 
and  plunged,  ami  deposited  him 
promptly  on  the  sward  :  but  he  held 
the  bridle,  mounted  again,  and  rode 
after  his  companion.  A  stern  chose 
is  a  long  chase,  and,  for  that  or  sonic 
other    reason,  he  could   never   catch 

him  again  till  sunrise  ;  being  caught, 
he  ignored  the  lioness  with  cool 
hauteur.  He  said  he  had  ridden  on 
to  find  comfortable  quarters,  and 
craved  thanks. 

This  was  literally  the  only  inci- 
dent worth  recording  that  the  com- 
panions met  with  in  three  hundred 
miles. 


156 


A  SIMPLETON. 


On  the  sixth  clay  out,  toward 
afternoon,  they  found,  by  inquiring, 
they  were  near  the  diamond  wash- 
ings ;  and  the  short  route  was  point- 
ed out  by  an  exceptionally  civil 
Boer. 

But  Christopher's  eye  had  light- 
ed upon  a  sort  of  chain  of  knolls,  or 
little  round  hills,  devoid  of  vegeta- 
tion ;  and  he  told  Falcon  he  would 
like  to  inspect  these  before  going 
farther. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Boer,  "  they  are 
not  on  my  farm,  thank  goodness  ! 
they  are  on  my  cousin  Buiteel's  ;  " 
and  he  pointed  to  a  large  white  house 
about  four  miles  distant,  and  quite 
off  the  road.  Nevertheless,  Staines 
insisted  on  going  to  it.  But  first 
they  made  up  to  one  of  these  knolls, 
and  examined  it.  It  was  about  thirty 
feet  high,  and  not  a  vestige  of  herb- 
age on  it:  the  surface  was  composed 
of  sand  and  of  lumps  of  gray  lime- 
stone, very  hard,  diversified  with  lots 
of  quartz,  mica,  aud  other  old  forma- 
tions. 

Staines  got  to  the  top  of  it  with 
some  difficulty,  and  examined  the 
surface  all  over.  He  came  down 
again,  and  said,  "  All  these  little  hills 
mark  hot  volcanic  action,  —  why, 
they  arc  like  boiling  earth-bubbles,  — 
which  is  the  very  thing,  under  certain 
conditions,  to  turn  carbonate  of  lime 
into  diamonds.  Now,  here  is  plenty 
of  limestone  unnaturally  hard  ;  and, 
being  in  a  diamond  country,  I  can 
fancy  no  place  more  likely  to  be  the 
matrix  than  these  earth-bubbles. 
Let  us  tether  the  horses,  and  use  our 
shovels." 

They  did  so,  and  found  one  or  two 
common  crystals,  and  some  jasper, 
and  a  piece  of  chalcedony,  all  in  little 
bobbles,  but  no  diamonds.  Falcon 
said  it  was  wasting  time. 

Just  then  the  proprietor,  a  gigan- 
tic, pasty  colonist,  came  up,  with  his 
pipe,  and  stood  calmly  looking  on. 
Staines  came  down,  and  made  a  sort 
of  apology.  Bulteel  smiled  quietly, 
and  asked  what  harm  they  could  do 
him,  raking  that  rubbish.     "  Hake 


it  all  avay,  mine  vrienils,"  said  he: 
"  ve  shall  thank  you  moeh." 

He  then  invited  them  languidly  to 
his  house.  They  went  with  him  ; 
and,  as  he  volunteered  no  more  re- 
marks, they  questioned  him,  and 
learned  his  father  had  been  a  Hol- 
lander, and  so  had  his  vrow's.  This 
accounted  for  the  size  and  compara- 
tive cleanliness  of  his  place.  It  was 
stuccoed  with  the  lime  of  the  country 
outside,  and  was  four  times  as  large 
as  the  miserable  farm-houses  of  the 
degenerate  Boers.  For  all  this,  the 
street  door  opened  on  the  principal 
room,  and  that  room  was  kitchen 
and  parlor,  only  very  large  and 
wholesome.  "  But  Lord  "  — as  poor 
dear  Pepys  used  to  blurt  out  —  "  to 
see  how  some  folk  understand  clean- 
liness !  "  The  floor  was  made  of 
powered  ants'  nests,  and  smeared 
with  fresh  cow-duug  every  day. 
Yet  these  people  were  the  cleanliest 
Boers  in  the  colony. 

The  vrow  met  them,  with  a  snow- 
white  collar  and  cuff's  of  Hamburg 
linen ;  and  the  brats  had  pasted  faces 
round  as  pumpkins,  but  shone  with 
soap.  The  vrow  was  also  pasty- 
faced,  but  gentle,  and  welcomed 
them  with  a  smile,  languid  but  un- 
equivocal. 

The  Hottentots  took  their  horses 
as  a  matter  of  course.  Their  guns 
were  put  in  a  coiner.  A  clean  cloth 
was  spread;  and  they  saw  they  were 
to  sup  and  sleep  there,  though  the 
words  of  invitation  were  never  spo- 
ken. 

At  supper,  sun-dried  flesh,  cab- 
bage, and  a  savory  dish  the  travel- 
lers returned  to  with  gusto.  Staines 
asked  what  it  was.  The  vrow  told 
him,  —  locusts.  They  had  stripped 
her  garden,  and  filled  her  very 
rooms,  and  fallen  in  heaps  under 
her  walls  :  so  she  had  pressed  them, 
by  the  million,  into  cakes, -had  salt- 
ed them  lightly,  and  stored  them; 
and    they  were  excellent    baked. 

After  supper,  the  accomplished 
Reginald,  observing  a  wire  guitar, 
tuned  it  with  some   difficulty,   aud 


A   SIMPLETON. 


157 


so  twanged  it  and  sang  ditties  to  it, 
that  the  flabby  giant's  pasty  face 
More  a  look  of  dreamy  content  over 
his  everlasting  pipe.  And  in  the 
morning,  after  a  silent  breakfast,  he 
paid,  "  Aline  mends,  stay  here  a  year 
or  two,  and  rake  in  mine  rubbish. 
Yen  you  are  tired,  here  are  spring- 
bok and  antelope-:,  and  you  can 
shoot  id i t  your  rifles,  and  ve  vill 
cook  them,  and  you  shall  zing  us 
zongs  of  Vaderland." 

They  thanked  him  heartily,  and 
said  they  would  stay  a  few  days  at 
all  events. 

The  placid  Boer  went  a-farming  ; 
and  the  pair  shouldered  their  pick 
and  shovel,  and  worked  on  their 
heap  all  day,  and  found  a  number 
of  pretty  stones,  but  no  diamond. 

"  Come,  "said  Falcon  :  "  we  must 
go  to  the  river ;  "  and  .Staines  acqui- 
esced. "I  bow  to  experience," 
said  he. 

At  the  threshold  they  found  two 
of  the  little  Bulteels  playing  with 
pieces  of  quartz,  crystal,  &c.,  on  the 
door-stone.  One  of  these  stones 
caught  Staines's  eye  directly.  It 
sparkled  in  a  different  way  from  the 
others.  He  examined  it :  it  was  the 
size  of  a  white  haricot  bean,  and  one 
side  of  it  polished  by  friction.  He 
looked  at  it,  and  looked,  and  saw 
that  it  refracted  the  light  He  felt 
convinced  it  was  a  diamond. 

"Give  the  boy  a  penny  for  it," 
said  the  ingenious  Falcon  on  re- 
ceiving the  information. 

"Oil!  "     said    Staines.       "Take 

advantage  of  a  child  i  " 

He  borrowed  it  of  the  boy,  and 
laid  it  on  the  table  alter  supper. 
"  Sir,"   .said    lie,    "  ibis    is    what    we 

were  raking  in  your  kopjes  for,  and 
could  not  find  it.  It  belongs  to  lit- 
tle Hans.  Will  yon  sell  it  us  ' 
We  are  not  experts;  but  we  think 
it  may  be  a  diamond.  We  will  risk 
ten  pounds  on  it." 

"  Ten  pounds  !  "  said  the  farmer. 
'•  \:iv,  we  rob  not  travellers,  mine 
vriend  " 

"  Bllt,    if    il     i-  a  diamond,    it    is 


worth  a  hundred.     See  how  it  gains 
fire  in  the  dusk  !  " 

In  short,  they  forced  the  ten 
pounds  on  him,  and  the  next  day 
went  to  work  on  another  kopje. 

But  the  simple  fanner's  conscience 
smote  him.  It  was  a  slack  time  :  so 
he  sent  four  Hottentots,  with  shov- 
els, to  help  these  friendly  maniacs. 
These  worked  awaygayly;  and  the 
white  men  set  up  a  sorting  table, 
and  sorted  the  stuff,  and  hammered 
the  nodules,  and  at  last  found  a  lit- 
tle stone  as  big  as  a  pea,  that  refract- 
ed the  light.  Staines  showed  this 
to  the  Hottentots;  and  their  quick 
eyes  discovered  two  more  that  day, 
only  smaller. 

'Next  day  nothing  but  a  splinter 
or  two. 

Then  Staines  determined  to  dig 
deeper,  contrary  to  the  general  im- 
pression. He  gave  his  reason  : 
"  Diamonds  don't  fall  from  the  sky. 
They  work  up  from  the  ground  ; 
and  clearly  the  heat  must  he  great- 
er farther  down." 

Acting  on  this,  they  tried  the  next 
Strata,  but  found  it  entirely  barren. 
After  that,  however,  they  came  to  a 
fresh  layer  of  carbonate;  and  lure, 
Falcon  hammering  a  large  lump  of 
conglomerate,  out  leaped,  all  of  a 
sudden,  a  diamond  big  as  a  nut, 
that  ran  along  the  earth,  gleaming 
like  a  star.  It  had  polished  angles 
and  natural  facets;  and  even  a  nov- 
ice with  an  eye  in  his  bead  could  see 
it  was  a  diamond  of  the  purest 
water.  Staines  and  Falcon  shouted 
with  delight,  and  made  the  blacks  a 
present  on  the  spot. 

They  showed  the  prize  at  night, 
and  begged  the  farmer  to  take  to 
digging.  There  was  ten  times 
more  money  beneath  his  soil  than 
on  it. 

Not  be.  He  was  a  fanner:  did 
not  believe  in  diamonds. 

Two      days      afterward      another 

great  find.     Seven  small  diamonds. 

Next  day  a  stone  as  large  as  a 
cob  nut,  and  with  strange  and  beau- 
tiful streaks.     Thej  carried  it  home 


15S 


A   SIMPLETON. 


to  dinner,  and  set  it  on  the  table, 
and  told  the  family  it  was  worth  a 
thousand  pounds.  Bui teel  scarcely 
looked  at  it ;  but  the  vrow  trem- 
bled, and  all  the  young  (oik  glow- 
ered at  it. 

In  the  middle  of  dinner  it  explod- 
ed like  a  cracker,  and  went  liter- 
ally into  diamond-dust. 

"  Dere  goes  von  tousand  pounds," 
said  Bultcel,  without  moving  a  mus- 
cle. 

Falcon  swore.  But  Staines  show- 
ed fortitude.  "  It  was  laminated," 
said  he ;  "  and  exposure  to  the  air 
was  fatal." 

Owing  to  the  invaluable  assist- 
ance of  the  Hottentots,  they  had  in 
less  than  a  month  collected  four 
large  stones  of  pure  water,  and  a 
wine-glassful  of  small  stones,  when 
one  fine  day,  going  to  work  calmly 
after  breakfast,  they  found  some 
tents  pitched,  and  at  least  a  score  of 
dirty  diggers,  bearded  like  the  pard, 
at  work  on  the  ground.  Staines 
sent  Falcon  back  to  tell  Bulteel,  and 
suggest  that  he  should  at  once 
order  them  off,  or,  better  still,  make 
terms  with  them.  The  phlegmatic 
Boer  did  neither. 

In  twenty-four  hours  it  was  too 
late.  The  place  was  rushed.  In 
other  words,  diggers  swarmed  to 
the  spot,  with  no  idea  of  law  but 
diggers'  law. 

A  thousand  tents  rose  like  mush- 
rooms ;  and  poor  Bulteel  stood, 
smoking  and  staring,  amazed,  at 
his  own  door,  and  saw  a  veritable 
procession  of  wagons,  Cape  carts, 
and  powdered  travellers,  file  past 
him  to  take  possession  of  his  hil- 
locks. Him,  the  proprietor,  they 
simply  ignored  :  they  had  a  com- 
mittee, who  were  to  deal  with  all 
obstructions,  landlords  and  tenants 
included.  They  themselves  meas- 
ured out  Rulteel's  farm  into  thirty- 
foot  claims,  and  went  to  Work 
with  shovel  and  pick.  They  held 
Staines's  claim  sacred  :  that  was 
diggers'  law  ;  but  they  confined  it 
strictly  to  thirty  feet  square. 


Had  the  friends  resisted,  their 
brains  would  have  been  knocked 
out.  However,  they  gained  this, 
that  dealers  poured  in,  and,  the 
market  being  not  yet  glutted,  the 
price  was  good.  Staines  sold  a  few 
of  the  small  stones  for  two  hundred 
pounds.  He  showed  one  of  the 
larger  stories.  The  dealer's  eye 
glittered,  but  he  offered  only  three 
hundred  pounds,  and  this  was  so 
wide  of  the  ascending  scale  on  which 
a  stone  of  that  importance  is  priced 
that  Staines  reserved  it  for  sale  at 
Cape  Town. 

Nevertheless  he  afterward  doubt- 
ed whether  he  had  not  better  have 
taken  it ;  for  the  multitude  of  dig- 
gers turned  out  such  a  prodigious 
number  of  diamonds  at  Bultcel's 
pan  that  a  sort  of  panic  fell  on  the 
market. 

These  dry  diggings  were  a  reve- 
lation to  the  world.  Men  began  to 
think  the  diamond,  perhaps,  was  a 
commoner  stone  than  any  one  had 
dreamed  it  to  he. 

As  to  the  discovery  of  stones, 
Staines  and  Falcon  lost  nothing  by 
being  con  fined  to  a  thirty-foot  claim. 
Compelled  to  dig  deeper,  they  got 
into  richer  strata,  where  they  found 
garnets  by  the  pint,  and  some  small 
diamonds,  and  at  last,  one  lucky 
day,  their  largest  diamond.  It 
weighed  thirty-seven  carats,  and 
was  a  rich  yellow.  Now.  when  a 
diamond  is  clouded  or  off  color,  it 
is  terribly  depreciated ;  but  a  dia- 
mond with  a  positive  color  is  called 
a  fancy  stone,  and  ranks  with 
the  purest  stones. 

"  I  wish  I  had  this  in  Cape 
Town,"  said  Staines. 

"  Why,  I'll  take  it  to  Cape  Town, 
if  yon  like,"  said  the  changeable 
Falcon. 

"  You  will  ?  "  said  Christopher, 
surprised. 

"  Why  not  ?  I'm  not  much  of  a 
digger.  I  can  serve  our  interest 
better  by  selling.  I  could  get  a 
thousand  pounds  for  this  at  Capo 
Town." 


A  SIMPLETON-. 


159 


"  We  will  (alk  of  that  quietly," 
6aid  Christopher. 

Now  the  fact  is,  Falcon  as  a  dig- 
ger, was  not  worth  a  pin.  He  could 
not  sort.  His  eyes  would  not  bear 
the  blinding  glare  of  a  tropical  sun 
upon  lime  and  dazzling  bits  of  mica, 
quartz,  crystal,  white  topaz,  &c.,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  true  glint  of 
the  royal  stone  had  to  be  cauyht  in 
a  moment.  He  could  not  sort,  and 
he  had  not  the  heart  to  dig.  The 
only  way  to  make  him  earn  his  half 
was  to  turn  him  into  the  travelling 
and  selling  partner. 

Christopher  was  too  generous  to 
tell  him  this  ;  hut  he  acted  on  it, 
and  said  he  thought  his  was  an  ex- 
cellent proposal :  indeed,  he  had 
hitter  take  all  the  diamonds  they 
had  got  to  Dale's  Kloof  first,  and 
show  them  to  his  wife  for  her  con- 
solation. "And  perhaps,"  said 
he,  "  in  a  matter  of  this  importance, 
she  will  go  to  (Jape  Town  with  you, 
and  try  the  market  there." 

"All  right,"  said  Falcon. 

He  sat  and  brooded  over  the  mat- 
ter a  Ion;;  time,  and  said,  "  Why 
make  two  bites  of  a  cherry  1  They 
will  only  give  us  half  the  value  at 
Cape  Town.  Why  not  go  by  the 
steamer  to  Englapd,  before  the  Lon- 
don market  is  glutted,  and  all  the 
world  finds  out  that  diamonds  are 
as  common  as  dirt  !  " 

"Go  to  En-land  !  What,  with- 
out your  wife  !  I'll  never  he  a 
party  to  that.  Me.  part  man  and 
wife!  If  you  knew  my  own 
story  "  — 

"Why,  who   wants  you?"   said 

inald.  "  You  don't  understand. 
Phoebe  is  dying  to  vi-it  England 
again  ;  but  she  has  got  no  excuse 
If  you  like  in  -ive  hep  one,  she    will 

hi'  much  obliged  to  you,  1  can  tell 
you." 

"  <  ih.  that  is  a  very  different  mat- 
ter !  If  Mrs.  Falcon  can  leave  her 
farm  "  — 

•oh!  that  brute  of  a  brother  of 
hers  i-  a  very  honest  fellow,  for 
that    matter.       IShe    can    trust    the 


farm  to  him.  Besides,  it  is  only  a 
month's  voyage  by  the  mail  steam- 
er." 

This  suggestion  of  Falcon's  set 
Christopher's  heart  bounding,  and 
his  eyes  glistening.  But  be  restrain- 
ed himself,  and  said,  "This  takes 
me  by  surprise  :  let  nie  smoke  a 
pipe  over  it." 

He  not  only  did  that;  but  he  lay 
awake  all  night. 

The  fact  is,  that,  for  some  time 
past,  Christopher  had  felt  sharp 
twinges  of  conscience,  and  deep  mis- 
givings, as  to  the  course  he  had  pur- 
sued in  leaving  his  wife  a  single  day 
in  the  dark.  Complete  convales- 
cence had  cleared  his  moral  senti- 
ments;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  tho 
discovery  of  the  diamonds  had  co- 
operated :  since  now  the  insurance 
money  was  no  longer  necessary  to 
keep  his  wife  Irani  starving. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  "  faith  is  a  great 
quality  ;  and  how  I  have  lacked  it !  " 

To  do  him  justice,  he  knew  his 
wiles  excitable  nature,  and  was  not 
without  fears  of  some  disaster,  should 
the  news  be  communicated  to  her 
unskilfully. 

But  this  proposal  of  Falcon's 
made  the  way  clearer.  Mrs.  Fal- 
con, thpugh  not  a  lady,  had  all  a 
lady's  delicacy,  and  all  a  woman's 
tact  and  tenderness.  He  knew  no 
one  in  the  world  more  fit  to  ho 
trusted  with  the  delicate  task  of 
breaking  to  his  ttosa  that  thegravc, 
for  once,  was.  baffled,  anil  her  hus- 
band lived.     II"  now  became  quite 

anxious  lor  Falcon's  departure,  and 
ardently  hoped  that  worthy  bad  not 
deceived  himself  as  to  Mrs  Falcon's 
desire  to  visil  Rngland. 

In  short,  it  wis  settled  that  Fal- 
con should  start  for  Dale's  Kloof, 
tal  ii i-_r  with  him  the  diamond-,  be- 
lieved   to   be   Worth  alto-ether  three 

thousand  pounds   at    Capo   Town, 

and  nearly  as  much  auain  in  Eng- 
land, and  a  long  letter  lo  Mrs.  Fal- 
con,   in    which    Staines   revealed   his 

true  story,  told  her  where  to  find  bis 
wile,  or  hear  of  her,  viz.,  at  Kent 


1G0 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Villa,  Gravesend,  and  sketched  an 
outline  of  instructions  as  to  the  way, 
and  cunning  degrees  by  which  the 
joyful  news  should  be  broken  to 
her.  With  this  he  sent  a  long  let- 
ter to  be  given  to  Rosa  herself,  but 
not  till  she  should  know  all ;  and  in 
this  letter  he  enclosed  the  ruby  ring 
she  had  given  him.  That  ring  had 
never  left  his  finger,  by  sea  or  land, 
in  sickness  or  health. 

The  letter  to  Rosa  was  sealed. 
The  two  letters  made  quite  a  packet ; 
for  in  the  letter  to  his  beloved  Rosa 
he  told  her  every  thing  that  had  bc- 
fa'len  him.  It  was  a  romance,  and 
a  picture  of  love,  — a  letter  to  lift  a 
loving  woman  to  heaven,  and  almost 
reconcile  her  to  all  her  bereaved 
heart  had  suffered. 

This  letter,  written  with  many 
tears  from  the  heart  that  had  so 
Buffered,  and  was  now  softened  by 
good  fortune,  and  bounding  with 
joy,  Staines  intrusted  to  Falcon, 
together  with  the  other  diamonds, 
and,  with  many  warm  shakings  of 
the  hand,  started  him  on  his  way. 

"  But  mind,  Falcon,"  said  Chris- 
topher. "  I  shall  expect  an  answer 
from  Mrs.  Falcon  in  twenty  days 
at  farthest.  I  do  not  feel  so  sure  as 
you  do  that  she  wants  to  go  to  Eng- 
land, and,  if  not,  I  must  write  to 
Uncle  Philip.  Give  me  your  solemn 
promise,  old  follow,  —  an  answer  in 
twenty  days,  if  you  have  to  send  a 
Caffre  on  horseback." 

"  I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  Fal- 
con superbly. 

"  Send  it  to  me  at  Bultcel's 
Farm." 

"All  right.  'Dr.  Christie,  Bul- 
tcel's Farm.'  " 

"Well,  — no.  Why  should  I 
conceal  my  real  name  any  longer 
from  such  friends  as  you  and  your 
wife  ?  Christie  is  short  for  Christo 
pher  :  that  is  my  Christian  name  ; 
but  my  surname  is  Staines.  Write 
to  '  Dr.  Staines.'" 

"  Dr.  Staines  !  " 

"  Yes.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
me?" 


Falcon  wore  a  strange  look.  "  I 
almost  think  I  have.  Down  at 
Gravesend,  or  somewhere." 

"  That  is  curious.  Yes,  I  married 
my  Rosa  there  —  poor  thing  !  God 
bless  her;  God  comfort  her.  She 
thinks  mc  dead." 

His  voice  trembled ;  he  grasped 
Falcon's  cold  hand  till  the  hitter 
winced  again;  and  so  they  parted  ; 
and  Falcon  rode  off  muttering 
"  Dr.  Staines !  so,  then,  you  are 
Dr.  Staines." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Eosa  Staines  had  youth  on  her 
side ;  and  it  is  an  old  saying  that 
youth  will  not  be  denied.  Youth 
struggled  with  death  for  her,  and 
won  the  battle. 

But  she  came  out  of  that  terrible 
fight  weak  as  a  child.  The  sweet, 
pale  face,  the  widow's  cap,  the  suit 
of  deep  black  —  it  was  long  ere  these 
came  down  from  the  sick-room. 
And,  when  they  did,  oh  the  dead 
blank !  the  weary,  listless  life ! 
the  days  spent  in  sighs  and  tears 
and  desolation.  Solitude,  solitude  ! 
Her  husband  was  gone ;  and  a  strange 
woman  plaj^ed  the  mother  to  her 
child  before  her  eyes. 

Uncle  Philip  was  devotedly  kind 
to  her,  and  so  was  her  father  ;  but 
they  could  do  nothing  for  her. 

Months  rolled  on,  and  skinned 
the  wound  over.  Months  could  not 
heal.  Her  boy  became  dearer  and 
dearer ;  and  it  was  from  him  came 
the  first  real  drops  of  comfort,  how- 
ever feeble. 

She  used  to  read  her  lost  one's 
diary  every  day,  and  worship  in 
deep  sorrow  the  mind  she  had  scarce- 
ly respected  until  it  was  too  late. 
She  searched  in  this  diary  to  find 
his  will ;  and  often  she  mourned  that 
he  had  written  on  it  so  few  things 
she  could  obey.  Her  desire  to  obey 
the  dead,  whom  living  she  had  often 
disobeyed,  was    really    simple   and 


A  SIMPLETON. 


1G1 


touching.  She  would  mourn  to  her 
father  that  there  were  so  few  com- 
mands to  her  in  his  diary.  "  But,'' 
said  she,  "memory  brings  me  back 
Li-  will  in  many  things  ;  and  to  obey 
h  now  the  only  sad  comfort  I 
have." 

It  was  in  this  spirit  she  now  forced 
herself  to  keep  accounts.  No  fear 
of  her  wearing  stays  now,  no  pow- 
der, no  trimmings,  no  waste. 

After  the  usual  delay,  her  father 
told  her  she  should  instruct  a  soli- 
citor to  apply  to  the  insurance  com- 
pany for  the  six  thousand  pounds. 
She  refused  with  a  buret  of  agony. 
"  The  price  ofhis  life,"  she  screamed. 
"Never!  I'd  live  on  bread  and  wa- 
ter sooner  than  touch  that  vile 
money." 

Hr  father  remonstrated  gently. 
But  she  was  immovable.  "No.  It 
would  be  like  consenting  to  his 
death." 

Then  Uncle  Philip  was  sent  for. 

He  set  her  child  on  her  knee,  and 
gave  her  a  pen.  "  Come,"  said  he 
sternly,  "  lie  a  woman,  and  do  your 
duty  to  little  Christie." 

She  kissed  the  boy,  cried,  and  did 
her  duly  meekly.  Hut,  when  the 
money  was  brought  her,  she  flew 
to  Uncle  Philip,  and  said,  "  There, 
ther  ■ !  "  an  I  threw  it  all  before  him, 
and  cried  as  if  her  hear  I  would  break. 
lie  waited  patiently,  and  asked  her 
what  he  was  to  do  with  all  that  : 
invest  it  ' 

"  Yes,  yes,  for  my  little  Christie." 

"  And  pay  you  the  interest  quar- 
terly '  ' 

"Oh,  no,  no!  Dribble  ns  out  a 
little  as  we  want  it.  That  is  the 
way  to  he  truly  kind  to  a  simpleton. 
1  hate  that  word  " 

"  And  suppose  I  run  off  with  it? 
Such  eoulidii!  its  you  corrupt 

a  man." 

"  I  shall  never  corrupt  you. 
Crusty  people  iire  the  soul  of 
honor.' 

"Crusty  people!"  cried  Philip, 
affecting  amazement.  "  What  are 
th.  p  !  " 

14* 


She  bit  her  lip,  and  colored  a  little, 
but  answered  adroitly,  "  They  arc 
people  that  pretend  not  to  have 
e;ood  hearts,  hut  have  the  best  in  the 
world,  —  far  better  ones  than  your 
smooth  ones:  that's  crusty  people." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Philip;  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  simpletons  are. 
They  are  little  transparent-looking 
creatures,  that  look  shallow,  but  are 
as  deep  as  old  Nick,  and  make,  you 
love  them  in  spite  of  your  judgment. 
They  are  the  most  artful  of  their 
s 'X  ;  for  they  always  achieve  its 
great  object,  —  to  be  loved,  —  the 
very  thing  that  clever  women  some- 
times fail  in." 

"  Well,  and,  if  we  arc  not  to  be 
loved,  why  live  at  all,  —  such  useless 
things  as  I  am  1  "  said  Rosa  amply. 

So  Philip  took  charge  of  her 
money,  and  agreed  to  help  her  save 
money  for  her  little  Christopher. 
Poverty  should  never  destroy  him, 
as  it  had  his  father. 

As  months  rolled  on,  she  crept  out 
into  public  a  little,  but  always  on 
foot,  and  a  very  little  way  from 
home. 

Youth  and  sober  life  gradually 
restored  her  strength,  but  not  her 
color  nor  her  buoyancy. 

Yet  she  was,  perhaps,  more  beau- 
tiful than  ever ;  for  a  holy  Borrow 
chastened  and  sublimed  her  features  : 
it  was  now  a  sweet,  angelic,  pensive 
beauty,  that  interested  every  feeling 
person  at  a  glance. 

She  would  visit  no  one;  but,  a 
twelvemonth  after  her  bereavement, 
she  received  a  few  chosen  visitors. 

One  day  a  young  gentleman 
called,  and  Bent  up  his  caid,  "  Lord 
Tadcaster,"  with  a  note  from  I  ads- 
Cicely  Treherue,  lull  of  kindly  reel- 
ing. '  Uncle  Philip  had  reconciled 
her  to  Lady  Cicely;  bat  they  had 
never  met. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  much  agitated 
nt  the  very  name  of  Lord  Tadcaster  ; 

bat  she  would  not  have  missed  Bce- 
'  ing  him  for  the  world. 

She  received  him.  with  her  beau- 
tiful eyed    wide  o[icu,    to    drink  iu 


1G2 


A   SIMPLETON. 


every  lineament  of  one  who  had 
seen  the  last  of  her  Christopher. 

Tadeaster  was  wonderfully  im- 
proved :  he  had  grown  six  inches 
out  at  sea,  and,  though  still  short, 
was  nut  diminutive,  lie  was  a  small 
Apollo,  a  model  of  symmetry,  and 
had  an  engaging,  girlish  lieauty, 
redeemed  from  downright  effemina- 
cy bv  a  golden  mustaehe  like  silk, 
and  "a  tanned  cheek  that  became 
him  wonderfully. 

He  seemed  dazzled  at  first  by 
Mrs.  Staines,  but  murmured  that 
Lady  Cicely  had  told  him  to  come, 
or  he  would  not  have  ventured. 

"  Who  can  be  so  welcome  to  me 
as  you  1 "  said  she ;  and  the  tears 
came  thick  in  her  eyes  directly. 

Soon,  he  hardly  knew  how,  he 
found  himself  talking  of  Staines, 
and  telling  her  what  a  favorite  he 
was,  and  all  the  clever  things  he 
had  done. 

The  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks,  but  she  begged  him  to  go  on 
telling  her,  and  omit  nothing. 

He  complied  heartily,  and  was 
even  so  moved  by  the  telling  of  his 
friend's  virtues,  and  her  tears  and 
sobs,  that  he  mingled  his  tears  with 
hers.  She  rewarded  him  by  giving 
him  her  hand  as  she  turned  away 
her  tearful  face  to  indulge  the  fresh 
burst  of  grief  his  sympathy  evoked. 

When  he  was  leaving,  she  said  in 
her  simple  way,  "  Bless  you  !  "  — 
"  Come  again,"  she  said  :  "  you 
have  done  a  poor  widow  good." 

Lord  Tadeaster  was  so  interested 
and  charmed,  he  would  gladly  have 
come  hack  next  day  to  see  her  ;  but 
ho  restrained  that  extravagance, 
and  waited  a  week. 

Then  he  visited  her  again.  He 
had  observed  the  villa  was  not  rich 
in  flowers,  and  he  took  her  down  a 
magnificent  bouquet  cut  from  his 
lather's  hothouses.  At  sight  of 
him,  or  at  sight  of  it,  or  both,  the 
color  rose  for  once  in  her  pale  check; 
and  her  pensive  face  wore  a  sweet 
expression  of  satisfaction.  She 
took  his  ilowers,  and  thanked  him 


for  them  and  for  coming  to  see 
her. 

Soon  they  got  on  the  only  topic  she 
cared  for;  and,  in  the  course  of  this 
second  conversation,  he  took  her  into 
his  confidence,  and  told  her  he  owed 
every  thing  to  Dr.  Staines.  "  I  was 
on  the  wrong  road  altogether,  and 
he  put  me  right.  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  used  to  disobey  him  now 
and  then  while  he  was  alive,  and  I 
was  always  the  worse  for  it ;  now 
he  is  gone,  I  never  disobey  him.  I 
have  written  down  a  lot  of  wise, 
kind  things  he  said  to  me  ;  and  I 
never  go  against  any  one  of  them. 
I  call  it  my  book  of  oracles.  Dear 
me,  I  might  have  brought  it  with 
me." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  why  didn't  you  1  "  ra- 
ther reproachfully. 

"  I  will  bring  it  next  time." 

"Pray  do." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  with  her 
lovely  swimming  eyes,  and  said 
tenderly,  "  And  so  here  is  another 
that  disobeyed  him  living,  but  obeys 
him  dead.  What  will  you  think 
when  I  tell  you  that  I,  his  wife,  who 
now  worship  him  when  it  is  too  late, 
often  thwarted  and  vexed  him  when 
he  was  alive  ?  " 

"No,  no  !  He  told  mo  you  were 
an  angel,  and  I  believe  it." 

"  An  angel !  A  good-for-nothing, 
foolish  woman,  who  sees  every 
thing  too  late." 

"  Nobody  else  should  say  so  he- 
fore  me,"  said  the  little  gentleman 
grandly.  "  I  shall  take  his  word 
before  yours  on  this  one  subject.  If 
ever  there  was  an  angel,  you  are 
one  ;  and  oh  !  what  would  I  give  if  I 
could  but  say  or  do  any  thing  in  the 
world  to  comfort  you !  " 

"  You  can  do  nothing  for  me,  dear, 
but  come  and  sec  me  often,  and  talk 
to  me  as  you  do,  on  the  one  sad 
theme  my  broken  heart  has  room 
for." 

This  invitation  delighted  Lord 
Tadeaster;  and  the  sweet  word 
"  dear  "  from  her  lovely  lips  entered 
his  heart,  and  ran  through  all  his 


A  SIMPLETON. 


163 


veins  like  some  rapturous  but  dan- 
gerous elixir.  He  did  not  say  to 
himself,  "She  is  a  widow  with  a 
child,  feels  old  with  grief,  and  looks 
on  nie  as  a  boy  who  has  been  kind 
to  her."  Such  prudence  and  wari- 
ness were  hardly  to  be  expected  from 
his  age.  He  had  admired  her  at  first 
sight,  very  nearly  loved  her  at  their 
first  interview;  and  now  this  sweet 
word  opened  a  heavenly  vista.  The 
generous  heart  that  beat  in  his  small 
frame  burned  to  console  her  with  a 
life-long  devotion  and  all  the  sweet 
offices  of  love. 

Me  ordered  his  yacht  to  Graves- 
end  (for  he  had  become  a  sailor)  ; 
and  then  he  called  on  Mrs. 
Staines,  and  told  her,  with  a  sort  of 
sheepish  cunning!  that  now,  as  his 
yacht  hdfijii  aid  to  be  at  Gravcsend, 
he  could  come  and  sec  her  very 
often.  He  watched  her  timidly  to 
sec  how  she  would  take  that  propo- 
sition. 

She  said  with  the  utmost  simpli- 
city, "  I'm  very  slat!  of  it." 

Then  he  produced  his  oracles  ; 
and  she  devoured  them.  Such  pre- 
cepts to  Tadcaster  as  she  could  ap- 
ply to  her  own  case  she  instantly 
noted  in  her  memory ;  and  they 
became  her  law  from  that  moment. 

Then  in  her  simplicity  she  said, 
"And  I  will  show  you  some  things 
in  his  own  hand-writing  that  may 
be  good  for  you.  I  Jut  I  can't  show 
you  the  whole  book  :  some  of  it  is 
sacred  from  every  eye  but  his  wile's. 
His  wife's  ?     Ah,  me  !  his  widow's.'' 

Then  Bhe  pointed  <>ut  passages  in 
the  diary  that  she  thought  might 
be  for  Ill's  good  i  and  he  nestled  to 
her  side,  and  followed  her  white 
finger  with  loving  eyes,  and  was  in 
an  Kly-iuiii,  which  she  would  cer- 
tainly have  put  a  stop  to  at  that 
time  had  she  divined  it.  Bat  all 
wisdom  dues  not  come  at  once  to  an 
unguarded  woman.  Rosa  Staines 
was  wiser  about  her  husband  than 
she  had  been  ;  but  Bhe  had  plenty  to 

learn. 

Lord    Tadcaster    anchored    oil' 


Gravcsend,  and  visited  Mrs.  Staines 
nearly  every  day.  She  received  him 
with  a  pleasure  that  was  not  at  all 
lively,  but  quite  undisguised  He 
could  not  doubt  his  welcome ;  for 
onee,  when  he  came,  she  said  to  t lie 
servant,  "Not  at  home,"  —  a  plain 
proof  she  did  not  wish  his  visit  to  be 
cut  short  by  any  one  else. 

And  so  these  visits  and  devoted 
attentions  of  every  kind  went  on 
unobserved  by  Lord  Tadcasler's 
friends,  because  h'osa  would  never 
go  out,  even  with  him;  but  at  last 
Mr  Lusignan  saw  plainly  how  this 
would  end,  unless  he  interfered. 

Well,  he  did  not  interfere  :  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  careful  to  avoid 
putting  his  daughter  on  her  guard. 
He  said  to  himself,  "  Lord'  Tad- 
caster does  her  good.  I'm  afraid 
she  would  not  marry  him  if  he  was 
to  ask  her  now;  but  in  time  she 
might.  She  likes  him  a  great  deal 
better  than  any  one  else." 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  abroad  for 
his  health,  somewhat  impaired  by 
his  own  long  and  faithful  attend- 
ance on  Posa. 

So  now  Lord  Tadcaster  was  in 
constant  attendance  on  Posa.  She 
was  languid,  but  gentle  and  kind; 
and  as  mourners,  like  invalids,  are 
apt  to  be  egotistical,  she  saw  noth- 
ing but  that  he  was  a  comfort  to  Iter 
in  her  affliction. 

While  matters  were  so,  the  Earl 
of  .Milt -hire,  who  had  long  been 
sinking,  died;  and  Tadcagtcr  suc- 
ceeded to  his  honors  and  estates. 

Rosa  heard  of  it,  and,  thinking  it 
was  a  great  bereavement,  wrote  him 

one  of  those  exquisite  letters  of  con- 
dolence a  lady  alone  can  \\  rite.  He 
took  il  to  I  ady  ('icely,  and  showed 
Li  to  her.  She  highly  ap|  roved  it.. 
He  said,  "The  only  thing  — it 
make,  hi'  ashamed  I  do  not  fee]  my 
poor  father's  death  more;  but  you 
know  it  has  been  so  long  expected." 
Tie  n  he  was  -iletit  n  long  time ; 
and  then  ho  asked  her  if  ,-uch  a  wo- 
man as  that  would  not  make  him 
happy,  if  he  could  win  her. 


1C4 


A  SIMPLETON. 


It  was  on  her  ladyship's  tongue 
to  say,  "  She  did  not  make  her  iirst 
hajipy;"  bat  she  forbore,  and  said 
coldly,  that  was  maw  than  she  could 
say. 

Tadcaster  seemed  disappointed 
by  that,  and  by  and  by  Cicely  took 
herself  to  task.  She  asked  herself 
what  were  Tadcaster's  chances  in  the 
lottery  of  wives.  The  heavy  army 
of  scheming  mothers,  and  the  light 
cavalry  of  artful  daughters,  rose  be- 
fore her  cousinly  and  disinterested 
eyes,  and  she  asked  herself  what 
chance  poor  little  Tadcaster  would 
have  of  catching  a  true  love,  with  a 
hundred  female  artists  manoeuvring, 
wheeling,  ambuscading,  and  char- 
ging upon  his  wealth  and  titles.  She 
returned  to  the  subject  of  her  own 
accord,  and  told  him  she  saw  but 
one  objection  to  such  a  match,  —  the 
lady  had  a  son  by  a  man  of  rare 
merit  and  misfortune.  Could  he, 
at  bis  age,  undertake  to  be  a  father 
to  that  son  ?  "  Othahwise,"  said 
Lady  Cicely,  "  maak  my  words,  you 
will  quail  over  that  poor  child  ;  and 
you  will  have  two  to  quail  with,  be- 
cause I  shall  be  on  her  side.'' 

Tadcaster  declared  to  her  that  the 
child  should  be  quite  the  opposite 
of  a  bone  of  contention.  "I  have 
thought  of  that,"  said  he ;  ';  and  I 
mean  to  be  so  kind  to  that  boy,  I 
shall  make  her  love  me  for  that.  ' 

On  these  terms  Lady  Cicely  gave 
her  consent. 

Then  he  asked  her  should  he 
write,  or  ask  her  in  person. 

Lady  Cicely  reflected.  "If  you 
write,  I  think  she  will  say  No." 

"  But  if  I  go  1 " 

"  Then  it  nil  I  depend  on  how  you 
do  it.  Bo-a  Staines  is  a  true 
mourner.  Whatever  you  may  think, 
I  don't  believe  the  idea  of  a  second 
union  has  ever  entered  her  head. 
But  then  she  is  very  unselfish;  and 
she  likes  you  better  than  any  one 
else,  I  dare  say.  I  don't  think  your 
title  or  your  money  will  weigh  with 
her  now.  But,  if  you  show  her  your 
happiness  depends  on  it,  she   may 


perhaps  cry  and  sob  at  the  very 
idea  of  it,  and  then,  after  all,  say, 
'  Well,  why  not,  if  I  can  make  the 
poor  soui  happy  ? '  " 

So,  on  this  advice,  Tadcaster 
went  down  to  Gravescnd,  and  Lady 
Cicely  felt  a  certain  self-satisfaction ; 
for  her  well-meant  interference  hav- 
ing lost  Bosa  one  husband,  she  was 
pleased  to  think  she  had  done 
something  to  give  her  anotber. 

Lord  Tadcaster  came  to  Bosa 
Staines.  He  found  her  seated  with 
her  head  upon  her  white  hand, 
thinking  sadly  of  the  past. 

At  sight  of  him  in  deep  mourn- 
ing she  started,  and  said,  "  Oh  !  " 

Then  she  said  tenderly,  "  We 
are  of  one  color  now,"  and  gave 
liiin  her  hand. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  not  know- 
ing how  to  begin. 

"  1  am  not  Tadcaster  now.  I  am 
Earl  of  Miltshire." 

"Ah,  yes!  I  forgot,"  said  she 
indifferently. 

'•  This  is  my  first  visit  to  any  one 
in  that  character." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  It  is  an  awfully  important  visit 
to  me.  I  could  not  feel  myself  in- 
dependent, and  able  to  secure  your 
comfort  and  little  Christie's,  with- 
out coming  to  the  lady,  the  only 
lady  I  ever  saw,  that  —  O  Mrs. 
Staines,  Rosa  1  who  could  see 
you  as  I  have  done,  mingle  his 
tears  with  yours  as  I  have  done, 
and  not  love  you,  and  long  to  offer 
you  his  love  '<  " 

"  Love  !  to  me  a  broken-hearted 
woman,  with  nothing  to  live  for  but 
his  memory  and  his  child !  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of 
scared  amazement. 

"  His  child  shall  be  mine.  His 
memory  is  almost  as  dear  to  me  as 
to  you  " 

"  Nonsense,  child,  nonsense  ! " 
said  she  almost  sternly. 

"  Was  he  not  my  best  friend  ? 
Should  I  have  the  health  I  enjoy, 
or  even  be  alive,  but  for  him  1  0 
Mrs.  Staines,  Ilosa!   you  will   not 


A  SIMPLETON. 


165 


live  all  your  life  unmarried  ;  and 
who  will  love  you  as  I  do  ?  You 
are  my  first  and  only  love :  my 
happiness  depends  on  you." 

"  Your  happiness  depend  on  mc  ! 
Heaven  forbid  1  —  a  woman  of  my 
age,  that  feels  so  old,  old,  old." 

"  You  are  not  old :  you  are 
young  and  sad  and  beautiful,  and 
my  happiness  depends  on  you." 
She  began  to  tremble  a  little.  Then 
he  kneeled  at  her  knees,  and  im- 
plored her ;  and  his  hot  tears  fell 
upon  the  hand  she  put  out  to  stop 
him,  while  she  turned  her  head 
away,  and  the  tears  began  to  run. 

Oh  !  never  can  the  cold  dissecting 
pen  tell  what  rushes  over  the  heart 
that  has  loved  and  lost,  when  an- 
other true  love  first  kneels  and  im- 
piotvs  for  love  or  pity,  or  any  tiling 
the  bereaved  can  gi\e. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

When  Falcon  went,  luck  seemed 
to  desert  their  claim.  Day  after  day 
went  by  without  a  find  ;  and  the  dis- 
coveries on  every  side  made  this  the 
nmre  mortifying. 

By  this  time,  the  diners  at  Bui 
tcel's  pan  were  as  miscellaneous  as 
tiie  audience  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
only  mixed  more  closely  :  the  gal- 
lery folk  and  the  stalls  worked  cheek 
by  jowl.  Here  a  gentleman  with  an 
led  lisp,  and  close  by  an  honest 
fellow  who  could  not  deliver  a  sen- 
tence  without  an  oath,  or  some  still 
more  horrible  expletive  that  meant 
nothing  at  all  in  reality,  but  served 
to  make  respectable  flesh  creep  ;  in- 
terspersed with  these,  Hottentots, 
Caff  res,  and  wild  blue-blacks  gayly 

clad    in    ; Strict]  feather,  a  scarlet 

ribbon,  and   a  Tower    musket    sold 
them  by  some  good  Christian  for  a 
modern  rifle. 
On  one  side  of  Staines   were  two 

Swells,   who     lay    on      their     backs, 
and    talked  opera  half   ihe  day,    but 

seldom  condescended    to  work  with- 
out linding  a  diamond  of  some  sort. 


After  a  week's  deplorable  luck,  his 
Cafi're  boy  struck  work  on  account 
of  a  sore  in  his  leg  :  the  sore  was  due 
to  a  very  common  cause,  —  the  burn- 
ing  sand  bad  got  into  a  scratch,  and 
festered.  Staines,  out  of  humanity, 
examined  the  sore  ;  and,  proceeding 
to  clean  it  before  bandaging,  out 
popped  a  diamond  worth  forty 
pounds  even  in  the  depreciated  mar- 
ket. Staines  quietly  pocketed  it, 
and  bandaged  the  leg.  This  made 
him  suspect  his  blacks  bad  been 
cheating  him  on  a  large  scale  ;  and  he 
borrowed  Hans  Bulteel  to  watch 
them,  giving  him  a  third,  with  which 
Master  Hans  was  mightily  pleased. 
But  they  could  only  find  small  dia- 
monds ;  and  by  this  time  prodigious 
slices  of  luck  were  reported  on  every 
side.  CaffreS  and  Boers,  that  would 
not  dig,  but  traversed  large  tracts  of 
ground  when  the  sun  was  shining, 
stumbled  over  diamonds.  One  Boer 
pointed  to  a  wagon  and  eight  oxen, 
and  said  that  one  lucky  glance  on 
the  sand  had  given  htm  that  lot; 
but  day  after  day  Staines  returned 
home,  covered  with  dust,  and  almost 
blinded,  yet  with  little  or  nothing  to 
show  for  it. 

One  evening,  complaining  of  his 
change  of  luck,  Bulteel  quietly  pro- 
posed to  him  migration.  "  I  am 
going,"  said  he  resignedly;  "and 
you  can  come  with  me." 

"  You  leave  your  farm,  sir  ?  Why, 
they  pay  you  ten  shillings  a  claim, 
and  that  must  make  a  large  return  : 
tin-  pan  is  fifteen  acre-.." 

"  Yes,  mine  vriend,"said  the  poor 
Hollander,  "  dey  pay  ;  but  deir  mon- 
ey    it    COSt   too  dear.      Verc  is   mine, 

peace  !     1  Ms   farm  is   six    tousand 
acres.     II'  de  cursed  diamonds  was 

farther  oil',  den  it  vas  veil.      Hud  dev 
are  too  near.      <  dice    I  could    smoke 

in  peace,  and  sleep.     Now  diamonds 
is  come,  and  zleep  and  peace  i-  lied 
1  ►ere   is  four  tousand  tent*,  and  to 
each  tent  a  dawg  :  dal  dawg  bark  at 
fonr  tousand  oder  dawgs  .all  night; 

and  dey  bark  at  him  and  at  each  oder. 
Don  de  masters  of  de  dawgs  dey  get 


1G6 


A  SIMPLETON. 


angry,  and  fire  four  tousand  pistole 
at  de  four  tousand  dawgs,  and  make 
my  bed  shake  wid  de  trembling  of 
mine  vrow.  My  vamily  is  wid  dia- 
monds infected.  Dey  vill  not  vork. 
Dey  takes  long  valks,  and  always 
looks  on  de  ground.  Mine  childre 
shall  be  hump-backed,  round-sboul- 
dered,  looking  down  tor  diamonds. 
Dey  shall  forget  Gott.  He  is  on 
high  :  deir  eyes  are  always  on  de 
earth.  De  diggers  found  a  diamond 
in  mine  plaster  of  mine  wall  of  mine 
house.  Dat  plaster  vas  limestone  ; 
it  come  from  dose  kopjes  de  good 
Gott  made  in  his  anger  against  man 
for  his  vickedness.  I  zay  so.  Dey 
not  believe  me.  Dey  tink  dem 
abominable  stones  grow  in  mine 
house,  and  break  out  in  mine  plaster 
like  de  measle  :  dey  vaunt  to  dig  in 
mine  wall,  in  mine  garden,  in  mine 
floor.  One  day  dey  shall  dig  in  mine 
body.  I  vill  go.  Better  I  love  peace 
dan  money.  Here  is  English  com- 
pany make  me  offer  for  mine  varm. 
Dey  forgive  de  diamonds." 

"  You  have  not  accepted  it  1 " 
cried  Staines  in  alarm. 

"  No,  but  I  vill.  I  have  said  I 
shall  tink  of  it.  Dat  is  my  vay.  So 
I  say  yah." 

"  An  English  company  ?  They 
will  cheat  you  without  mercy.  No, 
they  shall  not,  though  ;  for  I  will 
have  a  hand  in  the  bargain." 

He  set  to  work  directly,  added  up 
the  value  of  the  claims,  at  ten  shil- 
lings per  month,  and  amazed  the 
poor  Hollander  by  his  statement  of 
the  value  of  those  fifteen  acres,  cap- 
italized. 

And,  to  close. this  part  of  the  sub- 
ject, the  obnoxious  diamonds  ob- 
tained him  three  times  as  much 
money  as  his  father  had  paid  for  the 
whole  six  thousand  acres. 

The  company  got  a  great  bargain  ; 
but  Bultcel  received  what  for  him 
was  a  large  capital,  and,  settling  far 
to  the  south,  this  lineal  descendant 
of  "  le  philosophe  sans  le  savoir  " 
carried  his  godliness,  his  cleanliness, 
and  his  love  of  peace,  out  of  the  tur- 


moil, and  was  happier  than  ever ; 
since  now  he  could  compare  his 
placid  existence  with  one  year  of 
noise  and  clamor. 

But,  long  before  this,  events  more 
pertinent  to  my  story  had  occurred. 

One  day  a  Hottentot  came  into 
Bulteel's  farm,  and  went  about 
among  the  diggers  till  he  found 
Staines.  The  Hottentot  was  one 
employed  at  Dale's  Kloof,  and  knew 
him.  He  brought  Staines  a  let- 
ter. 

Staines  opened  the  letter,  and  an- 
other letter  fell  out :  it  was  directed 
to  "  Reginald  Falcon,  Esq." 

"Why,"  thought  Staines,  "what 
a  time  this  letter  must  have  been  on 
the  road  !  So  much  for  private  mes- 
sengers." 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

"Dear  Sir,  —  This  leaves  us  all 
well  at  Dale's  Kloof,  as  I  hope  it 
shall  find  you  and  my  dear  husband 
at  the  diggings.  Sir,  I  am  happy  to 
say  I  have  good  news  for  you. 
When  you  got  well,  by  God's  mercy, 
I  wrote  to  the  doctor  at  the  hospital, 
and  told  him  so.  I  wrote  unbeknown 
to  you,  because  I  had  promised  him. 
Well,  sir,  he  has  written  back  to  say 
you  have  two  hundred  pounds  in 
money,  and  a  great  many  valuable 
things,  such  as  gold  and  jewels. 
They  are  all  at  the  old  bank  in  Cape 
Town ;  and  the  cashier  has  seen  you, 
and  will  deliver  them  on  demand. 
So  that  is  the  first  of  my  good  news, 
because  it  is  good  news  to  you.  But, 
dear  sir,  I  think  you  will  be  pleased 
to  hear  that  Dick  and  I  are  thriving 
wonderfully,  thanks  to  your  good  ad- 
vice. The  wooden  house  it  is  built, 
and  a  great  oven.  But,  sir,  the  traffic 
came  almost  before  we  were  ready, 
and  the  miners  that  call  here,  com- 
ing and  going,  every  day,  you  would 
not  believe,  likewise  wagons  and 
carts.  It  is  all  bustle,  morn  till  night  ; 
and  dear  Reginald  will  never  be  dull 
here  now.  I  hope  you  will  be  so  kind 
as  tell  him  so  ;  for  I  do  long  to  see 
you  both  home  again. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


1G7 


"  Sir  we  are  making  our  fortunes. 
The  grain  we  could  not  sell  at  a  fair 
price  we  sell  as  bread,  and  higher 
than  in  England  ever  so  much  !  Tea 
and  coffee  the  same  ;  and  the  poor 
things  praise  us,  too,  for  being  so 
moderate.  So,  sir,  Dick  bids  me  say 
that  we  owe  this  to  you,  and,  if  so  be 
you  are  minded  to  share,  why  noth- 
ing would  please  us  better.  Head- 
piece is  always  worth  money  in  these 
parts  ;  and,  if  it  hurts  your  pride  to 
be  our  partner  without  money,  why 
you  can  throw  in  what  you  have  at 
the  Cape,  though  we  don't  ask  that. 
And,  besides,  we  are  offered  dia- 
monds, a  bargain  every  day,  but  are 
afraid  to  deal  for  want  of  experience  ; 
but  if  you  were  in  it  with  us,  you 
must  know  them  well  by  this  time, 
and  we  might  turn  many  a  good 
pound  that  way.  Dear  sir,  I  hope 
you  will  not  be  offended  ;  but  I  think 
this  is  the  "only  way  we  have,  Dick 
and  I,  to  show  our  respect  and  good- 
will. 

"  Dear  sir,  digging  is  hard  work, 
and  not  fit  for  you  and  Reginald, 
that  are  gentlemen,  among  a  lot  of 
rough  fellows,  that  their  talk  makes 
my  hair  stand  on  end  ;  though  1 
dare  say  they  mean  no  harm. 

"Your  bedroom  is  always  ready, 
sir.  I  never  will  let  it  to  any  one  of 
them,  hoping  now  to  see  you  every 
day.  Von  that  know  every  tiling 
can  gneSS  how  I  long  to  see  you  both 
home.  My  very  good-fortune  seems 
not  to  taste  like  good-fortune,  with- 
out those  I  love  and  esteem  to  share' 
it  1  shall  count  how  many  (lavs  this 
letter    will    take   to  reach  you  ;    arid 

then   I   shall    pray  for  your  Bafety 
harder  than  ever  till  the  blessed  hour 

comes  when  I    see  my  hu.-band    and 

my  good  friend,  never  to  part  again, 
I  hop"  iu  this  world. 

"  1  am,  sir  your  dutiful  servant 
and  friend,  Pnoiti;    Dai. is. 

"  I'.S.  —  There  is  regular  trav- 
elling to  and  from  Cape  Town,  and 
a  post  now  toPniel  ;  but  I  thought  it 
surest  to  send  by  one  that  knows 
you." 


Staines  read  this  letter  with  great 
satisfaction.  He  remembered  his 
two  hundred  pounds  ;  but  his  gold 
and  jewels  puzzled  him.  Still  it  was 
good  news,  and  pleased  him  not  a  lit- 
tle. Phoebe's  good-fortune  gratified 
him  too,  ami  her  offer  of  a  partner- 
ship, especially  in  the  purchase  of 
diamonds  from  returning  diggers. 
He  saw  a  large  fortune  to  be  made  ; 
and  wearied  and  disgusted  with  re- 
cest  ill  luck,  blear-eyed,  and  almost 
blinded  with  sorting  in  the  blazing 
sun,  he  resolved  to  go  at  once  to 
Dale's  Kloof.  Should  Mrs.  Falcon 
be  gone  to  England  with  the  dia- 
monds, he  would  stay  there,  and 
Rosa  should  come  out  to  him  ;  or  he 
would  go  and  fetch  her. 

He  went  home  and  washed  him- 
self, mid  told  Bulteel  he  had  had  good 
news,  and  should  leave  the  diggings 
at  once.  He  gave  him  up  the  claim, 
and  told  him  to  sell  it  by  auction. 
It  was  worth  two  hundred  pounds 
still.  The  good  people  sympathized 
with  him  ;  and  he  started  within  an 
hour.  He  left  his  pickaxe  and 
shovel,  and  took  only  his  double 
rifle,  —  an  admirable  one,  —  some 
ammunition,  including  conical  bul- 
lets and  projectile  shells  given  him 
by  Falcon,  a  bag  full  of  carbuncles 
and  garnets  he  had  collected  for 
Ucatella,  a  few  small  diamonds,  and 
one  hundred  pounds,  — all  that  re- 
mained to  him,  since  he  had  been 
paying  wages  and  other  things  for 
months,  and  had  given  Falcon  twen- 
ty for  his  journey. 

lie  rode  away,  and  soon  put  twen- 
ty miles  between  him  and  the  dig- 
gings. 

He  came  to  a  little  store  that 
bought  diamonds,  ami  sold  groceries 
and  tobacco.  He  haltered  bis  horse 
to  a  hook,  and  went  in.  He  offered 
a  small  diamond  for  sale.  The 
master  WOS  out  ;  and  the  assistant 
said  there  was  a  glut  of  these  small 
stone-:  he  did  not  care  to  give  mon- 
ey for  it. 

"  Well,  give  mc  three  dozen  ci- 
gars." 


1GS 


A  SIMPLETON". 


While  they  were  chaffering,  in 
walked  a  Hottentot,  and  said, 
"  Will  you  buy  this  1  "  and  laid  a 
clear,  glittering  stone  on  the  counter 
as  large  as  a  walnut. 

"  Yes,"   said   the   young    man. 
"  How  much  1 " 

"  Two  hundred  pounds." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  !  Let  ns 
look  at  it."  He  examined  it,  and 
said  he  thought  it  was  a  diamond; 
but  these  large  stones  were  so  deceit- 
ful he  dared  not  give  two  hundred 
pounds.  "  Come  again  in  an  hour," 
said  he;  "then  the  master  will  be 
in." 

"  No,"  said  the  Hottentot  quietly, 
and  walked  out. 

Staines,  who  had  been  literally 
perspiring  at  the  sight  of  this  stone, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  followed  the 
man.  When  he  came  npto  him,  he 
asked  leave  to  examine  the  gem. 
The  Hottentot  quietly  assented. 

Staines  looked  at  it  all  over.  It 
had  a  rough  side  and  a  polished 
side ;  and  the  latter  was  of  amazing 
softness  and  lustre.  It  made  him 
tremble.  He  said,  "  Look  here,  I 
have  only  one  hundred  pounds  in 
my  pocket." 

The  Hottentot  shook  his  head. 

"  But,  if  you  will  go  back  with  me 
to  Bulteel's  farm,  I'll  borrow  the 
other  hundred." 

The  Hottentot  declined,  and  told 
him  he  could  get  four  hundred 
pounds  for  it  by  going  back  to  Pniel. 
"  But,"  said  he,  "my  face  is  turned 
so ;  and,  when  Squat  turn  his  face 
so,  he  going  home.  Not  can  bear 
go  the  other  way  then;"  and  he 
held  out  his  hand  for  the  dia- 
mond. 

Staines  gave  it  him,  and  was  in 
despair  at  seeing  such  a  prize  so  near, 
yet  leaving  him. 

I  le  made  another  effort.  "  Well, 
but,"  said  he,  "how  far  arc  you  go- 
ing this  way  ? " 

"  Ten  days." 

"  Why,  so  am  I.  Come  with  me 
to  Dale's  Kloof,  and  I  will  give  the 
other  hundred.     See,  I  am  in   ear- 


nest ;  for  here  is  one  hundred,  at  all 
events." 

Staines  made  this  proposal, 
trembling  with  excitement.  To  his 
surprise  and  joy,  the  Hottentot  as- 
sented, though  with  an  air  of  indif- 
ference ;  and  on  these  terms  they 
became  fellow-travellers,  and  Staines 
gave  him  a  cigar.  They  went  on 
side  by  side,  and  halted  for  the 
night  forty  miles  from  Bulteel's 
farm. 

They  slept  in  a  Boer's  outhouse ; 
and  the  vrow  was  civil,  and  lent 
Staines  a  jackal's  skin.  In  the 
morning  he  bought  it  for  a  diamond, 
a  carbuncle,  and  a  score  of  garnets ; 
for  a  horrible  thought  had  occurred 
to  him,  —  if  they  stopped  at  any  place 
where  miners  were,  somebody  might 
buy  the  great  diamond  over  his 
head.  This  fear,  and  others,  grew 
on  him  ;  and,  with  all  his  philoso- 
phy, he  went  on  thorns,  and  was 
the  slave  of  the  diamond. 

He  resolved  to  keep  his  Hottentot 
all  to  himself  if  possible.  He  shot 
a  springbok  that  crossed  the  road  ; 
and  they  roasted  a  portion  of  the 
animal,  and  the  Hottentot  carried 
some  on  with  him. 

Seeing  he  admired  the  rifle, 
Staines  offered  it  him  for  the 
odd  hundred  pounds ;  but,  though 
Squat's  eye  glittered  a  moment,  he 
declined . 

Finding  that  they  met  too  many 
diggers  and  carts,  Staines  asked  his 
Hottentot  was  there  no  nearer  way 
to  reach  that  star,  pointing  to  one 
he  knew  was  just  over  Dale's  Kloof. 

Oh,  yes  !  he  knew  a  nearer  way, 
where  there  were  trees  and  shade 
and  grass,  and  many  beasts  to 
shoot. 

"Let  us  take  that  way,"  said 
Staines. 

The  Hottentot,  ductile  as  wax, 
except  about  the  price  of  the  dia- 
mond, assented  calmly  ;  and  next 
day  they  diverged,  and  got  into 
forest  scenery ;  and  their  eyes  were 
soothed  with  green  glades  here  and 
there,  wherever  the  clumps  of  trees 


A  SIMPLETON". 


ICO 


Sheltered  the  grass  frora  the  panting 
sun.  Animals  abounded,  and  were 
tame.  Staines,  an  excellent  marks- 
man, shot  the  Hottentot  his  supper 
without  any  trouble. 

Sleeping  iu  the  woods,  with  not  a 
creature  near  but  Squat,  a  sombre 
thought  struck  Staines.  Suppose 
this  Hottentot  should  assassinate 
him  for  his  money,  who  would  ever 
know  ?  The  thought  was  horrible ; 
and  he  awoke  with  a  start  ten  times 
that  night.  The  Hottentot  slept 
like  a  stone,  and  never  feared  for 
his  own  life  and  precious  booty. 
Staines  was  compelled  to  own  to 
himself  he  had  less  faith  in  human 
goodness  than  the  savage  had.  He 
said  to  himself,  "  He  is  my  superior. 
He  is  the  master  of  this  dreadful 
diamond,  and  I  am  its  slave." 

Next  day  they  went  on  till  noon ; 
and  then  chey  halted  at  a  really  de- 
lightful spot.  A  silver  kloof  ran 
along  a  bottom  ;  and  there  was  a 
little  dump  of  three  aeacia-trees 
that  lowered  their  long  tresses  pin- 
ing for  the  stream,  and  sometimes 
getting  a  cool,  grateful  kiss  from  it 
when  the  water  was  high. 

They  haltered  the  horse,  hathed 
in  the  stream,  and  lay  luxurious 
under  the  acacias  All  was  delicious 
languor  and  enjoyment  of  life. 

The  Hottentot  made  a  fin1,  and 
burned  the  remains  of  a  little  sort 
of  kangaroo  Staines  had  shot  him 
the  evening  before  ;  bat  it  did  not 
suffice  Lis  maw;  am!,  looking  about 
him,  he  saw  three  elands  leisurely 
feeding  about  three  hundred  yards 
oil'.  They  were  cropping  the  rich 
herbage  close  to  the  shelter  of  a 
wood. 

The  Hottentot  suggested  (hat 
this  was  an  excellent  opportunity. 
He  would  borrow  Staines  s  rifle,  steal 
into  the  wood,  crawl  on  his  belly 
elos  ■  ii].  to  them,  and  send  a  bullet 
through  one. 

Stames  did  not  relish  the  propo- 
sal,    lie  hail  sen  ill-  savages  eye 
itedly  gloat  on  the  rifle,  and 
not  without    hopes    he    might 
15 


even  yet  relent,  and  give  the  great 
diamond  for  the  hundred  pounds 
and  this  rifle  ;  and  he  was  so  de- 
moralized by  the  diamond,  and  filled 
with  suspicions,  that  he  feared  the 
savage,  if  he  once  had  the  rifle  in  his 
possession,  might  cut,  and  be  seen 
no  more,  in  which  ease  he,  Staines, 
still  the  slave  of  the  diamond,  might 
hang  himself  on  the  nearest  tree, 
and  so  secure  his  Kosa  the  insurance 
money,  at  all  events.  In  short,  he 
he  had  really  diamond  on  the 
brain. 

He  hemmed  and  hawed  a  little  at 
Squat's  proposal,  and  then  got  out 
of  it  by  saying,  "  That  is  not 
necessary.  I  can  shoot  it  from 
here." 

"  It  is  too  far,''  ohjected  Blacky. 

"  Too  far !  This  is  an  Enfield  rifle. 
I  could  kill  the  poor  beast  at  three 
times  that  distance." 

Blacky  was  amazed.  "  An  Enfeel 
rifle,"  said  he,  in  the  sofr,  musical 
murmur  of  his  tribe,  which  is  (he 
one  charm  of  the  poor  Hottentot; 
''and  shoot  three  times  so  far." 

"  Yes,"  said  Christopher  Then, 
seeing  his  companion's  hesitation, 
he  conceived  a  hope.  "  If  I  kill  that 
eland  from  here,  will  you  give  me 
the  diamond  for  my  horse  and  the 
wonderful  rifle  ?  No  Hottentot  has 
such  a  rifle." 

Sqnat  became  cold  directly. 
"  Tiie  price  of  the  diamond  is  two 
hundred  pounds." 

Staines  groaned  with  disappoint- 
ment, and  thought  to  himself,  with 
rage,  "Anybody  but  me  would 
club  the  rifle,  give  the  obstinate 
black  brute  a  stunner,  ami  take  the 
diamond  —  <  lod  forgive  me  ! 

Says  the  Hottentot  cunningly,  "I 
can't  think  so  far  as  white  man. 
Let  me  see  the  eland  dead,  and  then 
1  shall  know  how  far  the  rifle  shoot." 

•'  Very  Well,"  said  Staines.  Hut 
he  felt  sure  the  BHVagC  only  wanted 
his  meal,  and  would  never  part  with 

the  diamond  except   for  the    odd 

money. 

However,  he  loaded  his  left  barrel 


170 


A   SIMPLETON. 


with  one  of  the  explosive  projectiles 
Falcon  had  given  him  :  it  was  a 
little  fulminating  .shell  with  a  steel 
point.  It  was  with  this  barrel  he 
had  shot  the  murcat  overnight ;  and 
he  had  found  he  shot  better  with 
this  barrel  than  the  other.  He 
loaded  his  right  barrel  then,  saw 
the,  powder  well  up,  capped  it, 
and  cut  awaj  a  strip  of  the  acacia 
with  his  knife  to  see  clear,  and 
lying  down  in  volunteer  fashion, 
elbow  on  ground,  drew  his  bead 
steadily  on  an  eland  that  presented 
him  her  broadside,  her  back  being- 
turned  to  the  wood.  The  sun  shone 
on  her  soft  coat,  and  never  was  a 
fairer  mark  ;  the  sportsman's  deadly 
eye  being  in  the  cool  shade,  the 
animal  in  the  sun. 

He  aimed  long  and  steadily.  But, 
just  as  he  was  about  to  pull  the 
trigger,  Mind  interposed ;  and  he 
lowered  the  deadly  weapon.  "  Poor 
creature !  "  he  said,  "I  am  going  to 
take  her  life  —  for  what  ?  for  a  single 
meal.  She  is  as  big  as  a  pony ;  and 
I  am  to  lay  her  carcass  on  the  plain, 
that  we  may  eat  two  pounds  of  it. 
This  is  how  the  weasel  kills  the 
rabbit ;  sucks  an  ounce  of  blood  for 
his  food,  and  wastes  the  rest.  So 
>'ae  demoralized  sheep-dog  tears  out 
i  he  poor  creature's  kidneys,  and 
v/istes  the  rest.  Man,  armed  by 
science  with  such  powers  of  slaying, 
should  be  less  egotistical  than  wea- 
sels and  perverted  sheep-dogs.  I 
will  not  kiil  her.  I  will  not  lay  that 
beautiful  body  of  hers  low,  and 
glaze  thos  e  tender,  loving  eyes  that 
never  gleamed  with  hate  or  rage  at 
man,  and  fix  those  innocent  jaws 
that  never  bit  the  life  out  of  any 
thing,  not  even  of  the  grass  she  feeds 
on,  and  dors  it  more  good  than 
harm.  Feed  on,  poor  innocent. 
And  you  be  blanked, — you  and  your 
diamond,  that  I  begin  to  wish  1  had 
never  seen  ;  for  it  would  corrupt  an 
angej." 

Squat  understood  one  word  in 
ti'n ;  lmt  he  managed  to  reply. 
"Thia   is   nousense-tulk,"  said    he 


gravely.  "  The  life  is  no  bigger  in 
that  than  in  the  murcat  you  shot 
last  shoot." 

''No  more  it  is,"  said  Staines. 
"  I  am  a  fool.  It  is  come  to  this, 
then,  —  Catires  teach  us  theology, 
and  Hottentots  morality.  I  bow  to 
my  intellectual  superior.  I'll  shoot 
the  eland."  He  raised  his  rifle 
again. 

"No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no  !  "  mur- 
mured the  Hottentot,  in  a  sweet 
voice  scarcely  audible,  yet  so  keen 
in  its  entreaty,  that  Staines  turned 
hastily  round  to  look  at  him.  His 
face  was  ashy,  his  teeth  chattering, 
his  limbs  shaking.  Before  Staines 
could  ask  him  what  was  the  matter, 
he  pointed  through  an  aperture 
of  the  acacias  into  the  wood  hard  by 
the  elands.  Staines  looked,  and  saw 
what  seemed  to  him  a  very  long- 
dog,  or  some  such  animal,  crawling 
from  tree  to  tree.  He  did  not  at  all 
share  the  terror  of  his  companion, 
nor  understand  it.  But  a  terrible 
explanation  followed.  This  crea- 
ture, having  got  to  the  skirt  of  the 
wood,  expanded,  by  some  strange 
magic,  to  an  incredible  size,  and 
sprang  into  the  open  with  a  growl, 
a  mighty  lion  :  he  seemed  to  ricochet 
from  the  ground,  so  immense  was 
his  second  bound,  that  carried  him 
to  the  eland  ;  anil  he  struck  her  one 
blow  on  the  head  with  his  terrible 
paw,  and  felled  her  as  if  with  a  thun- 
der-bolt. Down  went  her  body, 
with  all  the  legs  doubled,  and  her 
poor  head  turned  over,  and  the  nose 
kissed  the  ground.  The  lion  stood 
motionless.  Presently  the  eland, 
who  was  not  dead,  but  stunned,  be- 
gan to  recover,  and  struggle  feebly 
up.  Then  the  lion  sprang  on  her 
with  a  roar,  and  rolled  her  over, 
and,  with  two  tremendous  bites  and 
a  shake,  tore  her  entrails  out,  and 
laid  her  dying,  lie  sat  composedly 
down,  and  contemplated  her  last 
convulsions  without  touching  her 
again. 

At  his  roar,  though  not  loud,  the 
horse,  though  he  had  never  heard 


A  SIMPLETON. 


171 


or  seen  a  Hon,  trembled,  and  pulled 
at  his  halter. 

Blacky  crept  into  the  water,  and 
Staines  was  struck  with  such  an  awe 
as  he  had  never  felt.  Nevertheless,  | 
the  king  of  beasts  being  at  a  distance, 
and  occupied,  and  Staines  a  brave 
mail,  and  out  of  sight,  he  kept  his 
ground  and  watched,  and  by  those 
means  saw  a  sight  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. The  lion  rose  up,  and  stood 
in  the  sun,  incredibly  beautiful  as 
well  as  terrible.  His  was  not  the 
mangy  hue  of  the  caged  lion,  but  a 
skin  tawny,  golden,  glossy  as  a ' 
race-horse,  and  of  exquisite  lint  that 
shone  like  pure  gold  in  the  sun  ;  bis 
eye  a  lustrous  jewel  of  richest  hue, 
and  his  mane  sublime.  He  looked 
toward  the  wood,  and  uttered  a  full 
mar.  This  was  so  tremendous,  that 
the  horse  shook  all  over  as  it  in  an  I 
ague,  and  began  to  lather.  Staines 
recoiled,  and  his  flesh  crept;  and  the 
Hottentot  went  under  water,  and 
did  not  emerge  for  ever  so  long. 

After  a  pause,  the  lion  roared 
again  ;  and  all  the  beasts  and  birds 
of  prey  seemed  to  know  the  meaning 
of  that  terrible  roar.  Till  then  the 
place  had  been  a  solitude  ;  but  now 
it  began  to  till  in  the  strangest  way, 
as  if  the  lord  of  the  fores!  could  call 
all  his  subjects  together  with  a 
trumpet  roar.  First  came  two  lion 
cubs,  to  whom,  in  fact,  the  roar  had 
been  addressed.  The  lion  rubbed 
himself  several  times  against  the 
eland,  but  did  not  cat  a  morsel  ;  and 
the  cobs  went  in,  and  feasted  on  the 
prey.  The  lion  politely  and  pater- 
nally dnw  back,  and  watched  the 
young  people  en  oying  themselves. 

Meantime  approached  on  tiptoe, 
jackals  and  hyenas,  but  dared  DOl 
Come  too  near.  Slate-eolored  vul- 
tures settled  at  a  little  distance  ;  but 
not  a  soul   dared   interfere  with  the 

cubs.  They  saw  the  lion  tvas acting 
sentinel,  and  they  knew  better  than 
come  near. 

After  a  time,  papa  feared  for  the 
digestion  of  those  brats,  or  else  his 

own  mouth  watered  ;  lor  be    came 


up,  knocked  them  head  over  heels 
with  his  velvet  paw,  and  they  took 
the  gentle  hint,  and  ran  into  the 
wood  double-quick. 

Then  the  lion  began  tearing  away 
at  the  eland,  and  bolting  huge  mor- 
sels greedily.  This  made  the  rab- 
ble's mouth  water.  The  hyenas  and 
jackals  and  vultures  formed  a  circle 
ludicrous  to  behold;  and  that  circle 
kept  narrowing  as  the  lion  tore  away 
at  his  prey.  They  increased  in  num- 
bers ;  and  at  last  hunger  overcame 
prudence.  The  rear  rank  shoved 
on  the  front,  as  among  men  ;  and 
a  general  attack  seemed  imminent. 

Then  the  lion  looked  up  at  these 
invaders,  uttered  a  reproachful 
growl,  and  weut  at  them,  patting 
them  right  and  left,  and  knocking 
them  over.  lie  never  touched  a  vul- 
ture, nor,  indeed,  did  he  kill  an 
animal.  He  was  a  lion,  and  only 
killed  to  eat :  vet  he  soon  cleared 
the  place,  because  he  knocked  over 
a  few  hyenas  and  jackals  ;  and  the 
i  rest,  being  active,  tumbled  over  the 
vultures  before  they  could  spread 
their  heavy  wings.  After  this  warn- 
ing, they  made  a  respectful  circle 
again,  through  which,  in  due  course, 
the  gorged  lion  stalked  into  the 
wood. 

A  savage's  sentiments  change 
quickly  ;  and  the  Hottentot,  fearing 
little  from  a  full  lion,  was  now  gig- 
gling at  Staines's  side.  Staines 
asked  him  which  he  thought  was 
the  lord  of  all  creatures,  —  a  man,  or 
lion. 

"  A  lion,"  said  Blacky,  amazed  at 
such  a  shallow  question. 

Staines  now  got  up,  ami  proposed 
to  continue  their  journey.  But 
Blacky  was  for  waiting  till  the  lion 
was  gone  to  sleep  after  his  meal. 

While  tiny  discussed  the  question, 
the  lion  burst  out  of  the  wood  within 
hearing  of  their  voices,  a.-  hi-  pricked- 

ep  Ban  showed,  and    made  straight 
for    them   at  a  distance  of  scarcely 

thirty  yards. 

Now,  the  chances  are,  tin1  lion 
knew  nothing  about  them,  and  only 


171 


A  SIMPLETON. 


came  to  drink  at  the  kloof  after  his 
meal,  and  perhaps  lie  under  the 
acacias  ;  bnt  who  can  think  calmly 
when  his  first  lion  bursts  out  on 
him  a  few  paces  off"?  Staines 
shouldered  his  rine,  took  a  hasty, 
Hurried  aim,  and  sent  a  bullet  at 
him. 

If  he  had  missed  him,  perhaps  the 
report  might  have  turned  the  lion  ; 
but  he  wounded  him,  and  not  mortal- 
ly. Instantly  the  enraged  beast  ut- 
tered a  terrific  roar,  and  came  at  him 
with  his  mane  distended  with  rage, 
his  eyes  glaring,  his  mouth  open,  and 
his  whole  body  dilated  with  fury. 

At  that  terrible  moment,  Staines 
recovered  his  wits  enough  to  see 
that  what  little  chance  he  had  was 
to  fire  into  the  destroyer,  not  at  him. 
lie  kneeled,  and  levelled  at  the  centre 
of  the  lion's  chest,  and  not  till  he 
was  within  five  yards  did  he  fire. 
Through  the  smoke  he  saw  the  lion 
in  the  air  above  him,  and  rolled 
shrieking  into  the  stream,  and 
crawled  Hke  a  worm  under  the  bank, 
by  one  motion,  and  there  lay  trem- 
bling. 

A    few   seconds   of   sick    stupor 
passed  :  all  was  silent.    Had  the  lion 
lost  him  ?     Was    it    possible    he 
might  yet  escape  ? 
AH  was  silent. 

He  listened,  in  agony,  for  the 
sniffing  of  the  lion,  puzzling  him 
out  by  scent. 

No  :  all  was  silent. 
Staines  looked  round,  and  saw  a 
woolly  head,  and  two  saucer  eyes, 
and  open  nostrils  close  by  him.  It 
was  the  Hottentot,  more  dead  than 
alive. 

Staines  whispered  him,  "  I  think 
he  is  gone." 

The  Hottentot  whispered,  "  Gone 
a  little  way  to  watch.  He  is  wise 
as  well  as  strong."  With  this  he 
disappeared  beneath  the  water. 

Still  no  sound  but  the  screaming 
of  the  vultures,  and  snarling    of  the 
hyenas  and  jackals  over  the  eland. 
"  Take  a  look,"  said  Staines. 
"  Yes,"  said  Squat ;  "  but  not  to- 


day.    Wait  here   a    day    or    two. 
Hen  he  forget  and  forgive." 

Now,  Staines,  having  seen  the 
lion  lie  down  and  watch  the  dying 
eland,  was  a  great  deal  impressed 
by  this  ;  and,  as  he  had  now  good 
hopes  of  saving  his  life,  he  would 
not  throw  away  a  chance.  He  kept 
his  head  just  above  water,  and  never 
moved. 

In  this  freezing  situation  they  re- 
mained. 

Presently  there  was  a  rustling 
that  made  both  crouch. 

It  was  followed  by  a  croaking 
noise. 

Christopher  made  himself  small. 
The  Hottentot,  on  the   contrary, 
raised  his  head,  and  ventured  a  little 
way  into  the  stream. 

By  these  means  he  saw  it  was 
something  very  foul,  but  not  terrible. 
It  was  a  large  vulture  that  had  set- 
tled on  the  very  top  of  the  nearest 
acacia. 

At  this  the  Hottentot  got  bolder 
still,  and,  to  the  great  surprise  of 
Staines,  began  to  crawl  cautiously 
into  some  rushes,  and  through  them 
up  the  bank. 

The  next  moment  he  burst  into  a 
mixture  of  yelling  and  chirping  and 
singing,  and  other  sounds  so  mani- 
festly jubilant,  that  the  vulture 
flapped  heavily  away,  and  Staines 
emerged  in  turn,  but  very  cautiously. 
Could  he  believe  his  eyes  ?  There 
lay  the  lion,  dead  as  a  stone,  on  his 
back,  with  his  four  legs  in  the  air, 
like  wooden  legs,  they  were  so  very 
dead  ;  and  the  valiant  Squat  dancing 
about  him,  and  on  him,  and  over 
him. 

Staines,  unable  to  change  his 
sentiments  so  quickly,  eyed  even 
the  dead  body  of  the  royal  beast 
with  awe  and  wonder.  What,  had 
he  really  laid  that  terrible  monarch 
low,  and  with  a  tube  made  in  a 
London  shop  by  men  who  never  saw 
a  lion  spring,  nor  heard  his  awful 
roar  shake  the  air  ?  He  stood  with 
his  heart  still  beating,  and  said  not 
a  word.     The     shallow     Hottentot 


A  SIMPLETON. 


lto 


whipped  out  a  large  knife,  and  began 
to  skin  the  king  of  beasts.  Staines 
wondered  he  could  so  profane  that 
masterpiece  of  nature.  He  felt  more 
inclined  to  thank  God  for  so  great  a 
preservation,  and  then  pass  rever- 
ently on,  and  leave  the  dead  king  un- 
descended. 

He  was  roused  from  his  solemn 
thoughts  by  the  reflection  that  there 
might  lie  a  lioness  about,  since  there 
were  cubs.  lie  took  a  piece  of  paper, 
emptied  his  remaining  powder  into 
it,  and  proceeded  to  dry  it  in  the 
sun.  This  was  soon  done  ;  and  then 
he  loaded  both  barrels. 

By  this  time  the  adroit  Hottentot 
had  flayed  the  carcass  sufficiently  to 
reveal  the  mortal  injury.  The  pro- 
jcctile  had  entered  the  chest,  and, 
slanting  upward,  had  burst  among 
the  vitals,  reducing  them  to  a  gory 
pulp.  The  lion  must  have  died  in 
the  air,  when  he  hounded  on  receiv- 
ing the  fatal  shot. 

The  Hottentot  uttered  a  cry  of 
admiration.  "  Not  the  lion  king  of 
all,  nor  even  the  white  man,"  he 
said, " but Enfccl  rifle!" 

Staines's  eyes  glittered.  "  You 
shall  have  it  and  the  hoise  for  your 
diamond,"  said  he  eagerly. 

The  black  seemed  a  little  shaken, 
but  did  not  reply.  He  got  out  of  it 
by  going  on  with  his  lion ;  and 
Staines  eyed  him,  and  was  bitterly 
dia  appointed  at  not  getting  tin;  dia- 
mond even  on  these  terms,  lie 
mi  to  feel  he  should  never  get  it. 
They  were  mar  the  high-road  ;  he 
I  not  keep  the  Hottentot  to  him- 
niuch  longer,  lie  felt  sick  at 
heart.  He  had  wild  and  wicked 
thoughts ;  halt'  hoped  the  lioness 
would  come  and  kill  the  Hottentot, 
and  liberate  the  jewel  that  possessed 
his  soul. 

At  last  the  skin  was  oil';  and  the 
Hottentot  said,  "  Mo  take  this  to  my 

kraal,  and    dev    all    say,  '  Squat    a 

great  shooter;  kill  urn  lion.'  " 
Then  Staines  saw  another  chance 

lor  him,  anil  summoned  all  his  ail 

ireas  for  a  last  effort.    "  No,  Squat," 

10* 


said  he,  "  that  skin  belongs  to  me. 
I  shot  the  lion  with  the  only  rifle 
that  can  kid  a  lion  like  a  cat.  Yet 
you  would  not  give  me  a  diamond,  — 
a  paltry  stone  for  it.  No,  Squat,  if 
you  were  to  go  into  your  village 
with  that  lion's  skin,  why,  the  old 
men  would  bend  their  heads  to  you, 
and  say,  '  Great  is  Squat !  He 
killed  the  lion,  and  wears  his  skin.' 
The  young  women  would  all  tight 
which  should  be  the  wife  of  Squat. 
Squat  would  be  king  of  the  village." 

Squat's  eyes  began  to  roll. 

"  And  shall  I  give  the  skin  and 
the  glory  that  is  my  due  to  an 
ill-natured  fellow  who  refuses  me  his 
paltry  diamond  for  a  good  horse  — 
look  at  him  ;  and  for  the  rifle  that 
kills  lions  like  rabbits  — behold  it ; 
and  a  hundred  pounds  in  good  gold 
and  Dutch  notes  —  see;  and  for  the 
lion's  skin  and  glory  and  honor  and 
a  rich  wife,  and  to  be  king  of  Africa  ? 
Never." 

The  Hottentot's  hands  and  toes 
began  to  work  convulsively.  "  Good 
master,  Squat  ask  pardon.  Squat 
was  blind.  Squat  wi  1  give  the  dia- 
mond, the  great  diamond  of  Africa, 
for  the  lion's  skin,  and  the  king  rifle, 
and  the  little  horse,  and  the  gold, 
and  Dutch  notes  every  one  of  tin  m. 
Dat  make  just  two  hundred 
pounds." 

".More  like  four  hundred,"  cried 
Staines  very  loud.  "And  how  do 
I  know  it  is  a  diamond  !  These 
large  stones  are  the  most  deceitful. 
Show  it  me  this  instant,"  said  he 
imperiously. 

"  Lss,  master,"  said  the  crushed 
Hottentot,  with  the  voire  of  a  mouse, 
and  put  the  stone  into  his  hand  with 
a  child-like  faith  that  almosl  melted 
Staines;  but  he  saw  he  must  lie 
firm.  "  Where  did  you  find  it ' " 
he  bawled. 

"  Master,"  said  poor  Squat,  in 
deprecating  tones,  "  my  little  master 

at    the    farm    wanted     plaster,      lie 
send     to     Bulteel's    Jiin   i     dere    was 

large  lumps,     Squat  say  to  miners, 
'  May  we    lake    tie    large   lumps  .'  ' 


174 


A   SIMPLETON. 


Dey  say,  '  Yes  :  take  de  cursed 
lumps  we  no  can  break.'  We  took 
de  cursed  lumps.  We  ride  'em  in 
de  cart  to  farm,  twenty  milses.  I 
beat  'em  with  my  hammer.  Dey  is 
very  hard.  More  dey  break  my 
heart  dan  I  break  deir  cursed  heads. 
One  day  I  use  strong  words,  like 
white  man,  and  I  hit  one  large 
lump  too  hard  :  he  break,  and  out 
come  de  white  clear  stone.  Iss,  him 
diamond.  Long  time  we  know  him 
in  our  kraal,  because  he  hard.  Long 
time  before  ever  white  man  know 
him,  tousand  years  ago,  we  find  him, 
and  he  make  us  lilly  hole  in  big 
stone  for  make  wheat  dust.  Him  a 
diamond,  blank  my  eyes  !  " 

This  was  intended  as  a  solemn 
form  of  asseveration  adapted  to  the 
white  man's  habits. 

Yes,  reader,  he  told  the  truth ; 
and,  strange  to  say,  the  miners 
knew  the  largest  stones  were  in 
those  great  lumps  of  carbonate.  But 
then  the  lumps  were  so  cruelly  hard, 
they  lost  all  patience  with  them  ; 
and  so,  finding  it  was  no  use  to  break 
some  of  them,  and  not  all,  they  re- 
jected them  all,  with  curses ;  and 
thus  this  great  stone  was  carted  away 
as  rubbish  from  the  mine,  and 
found,  like  a  toad  in  a  hole,  by 
Squat. 

"  Well,"  said  Christopher,  "  after 
all,  you  are  an  honest  fellow,  and 
I  think  I  will  buy  it.  But  first  you 
must  show  me  out  of  this  wood  :  I 
am  not  going  to  be  eaten  alive  in  it 
for  want  of  the  king  of  rifles." 

Squat  assented  eagerly ;  and  they 
started  at  once.  They  passed  the 
skeleton  of  the  eland  :  its  very  bones 
were  polished,  and  its  head  carried 
into  the  wood  ;  and,  looking  bark, 
they  saw  vultures  busy  on  the  lion. 
They  soon  cleared  the  wood. 

Squat  handed  Staines  the  dia- 
mond,—  when  it  touched  his  hand 
as  his  own,  a  bolt  of  ice  seemed  to 
run  down  his  buck,  and  hot  water 
to  follow  it,  — and  the  money,  horse, 
rifle,  and  skin  were  made  over  to 
Squat. 


"Shake  hands  over  it,  Squat," 
said  Staines.  "You  are  hard;  but 
you  are  honest." 

"  Iss,  master,  I  a  good  much  hard, 
and  honest,"  said  Squat. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow  !  " 

"  Good-by,  master !  " 

And  Squat  strutted  away,  with 
the  baiter  in  his  hand,  horse  follow- 
ing him,  rifle  under  his  arm,  and 
the  lion's  skin  over  his  shoulders, 
and  the  tail  trailing,  a  figure  sublime 
in  his  own  eyes,  ridiculous  in  crea- 
tion's. So  vanity  triumphed  even 
in  the  wilds  of  Africa. 

Staines  hurried  forward  on  foot, 
loading  his  revolver  as  he  went ;  for 
the  very  vicinity  of  the  wood  alarm- 
ed him  now  he  had  parted  with  his 
trusty  rifle. 

That  night  he  lay  down  on  the 
open  veldt,  in  his  jackal's  skin, 
with  no  weapon  but  his  revolver, 
and  woke  with  a  start  a  dozen  times. 
Just  before  daybreak,  he  scanned 
the  stars  carefully,  and,  noting 
exactly  where  the  sun  rose,  made  a 
rough  guess  at  his  course,  and  fol- 
lowed it  till  the  sun  was  too  hot ; 
then  he  crept  under  a  ragged  bush, 
hung  up  his  jackal's  skin,  and 
sweated  there,  parched  with  thirst, 
and  gnawed  with  hunger.  When  it 
was  cooler,  he  crept  on,  and  found 
water,  but  no  food.  He  was  in 
torture,  and  began  to  be  frightened  ; 
for  he  was  in  a  desert.  lie  found 
an  ostrich-egg,  and  ate  it  ravenous- 

!y- 

Next  day  hunger  took  anew  form, 
—  faintness.  He  could  not  walk  for 
it  :  his  jackal's  skin  oppressed  him. 
lie  laydown,  exhausted.  Ahorror 
seized  his  dejected  soul.  The  dia- 
mond !  —  it  would  be  his  death.  No 
man  must  so  long  for  any  earthly 
thing  as  he  had  for  this  glittering 
traitor.  "  Oh,  my  good  horse ! 
my  trusty  rifle  !  "  he  cried.  "  For 
what  have  I  thrown  you  away  ? 
For  starvation.  Misers  have  been 
found  stretched  over  their  gold  ; 
and  some  day  my  skeleton  will  be 
found,  and  nothing  to  tell  the  base 


A  SIMPLETON. 


175 


death  I  died  of,  and  deserved,  — 
nothing  but  the  cursed  diamond 
Ay,  fiend  !  glare  in  my  eyes,  do  !  " 
He  felt  delirium  creeping  over  him  ; 
and  at  that  a  new  terror  froze  him. 
His  reason,  that  he  had  lost  once  — 
was  he  to  lose  it  again  ?  He  prayed, 
he  wept,  lie  dozed,  and  forgot  all. 
When  he  woke  again,  a  cool  air 
was  fanning  his  cheeks,  it  revived 
him  a  little.  It  became  almost  a 
breeze. 

And  this  breeze,  as  it  happened, 
carried  on  its  wings  the  curse  of 
Africa.  There  loomed  in  the 
north-west  a  cloud  of  singular  den- 
sity, that  seemed  to  expand  in  size 
as  it  drew  nearer,  yet  to  be  still 
more  solid,  and  darken  the  air.  It 
seemed  a  dust-storm.  Staines  took 
out  his  handkerchief,  prepared  to 
wrap  his  face  in  it,  not  to  be  sti- 
fled. 

Hut  soon  there  was  a  whirring 
and  a  whizzing;  and  hundreds  of 
locusts  flew  over  his  head  :  they 
were  followed  by  thousands,  —  the 
swiftest  of  the  mighty  host.  They 
thickened  and  thickened,  till  the  air 
looked  solid,  and  even  that  glaring 
sun  was  blackened  by  the  rushing 
mass.  Birds  of  all  sorts  whirled 
above,  and  swooped  among  them. 
They  peppered  Staines  all  over  like 
shot.  They  stuck  in  his  beard,  anil 
all  over  him  :  they  clogged  the 
bushes,  carpeted  the  ground  ;  while 
the  darkened  air  sang  08  with  the 
whirl  of  machinery.  Every  bird  in 
the  air,  am!  beast  of  the  field,  j_rra- 
nivoroue  or  carnivorous,  was  gorged 
with  them;  and  to  these  animals 
was  added  man,  for  Staines,  being 
famished,  and  remembering  the 
vrow  I'.ulicel,  lighted  a  tire,  and 
roasted   a  handful  or  two  on  a   flat 

Stone:     they    were    delicious.      The 
lire  once  lighted,  they  cooked  them- 
selves ;  for  they  kepi  flying  into   it 
Three  hoars,  without  interruption, 

did  they  darken  nature,  and  before 
the  column  ceased  all  the  beasts  of 
the  field  came  alter,  gorging  them 
80  recklessly,    that    Staines     could 


have    shot     an  antelope    dead   wit 
his  pistol  within  a  yard  of  him. 

But,  to  tell  the  horrible  truth,  the 
cooked  locusts  were  so  nice,  that  he 
preferred  to  gorge  on  them  along 
with  the  other  animals. 

He  roasted  another  lot  for  future 
use,  and  marched  on  with  a  good 
heart. 

But  now  he  got  on  some  rough, 
scrubby  ground,  and  damaged  his 
shoes,  and  tore  his  trousers. 

This  lasted  a  terrible  distance  ; 
but  at  the  end  of  it  came  the  usual 
arid  ground  ;  and  at  last  he  came 
upon  the  track  of  wheels  and  hoofs. 
He  struck  it  at  an  acute  angle,  and 
that  showed  him  he  had  made  a 
good  line.  He  limped  along  it  a 
little  way  slowly,  being  foot-sore. 

By  and  by,  looking  back,  he  saw 
a  lot  of  rough  fellows  swaggering 
aloni:  behind  him.  Then  he  was 
alarmed,  terribly  alarmed,  for  his 
diamond.  He  tore  a  strip  off  his 
handkerchief,  and  tied  it  cunningly 
under  his  arm-pit  as  he  hobbled  on. 

The  men  came  up  with  him. 

"  Halloo,  mate  !  Come  from  the 
diggins  !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  What  luck  ?  " 

"  Very  good." 

"Haw,  haw!  What,  found  a 
fifty  carat?     Show  it  us." 

"  We  found  five  big  stones,  my 
mate  and  me.  He  is  gone  to  Cape 
Town  to  sell  them.  1  had  no  luck 
when  he  left  me,  so  I  have  cut  it  ; 
going  to  turn  farmer.  Can  yoa  tell 
me  how  far  it  is  to  Dale's  Kloof?" 

No,  they  could  not  tell  him  that. 
They  swung  on;  and  to  Staines 
their  backs  were  a  cordial,  as  we 
sa\   in  Scotland. 

However,  his  travels  were,  near 
an     end.        Next     morning    he     saw 

Dale's  Kloof  in  tin'  distance;  and, 
as  Boon  as  the  heat  moderated,  he 

pushed  on  with  one  shoe  and  tat- 
tered tronsers  ;  and,  half  an  hour 
before  sunset,  he  hobbled  up  to  tho 

place 

It  was  all  bustle.     Travellers  at 


176 


A  SIMPLETON. 


the   door;  their  wagons  and   carts 
uiidL-r  a  long  shed. 

Ucatella  was  the  first  to  see  him 
coming,  and  canje  and  fawned  on 
him  with  delight.  Her  eyes  glisten- 
ed, her  teeth  gleamed.  She  patted 
both  his  cheeks,  and  then  his  shoul- 
ders, and  even  his  knees,  and  then 
flew  indoors,  crying,  "  My  doctor 
child  is  come  home  !  "  This  amused 
three  travellers,  and  brought  out 
Dick  with  a  hearty  welcome. 

"  But  Lordsake,  sir,  why  have 
you  come  afoot,  and  a  rough  road 
too?  Look  at  your  shoes!  Halloo! 
What  is  come  of  the  horse  ?  " 

"  I  exchanged  him  for  a  dia- 
mond." 

"  The  deuse  you  did !  And  the 
rifle  ?  " 

"  Exchanged  that  for  the  same 
diamond." 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  big  un." 

"It  is." 

Dick  made  a  wry  face.  "  Well, 
sir,  you  know  best.  You  are  wel- 
come, on  horse  or  afoot.  You  are 
just  in  time :  Phoebe  and  me  are 
just  sitting  down  to  dinner." 

He  took  him  into  a  little  room 
tiny  had  built  lor  their  own  privacy, 
for  they  liked  to  be  quiet  now  and 
then,  being  country  bred ;  and 
Phoebe  was  putting  their  dinner  on 
the  table  when  Staines  limped  in. 

She  gave  a  joyful  cry,  and  turned 
red  all  over.  "  O  doctor!"  Then 
his  travel-torn  appearance  struck 
her.  "  But,  dear  heart !  what  a 
figure !  Where's  Reginald  ?  Oh, 
he's  not  far  off,  /know  !  " 

And  she  nun<j  open  the  window, 
and  almost  Hew  through  it  in  a  mo- 
ment to  look  lor  her  husband. 

"  Reginald  1  "  said  Staines. 
Then,  turning  to  Dick  Dale,  "  Whv, 
he  is  here;  isn't  he  1  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  without  he  is  just 
come  with  you." 

"  With  me  ?  —  no.  You  know, 
we  parted  at  the  di^jritrs.  Come, 
Mr.  Dale,  he  may  not  be  here  now  ; 
but  he  lias  been  here:  he  must 
have  been  here." 


Phoebe,  who  had  not  lost  a  word, 
turned  round,  with  all  her  hijjh 
color  gone,  and  her  checks  getting 
paler  and  paler.,  "O  Dick! 
what  is  this  1  " 

"  I  don't  understand  it, "said  Dick. 
"Whatever  made  you  think  he  was 
here,  sir ']  " 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  he  left  me  to 
come  here." 

"  Left  you,  sir  !  "  faltered  Phoebe. 
"Why,  when,  where  ?  " 

"  At  the  diggings,  —  ever  so  long 
ago." 

"  Blank  him  !  That  is  just  like 
him,  the  uneasy  fool  !  "  roared  Dick. 

"No,  Mr.  Dale,  you  should  not 
say  that.  He  left  me,  with  my  con- 
sent, to  come  to  Mrs.  Falcon  here, 
and  consult  her  about  disposing  of 
our  diamonds." 

"  Diamonds,  diamonds  !  "cned 
Phoebe  "  Oh  !  they  make  me  trem- 
ble. How  could  you  let  him  go 
alone  ?  You  didn't  let  him  go  on 
foot,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  Mrs.  Falcon.  He  had 
his  horse  and  his  rifle,  and  money 
to  spend  on  the  road." 

"  How  long  ago  did  he  leave  you, 
sir  ?  " 

"I  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was 
five  weeks  ago." 

"  Five  weeks,  and  not  come  yet. 
Ah !  the  wild  beasts !  the  dig- 
gers !  the  murderers !  He  is 
dead !  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  faltered  Staines  ; 
but  his  own  blood  began  to  run 
cold. 

"  He  is  dead.  He  has  died  be- 
tween this  and  the  dreadful  dia- 
monds. I  shall  never  see  my  dar- 
ling again.  He  is  dead ;  he  is 
dead." 

She  rushed  out  of  the  room  and 
out  of  the  house,  throwing  her  arms 
above  her  head  in  despair,  and  ut- 
tering those  words  of  agony  again 
and  again  in  every  variety  of  an- 
guish. 

At  such  horrible  moments  women 
always  swoon  — if  we  are  to  believe 
the  dramatists.     I  doubt  if  there  is 


A   SIMPLETON-. 


177 


one  grain  of  truth  in  this.  Women 
seldom  swoon  at  all,  unless  their 
boilies  are  unhealthy,  or  weakened 
by  the  re-action  that  follows  so  ter- 
rible a  shock  as  this.  At  all  events, 
Phcebe,  at  first,  was  strong  and 
wild  as  a  lion,  and  went  to  and  fro 
outside  the  house,  unconscious  of 
her  body's  motion,  frenzied  with  ag- 
ony, and  but  one  word  on  her  lips, 
"  lie  is  dead  ;  he  is  dead  !  " 

Dick  followed  her,  crying  like  a 
child,  but  master  of  himself:  he  got 
his  people  about  her,  and  half  car- 
ried her  in  again  ;  then  shut  the  door 
in  all  their  laces. 

He  got  the  poor  creature  to  sit 
down  ;  and  she  began  to  rock  and 
moan,  with  her  apron  over  her  head, 
and  her  brown  hair  loose  about  her. 

"  Why  should  he  be  dead  ?  "  said 
Dick.  "Don't  give  a  man  up  like 
that,  Phoebe. — Doctor,  tell  us  more 
about  it.  O  man  !  how  could  you 
ht  lu'm  out  of  your  siirht  ?  You 
knew  how  fond  the  poor  creature 
was  of  him." 

"But  that  was  it,  Mr.  Dale." 
6aid  Staines.  "  I  knew  his  wile 
must  pine  (or  him  ;  and  we  had 
found  six  large  diamonds,  and  a 
handful  of  small  ones.  But  the  mar- 
ket was  glutted  ;  and,  to  get  a  better 
price,  lie  wanted  to  go  straight  to 
CajKj  Town.  But  I  said,  'No:  go 
and  show  them  to  your  wife,  anil  Bee 
whether  she  will  go  to  Cape  Town.'  " 

Phoebe  began  to  listen,  as  was  evi- 
dent by  her  moaning  more  softly. 

"Might  he  not  have  gone  straight 
to  Cane  Town  '."  Staines  hazarded 
thi-  timidly. 

"  Why  should   lie    do    that,  sir? 

Dale's    Kloof  i-  On  the  road." 

"  <  >nlv  on  line  road.  Mr.  Dale, 
he  was  well  armed  with  rifle  and  re- 
volver: and  I  cautioned  him  not  to 
show  a  diamond  on  [he  mad  Who 
would  molest  him  '  Diamonds  don't 
show,  like  gold.  Who  was  to  know 
he  had  three  thousand  pounds  bid- 

di  n    under  his   armpits  and    in    two 
barrek  of  his  revolver  '  " 
"  Three  thousand  pound* !  "  cried 


Dale.  "  You  trusted  Aim  with  three 
thousand  pounds  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  They  were  worth 
about  three  thousand  pounds  in 
Cape  Town,  and  half  as  much  again 
in  "  — 

Phcebe  started  up  in  a  moment. 
"  Thank  God  !  "  she  cried.  "  There's 
hope  for  me.      O  Dick  !  he   is  not 

dead  :  HE  HAS  ONLY  DESEHTEDME." 

And  with  these  strange  and  pitia- 
ble words,  she  fell  to  sobbing,  as  if 
her  great  heart  would  burst  at  last. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

There  came  a  re-action  ;  and 
Phoebe  was  prostrated  with  grief  and 

alarm.  Her  brother  never  doubted 
now  that  Reginald  had  run  to  Cape 
Town  for  a  lark.  But  Phcebe, 
though  she  thought  so  too,  could 
not  be  sure  ;  and  so  the  double  agony 
of  bereavement  and  desertion  tor- 
tured her  by  turns,  and  almost  to- 
gether. For  the  first  time  theso 
many  years,  she  was  so  crushed  she 
could  not  go  about  her  business,  but 
lay  on  a  little  sofa  in  her  own  room, 
and  had  .the  blinds  down;  for  her 
head  ached  so  she  could  not  bear  the 
light. 

Site  conceived  a  bitter  resentment 
against  Staines,  and  told  Dick  never 
to  ht  him  into  her  sight,  if  he  did 
not  want  to  be  her  death. 

In  vain  Dick  made  excuses  for 
him  :  she  would  hear  none.  For 
once  she  was  as  unreasonable,  as  any 
other  living  woman.  She  could  BOS 
nothing  but  that  she  had  beiii  happy, 
alter  years  of  misery,  ami  should  be 
happy  now  if  this  man  had  never 
entered  her  house.  "  Ah,  Colly  !  " 
she  cried,  "  you  were  wiser  than  I 
was,  Vim  as  good  as  told  me  he 
would  make  me  smart  for  lodging 
and  curing  him.  And  1  wa-  go 
hanpyl  " 

I  lata  communicated  this  as  deli- 
cately as  he  could  to  Staines  Chri  - 
topher    was     deeply     grieved    and 


178 


A  SIMPLETON. 


wounded.  He  thought  it  unjust ; 
hut  he  knew  it  was  natural.  He 
said  humbly,  "  I  feel  guilty  myself, 
Mr.  Dale  ;  and  yet,  unless  I  had 
possessed  omniseience,  what  could  I 
do  1  I  thought  of  her  in  all, —  poor 
thing,  poor  tiling  !  " 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes ;  and 
Pick  Dale  went  away  scratching  his 
head,  and  thinking  it  over.  The 
more  he  thought,  the  less  he  was  in- 
clined to  condemn  him. 

Staines  himself  was  much  trou- 
bled in  mind,  and  lived  on  thorns. 
He  wanted  to  be  off  to  England  ; 
grudged  ever}'  day,  every  hour,  he 
spent  in  Africa.  But  Mrs.  Falcon 
was  his  benefactress  :  he  had  been 
for  months  and  months  garnering 
up  a  heap  of  gratitude  toward  her. 
He  bad  not  the  heart  to  leave  her 
bad  friends,  and  in  misery.  He 
kept  hoping  Falcon  would  return  or 
write. 

Two  days  after  his  return,  he  was 
seated,  disconsolate,  gluing  garnets 
and  carbuncles  on  to  a  broad  taper- 
ing bit  of  lambskin,  when  Ucatella 
came  to  him  and  said,  "  My  doctor 
child  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  not  sick,  but  miserable." 
And  he  explained  to  her,  as  well  as 
he  could,  what  had  passed.  "  But," 
said  he,  "  I  would  not  mind  the  loss 
of  the  diamonds  now,  if  I  was  only 
sure  he  was  alive.  I  think  most  of 
poor,  poor  Mrs.  Falcon." 

While  Ucatella  pondered  this,  but 
with  one  eye  of  demure  curiosity  on 
the  coronet  he  was  making,  lie  told 
her  it  was  for  her  :  he  had  not  for- 
got her  at  the  mines.  "  These 
stones,"  said  he,  "  are  not  valued 
there  ;  but  see  how    glorious    they 


are 


I  " 


In  a  few  minutes  he  had  finished 
the  coronet,  and  gave  it  her.  She 
ottered  a  chuckle  of  delight,  and, 
with  instinctive  art,  bound  it,  in  a 
turn  of  her  hand,  about  her  brow  ; 
and  then  .Staines  himself  was  struck 
dumb  with  amazement.  The  car- 
buncles gathered  from  those  mines 
look  like  rubies,  so  full  of  fire  are 


they,  and  of  enormous  size.  The 
chaplet  had  twelve  great  carbuncles 
in  the  centre,  and  went  off  by  gra- 
dations into  smaller  garnets  by  ihe 
thousand.  They  flashed  their  blood- 
red  flames  in  the  African  sun  ;  and 
the  head  of  Ucatella,  grand  before, 
became  the  head  of  the  Sphinx,  en- 
circled with  a  coronet  of  fire.  She 
bestowed  a  look  of  rapturous  grati- 
tude on  Staines,  and  then  glided 
away,  like  the  stately  Juno,  to  ad- 
mire herself  in  the  nearest  glass,  like 
any  other  coquette,  black,  brown, 
yellow,  copper,  or  white. 

That  very  day,  toward  sunset,  she 
burst  upon  Staines  quite  suddenly, 
with  her  coronet  gleaming  on  her 
magnificent  head,  and  her  eyes  like 
coals  of  fire,  and  under  her  magni- 
ficent arm,  hard  as  a  rock,  a  boy 
kicking  and  struggling  in  vain.  She 
was  furiously  excited,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  showed  signs  of  the  savage 
in  the  whites  of  her  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  turn  the  glorious  pupils 
into  semi-circles.  She  clutched 
Staines  by  the  shoulder  with  her  left 
band,  and  swept  along  with  the  pair, 
like  dark  Fate,  or  as  potent  justice 
sweeps  away  a  pair  of  culprits,  and 
carried  them  to  the  little  window, 
and  cried,  "  Open,  open  !  " 

Dick  Dale  Mas  at  dinner.  Phcebe 
lying  down.  Dick  got  up  rather 
crossly,  and  threw  open  the  window. 
"  What  is  up  now  ? "  said  he 
crossly.  He  was  like  two  or  three 
more  Englishmen,  —  hated  to  be 
bothered  at  dinner-time. 

"  Dar,"  screamed  Ucatella,  set- 
ting down  Tim,  but  holding  him 
tight  by  the  shoulder:  "now,  you 
tell  what  you  sec  that  night,  you 
lilly  Caffir  trash  :  if  you  not  tell,  I 
kill  you  dkad.  And  she  showed  the 
whites  of  her  eyes,  like  a  wild  beast. 

Tim,  thoroughly  alarmed,  quiv- 
ered out  that  he  had  seen  lilly  mas- 
ter ride  up  to  the  gate  one  bright 
night,  and  look  in,  and  Tim  thought 
be  was  going  in  ;  but  he  changed  his 
mind,  and  galloped  away  that  way: 
and  the  monkey  pointed  south. 


A   SIMPLETON. 


170 


"And  why  couldn't  you  tell  us 
this  before  ?  "  questioned  Dick. 

"  Me  mind  de  sheep,"  said  Tim 
apologetically.  "  Me  not  mind  de 
lilly  master  :  jackals  not  eat  him." 

"  You  no  more  sense  dan  a  sheep 
yourself,"  said  Ucatella  loftily. 

"No.no!  God  bless  you  both," 
cried  poor  Phcebe.  "  Now  I  know 
the  worst;"  and  a  great  burst  of 
tears  relieved  her  suffering  heart. 

Dick  went  out  softly.  When  he 
got  outside  the  door,  he  drew  them 
all  apart,  and  said,  "  Yuke,  you  are 
a  good-hearted  girl.  I'll  never  for- 
get this  while  I  live.  And,  Tim, 
there's  a  shilling  for  thee  ;  but  don't 
you  go  and  spend  it  in  Cape  smoke: 
that  is  poison  to  whites,  and  destruc- 
tion to  blacks." 

"No,  master"  said  Tim.  "I 
shall  buy  mm  h  bread,  and  make  my 
tomachtiff;"  then,  with  a  glance 
of  reproach  at  the  domestic,  caterer, 
Ucatella,  "  I  almost  never  have  my 
tomach  tiff." 

Dick  left  his  sister  alone  an  hour 
or  two,  to  have  her  cry  out. 

When  he  went  back  to  her  there 
was  a  change.  The  brave  woman  no 
longer  lav  prostrate.  She  went 
about  her  business;  only  she  was 
always  either  crying,  or  drowning 
her  tears. 

He  brought  Dr.  Staines  in. 
Phcebe  instantly  turned  her  back  on 
him  with  a  shudder  there  was  no 
mistaking. 

"  I  had   better  go,"   said    Staines 

"Mrs.  Falcon  will  never  forgive  me." 
"She  will  have  to  quarrel  with  me 

else,"  said  Diek  steadily.      "  Sit  you 

dow  it,  doctor.  Honest  folk  like  you 
and  me  and  Phoebe  wasn'l  made  to 
quarrel  for  want  of  looking  a  thing 
all  round.      My  Bister,  she    hasn't 

looked  it  all  round,  and  I  have. — 
(  'mnc,  l'hecb,  'tis  mi  use  your  blind- 
ing yourself.  How  was  the  poor 
doctor  to  know  your  husband  is  a 
blackguard  !  " 

"  He  is  not  a  bfookgnard.  How- 
dare  vou  say  that  to  my  face'!  " 

"  lie  is  ablackguard,  and  always 


was  ;  and  now  he  is  a  thief  to  hoot. 
He  has  stolen  those  diamonds  :  you 
know  that  very  well." 

"Gently,  Mr.  Dale;  you  forget : 
they  are  as  much  his  as  mine." 

"  Well,  and  if  half  a  sheep  is  mine, 
and  I  take  the  whole  and  sell  him, 
and  keep  the  money,  what  is  that 
but  stealing  1  Why,  I  wonder  at 
you,  Pheeb  !  You  was  always  honest 
yourself;  and  yet  you  see  the  doctor 
robbed  by  your  man,  and  that  does 
not  trouble  you.  What  has  he  done 
to  deserve  it  ?  He  has  been  a  good 
friend  to  us.  He  has  put  us  on  the 
road.  We  did  little  more  than  keep 
the  pot  boiling  before  he  came  — 
well,  yes,  we  stored  grain  :  but  whose 
advice  Ikis  turned  that  grain  to  fjold, 
I  might  say  !  Well,  what's  bis  of- 
fence '.  lie  trusted  the  diamonds  to 
your  man,  and  sent  him  to  you.  Is 
he  the  first  honest  man  that  has 
trusted  a  rogue  ?  How  was  he  to 
know?  Likely  he  judged  the  hus- 
band by  the  wife.  Answer  me  one 
thing,  Pheeb.  If  he  makes  away 
with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  that  is 
his,  or  partly  yours,  —  for  he  has 
eaten  your  bread  ever  since  I  knew 
him,  —  and  fifteen  hundred  more 
that  is  the  doctor's,  where  shall  we 
find  fifteen  hundred  pounds  all  in  a 
moment  to  pay  the  doctor  back  his 
own  ?" 

"  .My  honest  friend,"  said  Staines, 
"you  are  tormenting  yourself  with 
shadows.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Fal- 
con will  wrong  me  of  a  shilling;  and, 
if  he  does,  1  shall  quietly  repay  my- 
self out  of  the  big  diamond.  Yes, 
my  dear  friends,  I  did  not  throw 
away  your  horse,  nor  your  rifle,  nor 
your  money  ;  I  gave  them  all,  and 
tin'  lion's  skin  —  I  gave  them  all  — 
for  this." 

And  he  laid  the  big  diamond  on 
tin-  table. 

It  was  as  big  as  a  walnut,  and  of 
tbr  puresl   water. 

Dick  Dale  glanced  at  it  stupid's. 
Phoebfl  turned  her  back  on  it  with 
a  cry  of  horror,  and  then  came 
slowly  refund    by  degrees;  und  her 


180 


A   SIMPLETON. 


eyes  were  fascinated  by  the  royal 
gem . 

"  Yes,"  said  Staines  sadly,  "  I 
had  to  strij)  myself  of  all  to  buy  it ; 
and,  when  I  had  got  it,  how  proud  I 
was  !  and  how  happy  I  thought  we 
should  all  be  over  it !  for  it  is  half 
yours,  half  mine.  Yes,  Mr.  Dale, 
there  lies  six  thousand  pounds  that 
belong  to  Mrs.  Falcon." 

"  Six  thousand  pounds  !  "  cried 
Dick. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it.  And  so,  if 
your  suspicions  are  correct,  and 
poor  Falcon  should  yield  to  a  sud- 
den temptation,  and  spend  all  that 
money,  I  shall  just  coolly  deduct  it 
from  3'our  share  of  this  wonderful 
stone :  so  make  your  mind  easy. 
But  no  :  if  Falcon  is  really  so  wicked 
as  to  desert  his  happy  home,  and  so 
mad  as  to  spend  thousands  in  a 
month  or  two,  let  us  go  and  save 
him." 

"That  is  my  business,"  said 
Phcebe.  "  I  am  going  in  the  mail- 
cart  to-morrow." 

"  "Well,  you  won't  go  alone,"  said 
Dick. 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,"  said  Staines  im- 
ploringly, "  let  me  go  with  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  My  brother 
can  take  care  of  me." 


Mc 


You  had  better  not  take 


me.     If  I  catch  hold  of  him,  by 

I'll  break  his  neck,  or  his  back,  or 
his  leg,  or  something  :  he'll  never 
run  away  from  you  again  if  I  lay 
hands  on  him,"  replied  Dick. 

"  I'll  »o  alone.  You  are  both 
against  me." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Falcon.  I  am  not," 
said  Staines.  "  My  heart  bleeds 
lor  you." 

"  Don't  you  demean  yourself, 
praying  her,"  said  Dick.  "  It's  a 
public  conveyance :  you  have  no 
need  to  ask  her  leave." 

"  That  is  true :  I  cannot  hinder 
folk  from  going  to  Cape  Town  the 
same  day,"  said  Phcebe  sullenly. 

"  If  I  might  presume  to  advise,  I 
Would  take  little  Tommy." 

"  What !  all  that  road  !     Do  you 


want  me  to  lose  my  child  as  well  as 
my  man  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Falcon  !  " 

"  Don't  speak  to  her,  doctor,  to 
get  your  nose  snapped  otf:  give  her 
time.  She'll  come  to  her  senses  be- 
fore she  dies." 

Next  day  Mrs.  Falcon  and  Staines 
started  for  Cape  Town.  Staines 
paid  her  every  attention  when  op- 
portunity offered.  But  she  was  sul- 
len and  gloomy,  and  held  no  con- 
verse with  him. 

He  landed  her  at  an  inn,  and  then 
told  her  he  would  go  at  once  to  the 
jeweller's.  He  asked  her  piteously 
would  she  lend  him  a  pound  or  two 
to  prosecute  his  researches.  She 
took  out  her  purse  without  a  word, 
and  lent  him  two  pounds.  He  be- 
gan to  scour  the  town.  The  jewellers 
he  visited  could  tell  him  nothing. 
At  last  he  came  to  a  shop,  and  there 
he  found  Mrs.  Falcon  making  her 
inquiries  independently.  She  said 
coldly,  "  You  had  better  come  with 
me,  and  get  your  money  and 
things." 

She  took  him  to  the  bank,  —  it 
happened  to  be  the  one  she  did  busi- 
ness with,  —  and  said,  "  This  is  Dr. 
Christie,  come  for  his  money  and 
jewels." 

There  was  some  demur  at  this  : 
but  the  cashier  recognized  him  ;  and, 
Phcebe  making  herself  responsible, 
the  money  and  jewels  were  handed 
over. 

Staines  whispered  Phcebe.  "Are 
you  sure  the  jewels  are  mine  %  " 

"  They  were  found  on  you,  sir." 

Staines  took  them,  looking  con- 
fused. He  did  not  know  what  to 
think.  When  they  got  into  the 
street  again,  he  told  her  it  was  very 
kind  of  her  to  think  of  his  interest 
at  all. 

No  answer.  She  was  not  going 
to  make  friends  with  him  over  such 
a  trifle  as  that. 

By  degrees,  however,  Christopher's 
zeal  on  her  behalf  broke  the  ice  ;  and 
besides,  as  the  search  proved  un- 
availing, she  needed  sympathy ;  and 


A  SIMPLETOX. 


181 


he  gave  it  her,  and  did  not  abuse  her 
husband,  as  Dick  Dale  did. 

One  day,  in  the  street,  after  a  long 
thought,  she  said  to  him,  "  Didn't 
you  sav,  sir,  you  gave  him  a  letter 
for  mc  \  " 

"  I  gave  him  two  letters  :  one  of 
them  was  to  you." 

"  Could  you  remember  what  you 
said  in  it  ?  " 

"  Perfectly.  I  begged  you,  if  you 
should  go  to  England,  to  break  the 
truth  to  my  wife.  She  is  very  ex- 
citable ;  and  sudden  joy  has  killed  ere 
now.  I  gave  you  particular  in- 
structions." 

"  And  you  were  very  wise.  But 
whatever  could  make  you  think  I 
would  go  to  England  1 " 

"  He  told  me  you  only  wanted  an 
excuse ." 

"  Oh ! " 

"  When  he  told  me  that,  I  caught 
at  it,  of  course.  It.  was  all  the  world 
to  mc  to  get  my  Rosa  told  by  such 
a  kind,  good,  sensible  friend  as  you  : 
and,  Mrs.  Falcon,  I  had  no  scruple 
about  troubling  you  ;  because  1 
knew  the  stones  would  sell  for  at 
least  a  thousand  pounds  more  in 
England  than  here,  and  that  would 
paj  your  expenses." 

"  I  see,  sir ;  I  see.  'Twas  very 
natural  :  you  lore  your  wife." 

"Better  than  my  lile." 

"And  he  told  you  I  only  wanted 
an  excuse  to  go  to  England  i  " 

"  lie  did,  indeed.  If  was  not 
true  1  " 

"  It  was  any  thing  but  true.  I 
had  suffered  so  in  England!  I  had 
been  so  happy  here  !  —  too  happy  to 
last.  Ah  !  well,  ir  is  all  over.  Let 
u-  think  of  the  matter  in  hand. 
Sure  that  was  not  the  onlv  letter 
yon  gave  my  husband  !  Didn't  von 
write  to  /i.r'f" 

"Of  course  I  did;  but,  that  was 
enclosed  to  you,  and  not  to  In-  given 
to  her  until  you  had  broken  the  joy- 
ful news  to  her.  Ye-.  Mrs.  Falcon, 
I  wrote,  and  told  her  every  thing, — 
my  1'  \  ;    bow  I  was    saved, 

after,  by  yoar  kindness;    our  jour-  , 

1G 


neys  —  from  Cape  Town,  and  then 
to  the  diggings ;  my  sudden  good- 
fortune,  my  hopes,  my  joy.  O 
my  poor  Rosa  !  and  now  I  suppose 
she  will  never  get  it.  It  is  too  cruel 
of  him.  I  shall  go  home  by  the  next 
steamer.  I  can't  stay  here  any 
longer,  for  you  or  anybody.  Oh! 
and  I  enclosed  my  ruby  ring,  that 
she  gave  me ;  for  I  thought  she 
might  not  believe  von  without 
that." 

"Let  me  think,"  said  Phoebe, 
turning  ashy  pale.  "  for  mercy's 
sake,  let  me  think." 

"  He  has  read  both  those  letters, 
sir.  .She  will  never  see  hers,  any 
more  than  I  shall  see  mine." 

She  paused  again,  thinking  harder 
and  harder. 

"  Wc  must  take  two  places  in  the 
next  mail-steamer.  I  must  look  after 
my     husband,     and    you    after 

YOUR    WIFE." 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Mrs.  Falcon's  bitter  feeling 
against  Dr.  Staines  did  not  subside  : 
it  merely  went  out  of  sight  a  little. 
They  were  thrown  together  by  po- 
tent circumstances,  and,  in  a  man- 
ner, connected  by  mutual  obliga- 
tions; and  an  open  rupture  seemed 
too  unnatural.  Still  Phoebe  was  a 
woman,  and,  blinded  by  her  love  for 
her  hu.-band,  could  not  forgive  the 
innocent  eau-e  of  their  present  un- 
happy separation  ;    though  the  fault 

lay  entirely  With  Falcon. 

Staines  took  her  on  board  the 
Steamer,  and  paid  her  every  atten- 
tion. She  was  also  civil  to  him  ; 
but  it  was  a  cold  and  constrained 
civility. 

About  a  hundred  miles  from  land. 
the  strainer  stopped;  and  the  pas- 
Ben  gers  soon  learned  there  was  some- 
thing wrong  with   her    machinery. 


181 


A   SIMPLETON. 


In  fact,  after  due  consultation,  the 
captain  decided  to  put  back. 

This  irritated  and  distressed  Mrs. 
Falcon  so,  that  the  captain,  desirous 
to  oblige  her,  hailed  a  fast  schooner 
that  tacked  across  her  bows,  and 
gave  Mrs.  Falcon  the  option  of 
going  back  with  him,  or  going  on  in 
the  schooner  with  whose  skipper  he 
was  acquainted. 

Staines  advised  her  on  no  ac- 
count to  trust  to  sails,  when  she 
could  have  steam  with  only  a  de- 
lay of  four  or  five  days.  But  she 
said,  "  Any  thing,  sooner  than  go 
back.  I  can't,  I  can't,  on  such  an 
errand." 

Accordingly,  she  was  put  on 
board  the  schooner ;  and  Staines, 
after  some  hesitation,  felt  bound  to 
accompany  her. 

It  proved  a  sad  error.  Contrary 
winds  assailed  them  the  very  next 
day,  and  with  such  severity,  that 
they  had  repeatedly  to  lie  to. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  with 
a  ship  reeling  under  them  like  a 
restive  horse,  and  the  waves  running 
mountains  high,  poor  Phoebe's  ter- 
rors overmastered  both  her  hostility 
and  her  reserve.  "  Doctor,"  said 
she,  "I  believe  'tis  God's  will  we 
shall  never  see  England.  I  must 
try  and  die  more  like  a  Christian 
than  I  have  lived,  forgiving  all  who 
have  wronged  me,  and  you,  that 
have  been  my  good  friend  and  my 
worst  enemy  ;  but  you  did  not  mean 
it.  Sir,  what  has  turned  me  against 
you  so — your  wife  was  my  hus- 
band's sweetheart  before  he  mar- 
ried me." 

"My  wife  your  husband's — you 
are  dreaming." 

"  Nay,  sir  :  once  she  came  in  my 
shop,  and  I  saw  directly  I  was  no- 
thing to  him,  and  he  owned  it  all  to 
me.  He  had  courted  her,  and  she 
jilted  him.  So  he  said.  Why  should 
he  tell  me  a  lie  about  that  ?  I'd  lay 
my  life  'tis  true.  And  now  you  have 
sent  him  to  her  your  own  self;  and, 
at  sight  of  her,  I  shall  be  nothing 
again.     Well,  when   this  ship  goes 


down,  they  can  marry,  and  I  hope 
he  will  be  happy,  happier  than  I  can 
make  him,  that  tried  my  best,  God 
knows." 

This  conversation  surprised 
Staines  not  a  little.  However,  he 
said,  with  great  warmth,  it  was 
false.  His  wife  had  danced  and 
flirted  with  some  young  gentleman 
at  one  time,  when  there  was  a  brief 
misunderstanding  between  him  and 
her  ;  but  sweetheart  she  had  never 
had,  except  him.  He  had  courted  her 
fresh  from  school.  "  Now,  my  good 
soul,"  said  he,  "  make  your  mind 
easy.  The  ship  is  a  good  one,  and 
well  handled,  and  in  no  danger  what- 
ever ;  and  my  wife  is  in  no  danger 
from  your  husband.  Since  you'and 
your  brother  tell  me  that  he  is  a  vil- 
lain, I  am  bound  to  believe  you.  P>ut 
my  wife  is  an  angel.  In  our  miser- 
able hour  of  parting  she  vowed  not  to 
marry  again,  should  I  be  taken  from 
her.  Marry  again  !  what  am  I  talk- 
ing of?  Why,  if  he  visits  her  at 
all,  it  will  be  to  let  her  know  I  am 
alive,  and  give  her  my  letter.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  she  will  listen 
to  vows  of  love  from  him,  when  her 
whole  heart  is  in  rapture  for  me  ? 
Such  nonsense !  " 

This  burst  of  his  did  not  affront 
her,  and  did  comfort  her. 

At  last  the  wind  abated ;  and,  after 
a  wearisome  calm,  a  light  breeze 
came,  and  the  schooner  crept  home- 
ward. 

Phoebe  restrained  herself  for  seve- 
ral days ;  but  at  last  she  came  back 
to  the  subject :  this  time  it  was  in 
an  apologetic  tone  at  starting.  "  I 
know  you  think  me  a  foolish  wo- 
man," she  said ;  "  but  my  poor  Re- 
ginald could  never  resist  a  pretty 
face  ;  and  she  is  so  lovely !  And  you 
should  have  seen  how  he  turned 
when  she  came  in  to  my  place,  oh, 
sir !  there  has  been  more  between 
them  than  you  know  of ;  and,  when 
I  think  that  he  will  have  been  in 
England  so  many  months  before  we 
get  there,  O  doctor !  sometimes  I 
feel  as  I  should  go  mad.      My  head 


A   SIMPLETON. 


183 


it  is  like  a  furnace,  and  see,  my  brow 
is  all  wrinkled  again." 

Then  Staines  tried  to  comfort 
her;  assured  her  she  was  torment- 
ing herself  idly  :  her  husband  would, 
perhaps,  have  spent  some  of  the 
diamond  money  on  his  amusement; 
but  what  if  lie  had,  he  should  deduct 
it  out  of  the  big  diamond,  which  was 
also  their  joint  property  ;  and  the 
loss  would  hardly  be  felt.  "  As  to 
my  wife,  madam,  1  have  but  one 
anxiety, —  lest  he  should  go  blurting 
it  out  that  I  am  alive,  and  almost 
kill  her  with  joy." 

"  He  will  not  do  that,  sir.  He  is 
no  fool." 

"  1  am  glad  of  it ;  for  there  is 
nothing  else  to  fear." 

"  Man,  I  tell  you  there  is  every 
thing  to  fear.  You  don't  know 
him  as  I  do,  nor  his  power  over 
women." 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,  are  you  bent  on 
affronting  me  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  :    Heaven  forbid !  " 

"  Then  please  to  close  this  subject 
forever.  In  three  weeks  we  shall 
be  in  England." 

"Ay;  but  he  has  been  there  six 
months." 

lie  bowed  stiffly  to  her,  went  to  his 
cabin,  and  avoided  the  poor  foolish 
woman  as  much  as  he  could  with- 
out seeming  too  unkind. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Mns.  Staim.s  made  one  or  two 
movements  —  to  stop  Lord  Tadcas- 
ter — with  her  hand,  that  expressive 
feature  with  which,  at  such  times, 
a  sensitive  woman  can  do  all  but 
speak . 

When,  at  last,  he  paused  for  her 
reply,  she  laid,  "  Me  marry  again  ! 
(  m,  for  Bhame  !  " 

■  Mr i.  Staines,  Rosa,  yen  will 
marry  again  some  flay." 

"  Never.  Me  lake  another  hus- 
band after  such  a  man  as  1  have 


lost !  I  should  be  a  monster.  Be- 
sides "  — 

"  Besides  what  1 " 

"  Xo  matter.  O  Lord  Tadcas- 
ter !  you  have  b"en  so  kind  to  me, 
so  sympathizing !  You  made  mo 
believe  you  loved  my  Christopher 
too  ;  and  now  you  have  spoiled  all. 
It  is  too  cruel." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Staines,  do  you  think 
me  capable  of  feigning  !  don't  you 
see  my  love  for  you  has  taken  me 
by  surprise  1  But  how  could  1  visit 
you,  look  on  you,  hear  you, 
mingle  my  regrets  with  yours  ( 
Yours  were  the  deepest,  of  course; 
but  mine  were  honest." 

"  I  believe  it."  And  she  gave  him 
her  hand.  He  held  it,  and  kissed  it, 
and  cried  over  it,  as  the  young  will, 
and  implored  her,  on  his  knees,  not 
to  condemn  herself  to  life-long  wi- 
dowhood, and  him  to  despair. 

Then  she  cried  too  ;  but  she  was 
firm,  and  by  degrees  she  made  him 
see  that  her  hear;  was  inaccessible. 

Then,  at  last,  he  submitted,  with 
tearful  eyes,  but  a  valiant  heart. 

She  offered  friendship  timidly. 

But  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  to 
fall  into  that  trap.  "  No,"  he  said  : 
"  I  could  not,  I  could  not.  Love, 
or  nothing." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  she  pity- 
ingly. "Forgiveme  Inmyselfisb.- 
ness  and  my  usual  folly,  I  did  not  see 
this  coming  on,  or  I  would  h ave 
spired  you  this  mortification." 

"  Never  mind  that,''  gnlpcd  the 
little  carl.  "  I  shall  always  bo 
proud  1  knew  you,  and  proud  I 
loved  you,  and  offered  you  my 
baud."" 

Then  the  magnanimous  lit  tic  fal- 
low hissed  her,  and  lefl  her,  and 
discontinued  his  vi  its. 

Mr.  1 .11  -i  :n;in  found  her  crying, 
and  Lrot  the  truth    out    of    Ik t.      lie, 

hi  despair  He  remonstrated 
kindly,  but  (Irmly.  Truth  compels 
me  to  suy  that  she  polil  >ly  i  mm  d 
him.  He  observed  thai  phenomenon, 

and  said,   "  Verv  well,  then,  1  shall 

telegraph  for  Uucte  Philip," 


184 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  Do,"  said  the  rebel.  "  He  is 
always  welcome." 

Philip  telegraphed  ;  came  down 
that  evening ;  likewise  his  little  black 
bag.  He  found  them  in  the  draw- 
ing-room ;  papa  with  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,  liosa  seated,  sewing,  at  a 
lamp.  She  made  little  Christie's 
clothes  herself;  fancy  that ! 

Having  ascertained  that  the  little 
boy  was  well,  Philip,  adroitly  hiding 
that  he  had  come  down  torn  with 
anxiety  on  that  head,  inquired,  with 
a  show  of  contemptuous  indifference, 
whose  cat  was  dead. 

"  Nobody's, "  said  Lusignan 
crossly.  "  Do  you  see  that  young 
lady,  stitching  there  so  demurely  1 " 

Philip  put  on  his  spectacles. 

"  I  see  her,"  said  he.  "  She  does 
look  a  little  too  innocent.  None  of 
them  are  really  so  innocent  as  all 
that.  Has  she  been  swearing  at  the 
nurse,  and  boxing  her  ears  1  " 

"  Worse  than  that.  She  has 
been  and  refused  the  Earl  of  Tad- 
caster." 

"Refused  him?  What!  has  that 
little  monkey  had  the  audacity  ?  " 

"  The  condescension,  you  mean  1 " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  she  has  refused  him  1 " 

"And  twenty  thousand  a  year." 

"  What  immorality  !  " 

"  Worse.     What  absurdity  !  " 

"  How  is  it  to  be  accounted  for  ? 
Is  it  the  old  story  :  '  I  could  never 
love  him  '  ?  No  :  that's  inadequate ; 
for  they  all  love  a  title  and  twenty 
thousand  a  year." 

Kosa  sewed  on  in  demure  and  ab- 
solute silence. 

"  She  ignores  us,"  said  Philip. 
"It  is  intolerable.  She  does  not 
appreciate  our  politeness  in  talking 
al  her.  Let  us  arraign  her  before 
our  sacred  tribunal,  and  have 
her  into  court.  Now,  mistress,  the 
Senate  of  Venice  is  assembled ;  and 
you  must  be  pleased  to  tell  us  why 
you  refused  a  title  and  twenty  thou- 
sand a  year,  with  a  small  but  sym- 
metrical carl  tacked  on." 

liooa   laid  down   her  work,  and 


said  quietly,  "  Undo,  almost  the 
last  words  that  passed  between  me 
and  my  Christopher,  we  promised 
each  other  solemnly  never  to  marry 
again  till  death  should  us  part.  You 
know  how  deep  my  sorrow  has  been 
that  I  can  find  so  few  wishes  of  my 
lost  Christopher  to  obey.  Well, 
to-day  1  have  had  an  opportunity  at 
last.  I  have  obeyed  my  own  lost 
one.  It  has  cost  me  a  tear  or  two  ; 
but,  for  all  that,  it  has  given  me  one 
little  gleam  of  happiness.  Ah, 
foolish  woman,  that  obeys  too  late !  " 

And  with  this  the  tears  began  to 
run. 

All  this  seemed  a  little  too  high- 
flown  to  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  There," 
said  he,  "  sec  on  what  a  straw  her 
mind  turns  !  So,  but  for  that,  you 
would  have  done  the  right  thing,  aud 
married  the  carl?  " 

"  1  dare  say  I  should  —  at  the  time 
—  to  stop  his  crying." 

And,  with  this  listless  remark, 
she  quietly  took  up  her  sewing 
again. 

The  sagacious  Philip  looked  at 
her  sadly.  He  thought  to  himself 
how  piteous  it  was  to  see  so  young 
and  lovely  a  creature  that  had  given 
up  all  hope  of  happiness  for  herself. 
These  being  his  real  thoughts,  he 
expressed  himself  as  follows  :  "  We 
had  better  drop  this  subject,  sir. 
This  young  lady  will  take  us  potent, 
grave,  and  reverend  signors  out  of 
our  depth,  if  we  don't  mind." 

But  the  moment  he  got  her  alone 
he  kissed  her  paternally,  and  said, 
"  Rosa,  it  is  not  lost  on  me,  your 
fidelity  to  the  dead.  As  years  roll 
on,  aud  your  deep  wound  first  closes, 
then  skins,  then  heals  "  — 

"  Ah,  let  me  die  first  "  — 

"  Time  and  nature  will  absolve 
you  from  that  vow  ;  but  bless  you 
for  thinking  this  can  never  be.  Rosa, 
your  folly  of  this  day  has  made  you 
my  heir  :  so  never  let  money  tempt 
you,  for  you  have  enough,  and  wdl 
have  more  than  enough  when  I 
go." 

He  was  as   good  as  his  word; 


A   SIMPLETON. 


183 


altered  his  will  next  day,  and  made 
Rosa  his  residuary  legatee. 

When  he.  had  done  this,  foreseeing 
no  fresh  occasion  for  his  services,  he 
prepared  for  a  long  visit  to  Italy. 
He  was  packing  up  his  things  to 
go  there,  when  he  received  a  line 
from  Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  asking 
him  to  call  on  her  professionally. 
As  the  lady's  servant  brought  it, 
he  sent  back  a  line  to  say  he  no 
longer  practised  medicine,  but  would 
call  on  her  as  a  friend  in  an  hour's 
tiiii". 

He  found  her  reclining,  the  pic- 
ture of  lassitude.  "  How  good  of 
you  to  come  !  "    she  drawled. 

'What's  the  matter?"  said  he 
brnskly. 

"I  wish  to  eawnsnlt  you  about 
myself.  I  think,  if  anybody  can 
brighten  mc  op,  it  is  you  I  feel 
siuh  a  languor !  such  a  want  of 
spirit!  and  I  tret  palaa,  and  that  is 
not  desiwable." 

He  examined  her  tongue  and  the 
white  of  her  eye,  and  told  her,  in 
his  blunt  way,  she  ate  and  drank 
too  much, 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  she  stiffly. 

"  I  mean  too  often.  Now,  let's 
see.  Cup  of  tea  in  bed,  of  a  morn- 
tag?" 

"  Yaas." 

"  Dinner  at  two?  " 

"  We  call  it  luncheon." 

"  Are  vou  a  ventriloquist  ?  " 

"Nu."' 

"  Then  it  is  only  your  lips  call  it 
luncheon.  Your  poor  stomach. 
could  it  speak,  would  call  it  dinner. 
Afternoon  tea  ?  " 

"  Vaas  " 

"  At  half-past  seven  another  din- 
ner. Tea  after  that,  Your  poor 
unhappy  stomach  gets  no  rest.  You 
eat  pastry  '  " 

"  I  confess  it." 

"  And  ragar  in  a  do/.en   forms?" 

She  aodded. 

"  Well,  sugar  is  a  poison  bo  your 
temperament     Now,  I'll  set  you  op, 
if  you    can    obey.      Give  up  your 
morning  dram,  or  "  — 
16* 


"  What  dwam  ?  " 

"  Tea  in  bed,  before  eating. 
Can't  you  see  that  is  a  dram  I 
Animal  food  twice  a  day.  No  wine 
but  a  little  claret  and  water ;  no 
pastry,  no  sweets,  and  play  battle- 
door  with  one  of  your  male  subjects. " 

"  Battledaw  !  Won't  a  lady' do  for 
that  ? " 

"  No  :  you  will  get  talking,  and 
not  play  od  sudort  m." 

"  Ad  sudawem  !  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  In  earnest." 

"  And  will  sudawem  and  the 
west  put  me  in  better  spiwits,  and 
give  me  a  tinge  ?  " 

"  It  will  incarnadine  the  lily,  and 
make  you  the  happiest  young  lady 
iu  England,  as  you  are  the  best." 

"  Oh,  dear!  'l  should  like  to  be 
much  happier  than  I  am  good,  if 
we  could  manage  it  among  us." 

"  We  will  manage  it  among  us; 
for,  if  the  diet  allowed  should  not 
make  you  boisterously  gay,  I  have 
a  remedy  behind,  sailed  to  your 
temperament  I  am  old-fashioned, 
and  believe  in  the  temperament-." 

"  And  what  is  that  wcniedy  3  " 

"  Try  diet  and  hard  exercise 
first." 

"  Oh,  yes !  but  let  me  know  that 
wemedy." 

"  I  warn  you  it  is  what  we  call  in 
medicine  an  heroic  one." 

"  .Never  mind.     I  am  despewate." 

"  Well,  then,  the  heroic  remedy 
—  to  be  used  only  as  a  desperate 
resort,  mind  —  you  must  marry  an 
Irishman." 

This  took  the  lady's  breath 
away. 

"  Muwwy  an  ice  man  !  " 
"  A  nice  man  ;   no  !     That  means 
a    fool.     Marry    scientifically,  —  a 
thing  eternally  neglected.  Marry  an 
Hibernian   gentleman,   a   being  as 
mercurial  as  yon  are  lymphatic." 
"  Mercurial !  lymphatic  !  " — 
"  Oh  !  hard  words  break  nobODCS, 
ma'am." 

"  No.  sir.     And  it  is  very  curious. 

No,    I    won't    tell    you.      Yes,    I  will. 

I  Hem  !  —  1  think  I  have  noticed  one." 


186 


A  SIMPLETON. 


"  One  what  ?  " 

"  One  Iwishman  dangling  after 
me." 

"  Then  your  ladyship  has  only 
to  tighten  the  cord,  and  lie's  done 
for."' 

Having  administered  this  pre- 
scription, our  laughing  philosopher 
went  off  to  Italy  ;  and  there  fell  in 
witli  some  countrymen  to  his  mind  : 
so  he  accompanied  them  to  Egypt 
and  Palestine. 

His  absence,  and  Lord  Tadcas- 
tcr's,  made  Rosa  Staines's  life  ex- 
tremely monotonous.  Day  followed 
day,  and  week  followed  week,  each 
so  unvarying,  that,  on  a  retrospect, 
three  months  seemed  like  one 
day. 

And  I  think,  at  last,  youth  and 
nature  began  to  rebel,  and  secretly 
to  crave  some  little  change  or  in- 
cident to  ruffle  the  stagnant  pool. 
Yet  she  would  not  go  into  society, 
and  would  only  receive  two  or  three 
dull  people  at  the  villa:  so  she 
made  the  very  monotony  which  was 
beginning  to  tire  her,  and  nursed  a 
sacred  grief  she  had  no  need  to 
nurse,  it  was  so  truly  genuine. 

She  was  in  this  forlorn  condition, 
when,  one  morning,  a  carriage  drove 
to  the  door,  and  a  card  was  brought 
up  to  her — "Mr.  Reginald  Fal- 
con." 

Falcon's  history,  between  this 
and  our  last  advices,  is  soon  disposed 
of. 

When,  after  a  little  struggle  with 
his  hetler  angel,  he  rode  past  his 
wife's  gate,  he  intended,  at  first, 
only  to  go  to  Cape  Town,  sell  the 
diamonds,  have  a  lark,  and  bring 
home  the  balance;  but,  as  he  rode 
smith,  his  views  expanded.  He 
could  have  ten  times  the  fun  in 
London,  and  cheaper :  since  he 
could  sell  the  diamonds  for  more 
money,  and  also  conceal  the  true 
price.  This  was  the  Bohemian's 
whole  mind  in  the  business.  He 
had  no  designs  whatever  on  Mrs. 
Staines,  nor  did   he  intend  to  steal 


the  diamonds,  but  to  embezzle  a 
portion  of  the  purchase-money,  and 
enjoy  the  pleasures  and  vices  of 
the  capital  lor  a  few  months ;  then 
back  to  his  milch  cow,  Phcebe,  and 
lead  a  quiet  life  till  the  next  un- 
controllable fit  should  come  upon 
him  along  with  the  means  of  satis- 
fying it. 

On  the  way,  he  read  Staines's 
letter  to  Mrs.  Falcon  very  carefully. 
He  never  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter 
to  Mrs.  Staines.  That  was  to  be 
given  her  when  he  had  broken  the 
good  news  to  her ;  and  this  he  de- 
termined to  do  with  such  skill  as 
should  make  Dr.  Staines  very  un- 
willing to  look  suspiciously  or  ill- 
naturedly  into  money  accounts. 

He  reached  London,  and,  being 
a  thorough  egotist,  attended  first  to 
his  ojivn  interests.  He  never  went 
near  Mrs.  Staines  until  he  had 
visited  every  diamond  merchant  and 
dealer  in  the  metropolis.  He  showed 
the  small  stones  to  them  all  ;  but  he 
showed  no  more  than  one  large 
stone  to  each. 

At  last  he  got  an  offer  of  1,200/. 
for  the  small  stones,  and  the  same  for 
the  large  yellow  stone,  and  900/. 
for  the  second  largest  stone.  He 
took  this  900/.,  and  instantly  wrote 
to  Phoebe,  telling  her  he  had  a  sud- 
den inspiration  to  bring  the  dia- 
monds to  England,  which  he  could 
not  regret,  since  he  had  never  done  a 
wiser  thing.  He  had  sold  a  single 
stone  for  800/.,  and  had  sent  the 
doctor's  400/.  to  her  account  in  Cape 
Town  ;  and,  as  each  sale  was  effect- 
ed, the  half  would  be  so  remitted. 
She  would  see  by  that  he  was  wiser 
than  in  former  days.  He  should 
only  stay  so  long  as  might  be  neces- 
sary to  sell  them  all  equally  well. 
His  own  share  he  would  apply  to 
paying  off  mortgages  on  the  family 
estate,  of  which  he  hoped  some  day 
to  see  her  the  mistress,  or  he  would 
send  it  direct  to  her,  whichever  she 
might  prefer. 

Now,  the  main  object  of  this  art- 
ful letter  was  to  keep  Phcebe  quiet, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


187 


and  not  nave  her  coming  after  him, 
of  which  he  felt  she  was  verv  capa- 
ble. 

The  money  got  safe  to  Cape 
Town  ;  but  the  letter  to  Phoebe  mis- 
carried. How  this  happened  was 
never  positively  known ;  but  the 
servant  of  tbe  lod^in^-house  was 
afterwards  detected  cutting  stamps 
off  a  letter  :  so,  perhaps,  she  had 
played  that  game  on  this  occasion. 

By  this  means,  matters  took  a 
curious  turn.  Falcon,  intending  to 
lull  his  wife  into  a  false  security, 
lulled  himself  into  that  state  in- 
stead. 

When  he  had  taken  care  of  him- 
self, and  got  500/.  to  play  the  fool 
with,  then  he  condescended  to  re- 
member his  errand  of  mercy  ;  and 
he  came  down  to  Gravesend  to  see 
Mrs.  Staines. 

On  the  road,  he  gave  his  mind 
seriously  to  the  delicate  and  danger- 
ous task.  It  dy.1  not,  however,  dis- 
quiet him  as  it  would  you,  sir,  or 
you,  madam.  He  had  a  great  ad- 
vantage over  you.  He  was  a  liar,  — 
a  smooth,  ready,  accomplished  liar, 
—  and  he  knew  it. 

This  was  the  outline  he  had  traced 
in  his  in  i  lit  I  lie  should  appear 
very  subdued  and  sad  ;  should  wear 
an  air  of  condolence.  But,  after  a 
while,  should  say,  "Ami  yet  men 
have  been  lost  like  that,  and  escaped. 
A  man  was  picked  up  on  a  raft  in 
those  very  latitudes,  and  brought 
into  Cape  Town.  A  friend  of  mine 
saw  him,  months  after,  at  the  hospi- 
tal. His  memory  was  shaken  ; 
could  not  tell  his  name :  hut  in 
other  respect!  he  was  all  right 
again." 

If  Mrs.  Staines  took  fire  at  this, 
he  would  say  his  friend  knew  all  the 
particulars,  and  he  would  ask  him, 
ami  bo  leave  that  to  rankle  till  next 
vi>it.  And,  having  planted  his 
germ   of   hope,  he  would   grow  it 

and  w.iter  it,  by  visits  and  corre- 
spondence, till  he  could  throw 
oil'  the  mask,  anil  say  he  was  con- 
vinced Staines  was  alive  ;  and  from 


that,  by  other  degrees,  till  he  could 
say,  on  his  wile's  authority,  that 
the  man  picked  up  at  sea,  and  cured 
at  her  house,  was  the  very  physi- 
cian who  had  saved  her  brother's 
life,  and  so  on  to  the  overwhelm- 
ing proof  he  carried  in  the  ruby 
ring  and  the  letter. 

I  am  afraid  the  cunning  and 
dexterity,  the  subtlety  and  tact,  re- 
quired, interested  him  more  in  the 
commission  than  did  the  benevo- 
lence. 

He  called,  sent  up  his  card,  and 
composed  his  countenance  for  his 
part,  like  an  actor  at  the  wing. 

"Not  at  home." 

He  stared  with  amazement. 

The  history  of  a  "  Not  at  home," 
is  not,  in  general,  worth  recording  ; 
but  this  is  an  exception. 

On  receiving  Falcon's  card,  Mrs. 
Staines  gave  a  little  start,  and  col- 
ored faintly.  She  instantly  re- 
solved not  to  sec  him.  What !  the 
man  she  had  tlirted  with,  almost 
jilted,  and  refused  to  marry  —  he 
dared  to  be  alive  when  her  Chris- 
topher was  dead,  and  had  come 
there  to  show  her  he  was  alive  ! 

She  said  "  Not  at  home  "  with  a 
tone  of  unusual  sharpness  and  de- 
cision, which  left  the  servant  in  no 
doubt  he  must  be  equally  decided  at 
the  hall  door. 

Falcon  received  the  sudden  freezer 
with  amazement.  "Nonsense,"  said 
he,  "  Not  at  home  at  this  time  of 
the  morning —  to  an  old  friend  !" 

"Not  at  home!  "said  the  man 
doggedly. 

"Oh,  very  w.d!  !  "  said  Falcon 
with  a  bitter  sneer,  and  returned  to 
London. 

lie  felt  sure  she  was  at  home; 
and,  being  a  tremendous  egotist,  be 
said,  "  Oh  !  all  right.  If  she  would 
rather  not  know  her  husband  is 
alive,  it  is  all  one  to  me."  And  he 
actually  took  no  more   notice  other 

for  full  a  week,  and  never  thought 
of  her  except  to  chuckle  over   the 

penalty  she  was  paying  lor  daring 
to  ailiout  hi.  nuuty. 


185 


A   SIMPLETON. 


However,  Sunday  came.  He  saw 
a  dull  day  before  him ;  and  so  he 
relented,  and  thought  he  would  give 
her  another  trial. 

He  went  down  to  Gravescnd  by 
boat,  and  strolled  towards  the  villa. 

When  he  was  about  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  villa,  a  lady,  all  in 
black,  came  out  with  a  nurse  and 
child. 

Falcon  knew  her  figure  all  that 
way  off,  and  it  gave  him  a  curious 
thrill  that  surprised  him.  He  fol- 
lowed her,  and  was  not  very  far 
behind  her  when  she  reached  the 
church.  She  turned  at  the  porch, 
kissed  the  child  earnestly,  and  gave 
the  nurse  some  directions;  then 
entered  the  church. 

"  Come,"  said  Falcon,  "  I'll  have 
a  look  at  her,  any  way." 

He  went  into  the  church,  and 
walked  up  a  side  aisle  to  a  pillar, 
from  which  he  thought  he  might  be 
able  to  see  the  whole  congregation. 
And,  sure  enough,  there  she  sat  a 
few  yards  from  him.  She  was 
lovelier  than  ever.  Mind  had 
grown  on  her  face  with  trouble.  An 
angelic  expression  illuminated  her 
beauty  ;  he  gazed  on  her,  fascinated. 
He  drank  and  drank  her  beauty  two 
mortal  hours  ;  and  when  the  church 
broke  up,  and  she  went  home,  he 
was  half  afraid  to  follow  her,  lor  he 
felt  how  hard  it  would  be  to  say 
any  thing  to  her  but  that  the  old 
love  had  returned  on  him  with 
double  force. 

However,  having  watched  her 
home,  he  walked  slowly  to  and  fro, 
composing  himself  for  the  inter- 
view. 

He  now  determined  to  make  the 
process  of  informing  her  a  very  long 
one.  He  would  spin  it  out,  and  so 
secure  many  a  sweet  interview  with 
her :  and,  who  knows  1  he  might 
fascinate  her  as  she  had  him,  and 
ripen  gratitude  into  love,  as  he 
understood  that  word. 

He  called  ;  he  sent  in  his  card. 
The  man  went  in,  and  came  back 
with  a  sonorous  "  Not  at  home." 


"  Not  at  home  1  Nonsense.  Why 
she  is  just  come  in  from  church." 

"Not  at  home,"  said  the  man, 
evidently  strong  in  his  instruc- 
tions. 

Falcon  turned  white  with  rage  at 
this  second  affront.  "  All  the  worse 
for  her,"  said  he,  and  turned  on  his 
heel. 

He  went  home  raging  with  dis- 
appointment and  wounded  vanity ; 
and  —  since  such  love  as  his  is  sel- 
dom very  far  from  hate  —  he  swore 
she  should  never  know  from  him 
that  her  husband  was  alive.  He 
even  moralized.  "  This  comes  of 
being  so  unselfish,"  said  he.  "  I'll 
give  that  game  up  forever  " 

By  and  by  a  mere  negative  re- 
venge was  not  enough  for  him ;  and 
he  set  his  wits  to  work  to  make  her 
smart  and  sec  it. 

He  wrote  to  her  from  his  lodg- 
ings :  — 

"  Dear  Madam*  —  What  a  pity 
you  are  never  at  home  to  me.  I 
had  something  to  say  about  your 
husband, that  I  thought  might  in- 
terest you. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  R.  Falcon." 

Imagine  the  effect  of  this  abomi- 
nable note.  It  was  like  a  rock 
Hung  into  a  placid  pool.  It  set  Rosa 
trembling  all  over.  What  could  he 
mean  % 

She  ran  with  it  to  her  father,  and 
asked  him  what  Mr.  Falcon  could 
mean. 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  said  he.  "  You 
had  better  ask  him,  not  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  to  get  to 
sec  me.  You  know  he  admired  inc 
once.  Ah,  how  suspicious  I  am 
getting ! " 

Rosa  wrote  to  Falcon  :  — 

"  Dear  Sir,  —  Since  my  be- 
reavement I  see  scarcely  anybody. 
My  servant  did  not  know  you  :  so 
I  hope  you  will  excuse  me.  If  it  is 
too  much    trouble  to   call    airain, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


189 


would  you  kindly  explain  your  note 
to  me  by  letter. 

"  Yours  respectfully, 

"Kosa  Staines." 

Falcon  chuckled  bitterly  over  this. 
"  No,  my  lady,"  said  he,  "  I'll  serve 
you  out.  You  shall  run  after  me 
like  a  little  dog.  I  have  got  the 
bone  that  will  draw  you." 

He  wrote  back  coldly  to  say  that 
the  matter  he  had  wished  to  com- 
municate was  too  delicate  and  im- 
portant to  put  on  paper ;  that  he 
would  try  andgetdown  loGravesend 
again  some  day  or  other,  but  was 
much  occupied,  and  had  already 
put  himself  to  inconvenience.  He 
added,  in  a  postscript,  that  he  was 
always  at  home  from  four  to  five. 

Next  day  he  got  hold  of  the  ser- 
vant, and  gave  her  minute  instrue 
tiona  and  a  guinea. 

Then  the  wretch  got  some  tools, 
and  bored  a  hole  in  the  partition- 
wall  of  his  sitting-room.  The  paper 
had  large  ilowers.  He  was  artist 
enough  to  conceal  the  trick  with 
watiT-colors.  In  his  bedroom  the 
hole  came  behind  the  curtains. 

That  very  afternoon,  as  he  had 
foreseen,  Mrs.  Staines  called  on  him. 
The  maid,  duly  instructed,  said  Mr. 
Falcon  was  out,  but  would  soon 
return,  and  she  could  wait  liis  re- 
turn. The  maid  being  so  very  civil, 
Mrs.  Staines  said  she  would  wait  a 
little  while,  and  was  immediately 
ushered  into  Falcon's  sitting-room. 
There  she  sat  down,  but  was  evi- 
dently ill  at  ease,  restless,  flushed. 
She  could  not  sit  quiet,  and  at  lust 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room,  almost  wildly.  Her  beauti- 
ful eyes  glittered,  and  the  whole 
woman  seemed  on  lire.  The  eni- 
tiif.  who  was  watching  her,  saw  and 
gloated  on  all  this,  and  enjoyed  to 
the  full  her  beauty  and  agitation, 
and  his  revenge  for  her  "  Not  at 
homes." 

Hut,  after  a  long  time,  there  whs 
a  re-action.  She  sal  down,  and  ut- 
tered some  plaintive  sounds  inarti- 


culate, or  nearly;  and  at  last  she 
began  to  cry. 

Then  it  cost  Faclon  an  effort  not 
to  come  in  and  comfort  her;  but  he 
controlled  himself,  and  kept  quiet. 

She  rang  the  bell.  She  asked 
for  writing  paper;  and  she  wrote 
her  unseen  tormentor  a  humble 
tiote,  begging  him,  for  old  acquaint- 
ance, to  cali  on  her,  and  tell  her 
what  his  mysterious  words  meant 
that  had  filled  her  with  agitation. 

This  done,  she  went  away,  with 
a  deep  sigh  ;  and  Falcon  emerged, 
and  pounced  upon  her  letter. 

He  kissed  it ;  he  read  it  a  dozen 
times.  He  sat  down  where  she  had 
sat;  and  his  baseless  passion  over- 
powered him.  Her  beauty,  her  agi- 
tation,  her  fear,  her  tears,  all  com- 
bined to  madden  him,  and  do  the 
devil's  work  in  his  false,  selfish  heart, 
so  open  to  violent  passions,  so  dead 
to  conscience. 

For  once  in  his  life  he  was  vio- 
lently agitated,  and  torn  by  conflict- 
ing feelings.  He  walked  about  the 
room  more  wildly  than  his  victim 
had;  and  if  it  be  true,  that  in  cer- 
tain great  temptations,  good  and  had 
angels  tight  for  a  man,  here  you 
might  have  seen  as  tierce  a  battle  of 
that  kind  as  ever  was. 

At  last  he  rushed  out  into  the 
air,  and  did  not  return  till  ten 
o'clock  at  night.  lie  came  back 
pale  and  haggard,  and  with  a  look 
of  crime  in  his  face. 

True  Bohemian  as  he  was,  he 
sent  for  a  pint  of  brandy. 

So,  then,  the  die  was  cast;  and 
something  was  to  be  done  tiiat 
needed  brandy. 

He  bolted  himself  in,  and  drank  a 

wine-glass  ofit  neat;  then  another; 

then  another. 

Now  his  pale  che  k  is  Hashed, 
and  his  eye  glitters.  Drink  for- 
ever! great  ruin  of  English  souls, 
as  well  as  bodies. 

lie  put  the  poker  in  the  fire,  ami 

healed   il    red    hot. 

He  brought  Staines's  letter,  and 
softened    the    sealing-wax  with   the 


190 


A   SIMPLETON. 


hot  poker  ;  then,  with  hispen-knife, 
made  a  neat  incision  in  the  wax, 
and  opened  the  letter.  He  took 
out  the  ring,  and  put  it  carefully 
away.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  lead  the  letter,  and  studied  it. 
Many  a  man,  capable  of  murder  in 
heat  of  passion,  could  not  have 
resisted  the  pathos  of  this  letter. 
Many  a  Newgate  thief,  after  reading 
it,  would  have  felt  such  pity  for  the 
loving  husband  who  had  suffered  to 
the  verge  of  death,  and  then  to  the 
brink  of  madness,  and  for  the  poor 
hereaved  wife,  that  he  would  have 
taken  the  letter  down  to  Gravesend 
that  very  night,  though  he  picked 
two  fresh  pockets  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  the  road. 

But  this  was  an  egotist.  Good- 
nature had  curbed  his  egotism  a 
little  while  ;  but  now  vanity  and 
passion  had  swept  away  all  unselfish 
feelings,  and  the  pure  egotist  alone 
remained. 

Now,  the  pure  egotist  has  been 
defined  as  a  man  who  will  burn 
down  his  neigltbvr's  house  to  cook 
himself  an  egg.  Murder  is  but  ego- 
tism carried  out  to  its  natural  cli- 
max. What  is  murder  to  a  pure 
egotist,  especially  a  brandied  one  1 

I  knew  an  egotist  who  met  a 
female  acquaintance  in  Newhaven 
village.  She  had  a  one-pound  note, 
and  offered  to  treat  him.  She 
changed  this  note  to  treat  him. 
Fish  she  gave  him,  and  much  whis- 
key. Cost  her  four  shillings.  He 
ate  and  drank  with  her  at  her  ex- 
pense ;  and,  his  principal  blood-ves- 
sel being  warmed  with  her  whiskey, 
he  murdered  her  for  the  change,  — 
the  odd  sixteen  shillings. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that 
egotist  hung,  with  these  eyes.  It 
was  a  slice  of  hick,  that,  I  grieve  to 
say,  has  not  occurred  again  to  me. 
So  much  for  a  whiskeyed  egotist. 
His  less  truculent,  but  equally 
remorseless,  brother  in  villany,  the 
brandied  egotist,  Falcon,  could  read 
that  poor  husband's  letter  without 
blenching.     The  love  and  the  antici- 


pations of  rapture  —  these  made  him 
writhe  a  little  with  jealousy;  but 
they  roused  not  a  grain  of  pity.  He 
was  a  true  egotist,  blind,  remorse- 
less. 

In  this  his  true  character  he  stud- 
ied the  letter  profoundly,  and  mas- 
tered all  the  facts,  and  digested 
them  well. 

All  manner  of  diabolical  artifices 
presented  themselves  to  his  brain, 
barren  of  true  intellect,  yet  fertile 
in  fraud,  but  in  that,  and  all  low 
cunning  and  subtlety,  far  more  than 
a  match  for  Solomon  or  Bacon. 

His  sinister  studies  were  persisted 
in  far  into  the  night.  Then  he 
went  to  bed ;  and  his  unbounded 
egotism  gave  him  the  sleep  a  grand- 
er criminal  would  have  courted  in 
vain  on  the  verge  of  a  monstrous 
and  deliberate  crime. 

Next  day  he  went  to  a  fashiona- 
ble tailor,  and  ordered  a  complete 
suit  of  black.  This  was  made  in 
forty-eight  hours  :  the  interval  was 
spent  mainly  in  concocting  lies  to  be 
incorporated  with  the  number  of  mi- 
nute facts  he  had  gathered  from 
Staines's  letter,  and  in  making  close 
imitations  of  his  handwriting. 

Thus  armed,  and  crammed  with 
more  lies  than  the"  Mcnteur"  of 
Corneille,  but  not  such  innocent 
ones,  he  went  down  to  Gravesend,  all 
in  deep  mourning,  with  crape  round 
his  hat. 

He  presented  himself  at  the  villa. 

The  servant  was  all  obsequious- 
ness. Yes,  Mrs.  Staines  received 
few  visitors ;  but  she  was  at  home 
to  him.  He  even  began  to  falter 
excuses.  "  Nonsense,"  said  Falcon, 
and  slipped  a  sovereign  into  his 
hand.  "  You  are  a  good  servant," 
and  obey  orders." 

The  servant's  respect  doubled ; 
and  he  ushered  the  visitor  into  the 
drawing-room,  as  one  whose  name 
was  a  passport.  "  Mr.  Reginald 
Falcon,  madam." 

Mrs.  Staines  was  alone.  She 
rose  to  meet  him.  Her  color  came 
and  went.     Her  full  eye  fell  on  him, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


191 


and  took  in  all  at  a  glance,  —  that 
he  was  all  in  black,  and  that  he 
had  a  beard,  and  looked  pale,  and  ill 
at  ease. 

Little  dreaming  that  this  was  the 
anxiety  of  a  felon  about  to  take  the 
actual  plunge  into  a  novel  crime, 
she  was  rather  prepossessed  by  it. 
The  beard  gave  him  dignity,  and 
hid  his  cruel  mouth.  His  black 
suit  seemed  to  say  he,  too,  had  lost 
some  one  dear  to  him ;  and  that 
was  a  ground  of  sympathy. 

She  received  him  kindly,  and 
thanked  him  for  taking  the  trouble 
to  come  again.  She  begged  him  to 
lie  seated,  and  then,  woman-like, 
she  waited  for  him  to  explain. 

But  he  was  in  no  hurry,  and 
waited  for  her.  He  knew  she  would 
speak  if  he  was  silent. 

She  could  not  keep  him  waiting 
long.  "  Mr.  Falcon,"  said  she,  hesi- 
tating a  little,  "  you  have  something 
to  say  to  me  about  him  I  have  lost." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  softly.  "  I  have 
something  I  could  say  ;  and  I  think 
I  ought  to  say  it  :  but  I  am  afraid ; 
because  I  don't  know  what  will  be 
the  result.  I  fear  to  make  you  more 
unhappy." 

"  Me  *!  more  unhappy  ?  Me,  whose 
dear  husband  lies  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ocean.  Other  poor  wounded 
creatures  have  the  wretched  comfort 
of  knowing  where  he  lies,  of  carry- 
ing flowers  to  his  tomb;  but  I  — 
<)  Mr.  Falcon!  I  am  bereaved  of 
all:  even  his  poor  remains  lost, 
lost."     She  CO  111  d  say  no  more. 

Even  that  craven  heart  began  to 
quake  at  what  he  was  doing,  — 
quaked,  yet  persevered  ;  but  his  own 
voice  quivered,  and  his  cheek  grew 
ashy   pale.    No  wonder.     If  ever 

God  condescended  to  pour  his  light- 
ning on  a  skunk,  surely  now  was 
the  time. 

Shaking  and  sweating  with  ter- 
ror at  his  own  act,  he  stammered 
out.  "  Would  it  be  tli"  least  comfort 
to  you  to   know   that   you   are    not 

denied  that  poor  consolation  !  Sup- 
pose ho  died  not  so  miserable  as  you 


think  ?     Suppose  he  was  picked  up 
at  sea,  in  a  dying  state  ?  " 

"  Ah  ! " 

"  Suppose  he  lingered,  nursed  by 
kind  and  sympathizing  hands,  that 
almost  saved  him  ?  Suppose  he  was 
laid  in  hallowed  ground,  and  a 
great  many  tears  shed  over  his 
grave  i " 

"  Ah,  that  would  indeed  be  a  com- 
fort !  And  it  was  to  say  this  you 
came.  I  thank  you  !  I  bless  you  ! 
But  my  good,  kind  friend,  you  are 
deceived.  You  don't  know  my 
husband.  You  never  saw  him.  lie 
perished  at  sea." 

"  Will  it  be  kind,  or  unkind,  to 
tell  you  why  I  think  he  died  as  I 
tell  you,  and  not  at  sea?  " 

"  Kind,  but  impossible.  You  de- 
ceive yourself.  Ah!  I  se°.  You 
found  some  poor  sufferer,  and  were 
good  to  him ;  but  it  was  not  mv 
poor  Christie.  Oh,  if  it  were,  I 
should  worship  you!  But  I  thank 
you,  as  it  is.  It  was  very  kind  to 
want  to  give  mc  this  little,  little 
crumb  of  comfort;  for  I  know  I  did 
not  b  have  well  to  you,  sir  :  but  you 
are  generous,  and  have  forgiven  a 
poor  heart-broken  creature  that 
never  was  very  wise." 

He  jrave  her  time  to  cry,  and  then 
said  to  her,  "  I  only  wanted  to  be 
sure  it  would  be  any  comfort  to  you. 
Mrs.  Staines,  it  is  true  I  did  not 
even  know  his  name,  nor  yours. 
When  I  met,  in  this  very  room,  the 
great  disappointment  that  his  sad- 
dened my  own  life,  I  left  England 

directly.       1  collected  funds,  went  to 

Natal,  and  turned  landowner  and 
farmer.  I  have  made  a  large  fori  line  ; 
but  I  need  not  tell  you  I  am  not 
happy.  Well,  I  had  a  yacht,  and, 
Bailing  from  Cape  Town  to  A 
Bay,  I  picked  up  a  rait  with  a  Ay- 
ing  man  on  it.     lie  was  perishing 

Of  exhaustion  and  exposure.       I 

a  little  brandy  between  his  lips,  and 

kept  him  alive.  I  landed  \,  ilh  him 
at  once  :  ;unl  we  nursed  him  on 
shore.  We  had  to  be  very  cant  ions. 
I  !c  improvi  I.      We  gol  him  to  take 


192 


A   SIMPLETON. 


egg-flip.  He  smiled  on  us  at  first, 
and  then  he  thanked  us.  I  nursed 
him  day  and  night  for  ten  days. 
He  got  much  stronger.  He  spoke 
to  me,  thanked  me  again  and  again, 
and  told  mc  his  name  was  Chris- 
topher Staines.  He  told  me  he 
should  never  get  well.  I  implored 
him  to  have  courage.  He  said  lie 
did  not  want  for  courage ;  hut 
nature  had  heen  tried  too  hard.  We 
got  so  fond  of  each  other.  Oh !  "  — 
and  the  caitiff  pretended  to  break 
down  ;  and  his  feigned  grief  mingled 
with  Rosa's  despairing  sobs. 

He  made  an  apparent  effort,  and 
said,  "  He  spoke  to  me  of  his  wife, 
his  darling  Rosa.  The  name  made 
me  start  fbut  I  could  not  know  it 
was  you.  At  last  he  was  strong 
enough  to  write  a  few  lines ;  and  he 
made  me  promise  to  take  them  to 
his  wife." 

"  Ah  1 "  said  Rosa.  "  Show  them 
me." 

"  I  will." 

"  This  moment !  "  And  her  hands 
began  to  work  convulsively. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Falcon.  "  I  have 
not  brought  them  with  me." 

Rosa  cast  a  keen  eye  of  suspicion 
and  terror  on  him.  His  not  bring- 
ing the  letter  seemed  monstrous ; 
and  so,  indeed,  it  was.  The  fact  is, 
the  letter  was  not  written. 

Falcon  affected  not  to  notice  her 
keen  look.  lie  flowed  on,  "  The  ad- 
dress he  put  on  that  letter  astonished 
me.  '  Kent  Villa.'  Of  course  I 
knew  Kent  Villa  :  and  he  called 
you  » Kosa.'  " 

"  How  could  you  come  to  me 
without  that  letter  ?  "  cried  Rosa, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  How  am  I  to 
know  1  It  is  all  so  strange,  so  in- 
credible ! " 

"Don't  you  believe  mc?"  said 
Falcon  sadly.  "  Why  should  I  de- 
cisive you  ?  The  first  time  I  came 
down  to  tell  yon  all  this,  I  did  not 
know  who  Mrs.  Staines  was.  1  sus- 
pected, hut  no  more.  The  second 
time,  I  saw  you  in  the  church;  and 


then  I  knew,  and  followed  you,  to 
try  and  tell  you  all  this ;  and  you 
were  not  at  home  to  me." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Rosa  care- 
lessly :  then,  earnestly,  "  The  letter 
—  when  can  I  see  it ?  " 

"  I  will  send  or  brinjT  it." 

"  Bring  it !  I  am  in  agony  till  I 
see  it.  O  my  darling !  my  dar- 
ling !  It  can't  be  true.  It  was  not 
my  Christie.  He  lies  in  the  depths 
of  ocean.  Lord  Tadcaster  was  in  the 
ship,  and  he  says  so :  everybody 
says  so." 

"  And  I  say  he  sleeps  in  hallowed 
ground ;  and  these  hands  laid  him 
there."   ■ 

Rosa  lifted  her  hands  to  heaven, 
and  cried  piteously,  "  I  don't  kuow 
what  to  think.  You  would  not  will- 
ingly deceive  me.  But  how  can  this 
be  1  0  Uncle  Philip  !  why  are  j'ou 
away  from  me'?  Sir,  you  say  he 
gave  you  a  letter." 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh !  why,  why,  did  you  not 
briny-  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  told  me  the  contents ; 
and  I  thought  he  prized  my  poor 
efforts  too  highly.  .  It  did  not  oc- 
cur to  mc  you  would  doubt  my 
word." 

"  Ob,  no !  no  more  I  do.  But  I 
fear  it  was  not  my  Christie." 

"I'll  go  for  the  letter  at  once, 
Mrs.  Staines." 

"Oh,  thank  you !  Bless  you ! 
Yes,  this  minute !  " 

The  artful  rogue  did  not  go ; 
never  intended. 

He  rose  to  go,  but  had  a  sudden 
inspiration ;  very  sudden,  of  course. 
"  Had  he  nothing  about  him  you 
could  recognize  him  by  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  had  a  ring  I  gave  him  " 

Falcon  took  a 
lope  out  of  his  pocket 

"A  ruby  ring,"  said  she,  begin- 
ning to  tremble  at  his  epiiet  ac- 
tion. 

"  Is  that  it  1  "  and  he  handed  her 
a  ruby  ring. 


nack-edged  enve- 


A   SIMPLETON. 


193 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Mrs.  Staines  uttered  a  sharpen-, 
and  seized  the  ring.  Her  eyes  di- 
lated over  it,  and  she  began  to  trem- 
ble in  every  limb ;  and  at  last  she 
sank  slowly  back,  and  her  head 
fell  on  one  side  like  a  broken  lily. 
The  sudden  sight  of  the  ring  over- 
powered her  almost  to  fainting. 

Falcon  rose  to  call  for  assistance ; 
hut  she  made  him  a  feeble  motion 
not  to  do  si i. 

She  got  the  better  of  her  faint- 
ness  ;  and  then  she  fell  to  kiss- 
ing the  ring  in  an  agony  of  love, 
and  wept  over  it,  and  still  held  it, 
and  gazed  at  it  through  her  blinding 
tears. 

Falcon  eyed  her  uneasily. 

But  he  soon  found  he  had  noth- 
ing to  (ear.  For  a  long  time  she 
seemed  scarcely  aware  of  his  pres- 
ence ;  and,  when  she  noticed  him, 
it  was  to  thank  him  almost  passion- 
ately. 

"  It  was  my  Christie  you  were  so 
good  to.  May  Heaven  bless  you  for 
it !  And  you  will  bring  me  his  letter  ; 
will  von  not '?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will." 

"  ( >h  !  do  not  go  yet.  It  is  all  so 
Strange,  so  sad  !  I  seem  to  have 
lo>t  my  poor  Christie  again,  since 
lie  did  not  die  at  sea.  But  no  :  I  am 
ungrateful  to  God,  and  ungrateful 
to  the  kind  friend  that  nursed  him 
to  the  last,  Ah,  I  envy  you  that! 
Tell  me  all.  Never  mind  my  cry- 
ing, I  have  seen  the  time  I  could 
not  cry.  It  was  worse  then  than 
HOW.  I  shall  always  cry  when  1 
speak  of  him  ;  ay,  to  my  dying  day. 
Tell  me,  tell  me  all." 

Her  passion  frightened  the  ego- 
tist, but  did  not  turn  him.  He  had 
gone  too  far.  He  told  her,  that, 
after  raising   all   their  hopes,    Dr. 

Staines  had  suddenly  changed  lor 
the  wor-t.  ami  sunk  rapidly;  that 
his  last  words  had  been  about  her  ; 

and  he   had    said,  "  My  poor    ROM  : 

vho  will  proteel    her  !  "     That,  to 

Comfort  him,  he  had   said  he  would 

17 


protect  her.  Then  the  dying  man 
had  managed  to  write  aline  or  two, 
and  to  address  it.  Almost  his  last 
words  had  been,  "  Be  a  father  to 
my  child." 

"  That  is  strange." 

"  You  have  no  child  ?  Then  it 
must  have  been  you  he  meant.  He 
spoke  of  you  as  a  child  more  than 
once." 

"  Mr.  Falcon,  I  have  a  child,  but 
born  since  I  lost  my  poor  child's 
father." 

"  Then  I  think  he  knew  it.  They 
say  that  dying  men  can  see  all  over 
the  world  ;  and  I  remember,  when 
he  said  it,  his  eyes  seemed  fixed 
very  strangely,  as  if  on  something 
distant.  Oh,  how  strange  this  ail 
is  !  May  I  sec  his  child,  to  whom  I 
promised  "  — 

The  artist  in  lies  left  his  sentence 
half  completed. 

Rosa  rang,  and  sent  for  her  little 
boy. 

Mr.  Falcon  admired  his  beauty, 
and  said  quietly,  "  I  shall  keep  my 
vow." 

He  then  left  her  with  a  promise 
to  come  back  early  next  morning 
with  the  letter. 

She  let  him  go  only  on  those  con 
ditions. 

As  soon  as  her.  father  came  in, 
she  ran  to  him  with  this  strange 
story. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  he. 
"  It  is  impossible." 

She  showed  him  the  proof, — 
the  ruby  ring. 

Then  he  became  very  uneasy,  anil 
begged  her  not  to  tell  a  soul.  Ho 
dd  not  tell  her  the  reason;  but  he 
feared  the  insurance  office  would  hear 
of  it,  and  require  proofs  of  <  Ihristo- 
pher's  decea  e  :  whereas  they  had 
accepted   it  without  a  murmur,  on 

the  evidence Ol   I  !apt     Hamilton  and 

I  wphitrite's  log-book. 

As  tor  Falcon,  be  went    carefully 

through  Staines's  two  letters ;  and, 

wherever   he    found     a   word    that 

suited     his    purpose,  he     traced  it  by 
I  the    usual    process ;    and   so,   in  tho 


194 


A   SIMPLETON. 


course  of  a  few  hours,  he  concoct- 
ed a  short  letter,  all  the  words  in 
which,  except  three,  were  facsimiles, 
only  here  and  there  a  little  shaky. 
The  three  odd  words  he  had  to  imi- 
tate by  observation  of  the  letters. 
The  signature  he  got  to  perfection 
by  tracing. 

He  inserted  this  letter  in  the  origi- 
nal envelope,  and  scaled  it  very 
carefully,  so  as  to  hide  that  the  seal 
had  been  tampered  with. 

Thus  armed,  he  went  down  to 
Gravesend.  There  he  hired  a  horse, 
and  rode  to  Kent  Villa. 

Why  he  hired  a  horse,  he  knew 
how  hard  it  is  to  forge  handwriting  ; 
and  he  chose  to  have  the  means  of 
escape  at  hand. 

He  came  into  the  drawing-room, 
ghastly  pale,  and  almost  immedi- 
ately gave  her  the  letter ;  then 
turned  his  back,  feigning  delicacy. 
In  reality,  he  was  quaking  with 
fear,  lest  she  should  suspect  the 
handwriting.  But  the  envelope  was 
addressed  by  Staines,  and  paved  the 
way  for  the  letter.  She  was  unsus- 
picious and  good ;  and  her  heart 
cried  out  for  her  husband's  last 
written  words.  At  such  a  moment 
what  chance  had  judgment  and  sus- 
picion in  an  innocent  and  loving 
soul  ? 

Her  eloquent  sighs  and  sobs  soon 
told  the  craven  he  had  nothing  to 
fear. 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

"  My  own  Rosa,  — 

"  All  that  a  brother  could  do  for 
a  beloved  brother  Falcon  has  done. 
He  nursed  me  night  and  day.  But 
it  is  vain.  I  shall  never  see  you 
again  in  this  world.  I  send  you  a 
protector,  and  a  father  to  your  child. 
Value  him.  He  has  promised  to 
be  your  stay  on  earth  ;  and  my  spirit 
shall  watch  over  you. 

"  To  my   last  breath, 
"  Your  loving  husband, 

"Christopher   Staines." 

Falcon  rose,  and  began  to  steal 
"^n  tiptoe  out  of  the  room. 


Rosa  stopped  him.  "  You  need 
not  go,"  said  she.  "  You  are  our 
friend.  By  and  by  I  hope  I  shall 
find  words  to  thank  you." 

"  Fray  let  me  retire  a  moment," 
said  the  hypocrite.  "A  husband's 
last  words  ;  too  sacred  —  a  stran- 
ger." And  he  went  out  into  the 
garden.  There  he  found  the  nurse- 
maid Emily,  and  the  little  boy. 

He  stopped  the  child,  and  made 
love  to  the  nursemaid  ;  showed  her 
his  diamonds  (he  carried  them  all 
about  him)  ;  told  her  he  had  thirty 
thousand  acres  in  Cape  Colony,  and 
diamonds  on  them ;  and  was  going 
to  buy  thirty  thousand  more  of  the 
government.  "  Here,  take  one," 
said  he.  "Oh!  you  needn'theshy. 
They  are  common  enough  on  my 
estates.  I'll  tell  you  what,  though, 
you  could  not  buy  that  for  less  than 
thirty  pounds  at  any  shop  in  Lon- 
don. Could  she,  my  little  duck  1 
Never  mind,  it  is  no  brighter  than 
her  eyes.  Now,  do  you  know  what 
she  will  do  with  that,  Master  Chris- 
tie'? She  will  give  it  to  some  duff- 
er to  put  in  a  pin." 

"  She  won't  do  nothing  of  the 
kind,"  said  Emily,  flushing  all  over. 
"  She  is  not  such  a  fool."  She  then 
volunteered  to  tell  him  she  had  no 
sweetheart,  and  did  not  trouble  her 
head  about  young  men  at  all.  He 
interpreted  this  to  mean  she  was 
looking  out  for  one.     So  do  I. 

"No  sweetheart!"  said  he  ;  "and 
the  prettiest  girl  I  have  seen  since 
I  landed.  Then  I  put  in  for  the  sit- 
uation." 

Here,  seeing  the  footman  coming, 
he  bestowed  a  most  paternal  kiss  on 
little  Christie,  and  saying,  "  Not  a 
word  to  John,  or  no  more  diamonds 
from  me,"  he  moved  carefully  away, 
leaving  the  girl  all  in  a  flutter 
with  extravagant  hopes. 

The  next  moment  this  wolf  in  the 
sheepfold  entered  the  drawing-room. 
Mrs.  Staines  was  not  there.  He 
waited  and  waited,  and  began  to 
get  rather  uneasy,  as  men  will  who 
walk  among  pitfalls. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


195 


Presently  the  footman  came  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Staines  was  with  her 
father,  in  his  study  ;  but  she  would 
come  to  him  in  five  minutes. 

This  increased  his  anxiety. 
"What !  She  was  taking  advice  of 
an  older  head.  He  began  to  be 
very  seriously  alarmed,  and  indeed 
had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind 
to  go  down  and  gallop  off,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  Rosa  came 
hastily  in.  Her  eyes  were  very  red 
with  "weeping.  She  came  to  him 
with  both  hands  extended  to  him. 
He  gave  her  his  timidly.  She 
pressed  them  with  such  earnestness 
and  power  as  he  could  not  have  mis- 

Iiccted  ;  and  thanked  him  and 
ilessed  him  with  such  a  torrent  of 
eloquence,  that  he  hung  his  head 
witli  shame.  And  being  unable  to 
lace  it  out,  villain  as  he  was,  yet 
still  artful  to  the  core,  he  pretended 
to  burst  out  crying,  and  ran  out  of 
the  room,  and  rode  away. 

Ilr  waited  two  days,  and  then 
called  again.  Rosa  reproached  him 
tiv  for  going  before  she  had 
half  thanked  him. 

"All  the  better,"  said  he.  "I 
have  been  thanked  a  great  deal  too 
much  already.  Who  would  not  do 
his  best  for  a  dying  countryman, 
and  fight  night  and  day  to  save 
him  for  his  wile  and  child  at  home  ? 
If  I  had  succeeded,  then  I  would 
be  greedy  of  praise:  but  now  it 
makes  me  blush;  it  makes  me  very 
bad  " 

"  You  did  your  best,"  said  Rosa 
tearfully. 

"Ah"!  that  I  did.  Indeed  1  was 
ill  for  weeks  after  myself,  through 
the  strain  upon  niv  mind,  and  tin' 
disappointment,  and  going  so  many 
nights   without    Bleep.      But  don't 

Irl   OS  talk  of  that." 

"  Do  you  know  what  my  darling 
savs  to  mi'  in  my  letti  r  '  " 

"   \o." 

"Would  you  like  to  see  it  '  " 
"  Indeed  1  should  ;  but  I  have  no 
right." 

•'  Every    right.     It  is    the   only 


mark  of  esteem,  worth  any  thing,  I 
can  show  you." 

She  handed  him  the  letter,  and 
buried  her  own  face  in  her  hands. 

He  read  it,  and  acted  the  deepest 
emotion. 

He  handed  it  back  without  a 
word. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

From  this  time  Falcon  was  al- 
ways welcome  at  Kent  Villa.  He 
fascinated  everybody  in  the  house. 
He  renewed  his  acquaintance  with 
.Mr.  Lusignan,  and  got  asked  to 
stay  a  week  in  the  house.  He 
showed  Rosa  and  her  father  the 
diamonds  ;  and,  the  truth  must  lie 
owned,  they  made  Rosa's  eyes 
sparkle  for  the  first  time  this  eight- 
een months.  He  insinuated,  rather 
than  declared,  his  enormous  wealth. 

In  reply  to  the  old  man's  eager 
questions,  as  the  large  diamonds 
lay  glittering  on  the  table,  and 
pointed  every  word,  he  said  that  a 
few  of  his  Hottentots  had  found 
these  for  him.  lie  had  made  them 
dig  on  a  diamond! ferous  part  of  his 
estate,  just  by  way  of  testing  the 
matter  ;  and  this  was  the  result,  — 
this,  anil  a  much  larger  stone,  for 
which  he  had  received  eight  thou- 
sand pounds  from  l'osno. 

"  II  I  was  a  young  man,"  said 
Lusignan,"]  would  go  out  direct- 
ly, and  dig  on  your  estate." 

"I   would     not    let    you    do  any 
thing  so  paltry,"  said  "  le  menteur. 
'•  Why,   my  dear  sir,   there    are  no 
fortunes  to  he  made  by  grubbing  for 
diamonds.     The  fortunes  me  made 

out  of  the  diamonds,  hut  not  in  that 
way.  Now,  I  have  thirty  thousand 
aetes,  und  .unjust  concluding  a  bar- 
gain for  thirty  thousand  more,  <>n 

which  I    happen  to   know  there    are 

diamonds  in  a  sly  corner.    Well,  on 

my    t  bitty    thousand  tried    acres,    a 
hundred    o:dy    are    diainondife' 
Bul    1   have   lour    thousand    thirty- 


196 


A  SIMPLETON. 


foot  claims,  leased  at  ten  shillings 
per  month.    Count  that  up." 

"  Why,  it  is  twenty-four  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year." 

"  Excuse  me :  you  must  deduct  a 
thousand  a  year  for  the  expenses  of 
collection.     But   that   is   only  one 

fhase  of  the  business.  I  have  a 
arge  inn  upon  each  of  the  three 
great  routes  from  the  diamonds  to 
the  coast;  and  these  inns  are  sup- 
plied with  the  produce  of  my  own 
farms.  Mark  the  effect  of  the  dia- 
monds on  property.  My  sixty 
thousand  acres  which  arc  not  dia- 
mond iterous  will  very  soon  be 
worth  as  much  as  sixty  thousand 
English  acres,  say  two  pounds  the 
acre,  per  annum.  That  is  under 
the  mark  ;  because,  in  Africa,  the 
land  is  not  burdened  with  poor- 
rates,  tithes,  and  all  the  other  ini- 
quities that  crush  the  English  land- 
owner, as  I  know  to  my  cost.  But 
that  is  not  all,  sir.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it  1  Even  after  the  diamonds 
were  declared,  the  people  put  there 
had  so  little  foresight,  that  they 
allowed  me  to  buy  land  all  round. 
Port  Elizabeth,  Natal,  and  Cape 
Town,  the  three  ports  through 
which  the  world  gets  at  the  dia- 
monds, and  the  diamonds  get  at  the 
world,  —  I  have  got  a  girdle  of  land 
round  those  three  outlets,  bought 
by  the  acre :  in  two  years  I  shall 
sell  it  by  the  yard.  Believe  me,  sir, 
English  fortunes,  even  the  largest, 
are  mere  child's  play,  compared 
with  the  colossal  wealth  a  man  can 
accumulate,  if  he  looks  beyond 
these  great  discoveries  to  their  con- 
sequences, and  lets  others  grub  for 
him.  But  what  is  the  use  of  it  all 
to  me  ?  "  said  this  Bohemian  with 
a  sigh.  "  I  have  no  taste  for  luxu- 
ries, no  love  of  display.  I  have 
not  even  charity  to  dispense  on  a 
large  scale  ;  for  there  are  no  deserv- 
ing poor  out  there.  And  the  pover- 
ty that  springs  from  vice  —  that  I 
never  will  encourage." 

John  heard  nearly  all  this,  and 
took  it  into  the  kitchen  ;  and  hence- 


forth Adoration  was  the  only  word 
for  this  prince  of  men,  this  rare 
combination  of  the  Adonis  and  the 
millionnaire. 

He  seldom  held  such  discourses 
before  Rosa,  but  talked  her  father 
into  an  impression  of  his  boundless 
wealth,  and  half  reconciled  him  to 
Rosa's  refusal  of  Lord  Tadcaster; 
since  here  was  an  old  suitor,  who, 
doubtless,  with  a  little  encourage- 
ment, would  soon  come  on  again. 

Under  this  impression,  Mr.  Lu- 
signan  gave  Falcon  more  than  a  lit- 
tle encouragement ;  and,  as  Rosa 
did  not  resist,  he  became  a  con- 
stant visitor  at  the  villa,  and  was 
always  there  from  Saturday  to  Mon- 
day. 

He  exerted  all  his  art  of  pleasing; 
and  he  succeeded.  He  was  welcome 
to  Rosa,  and  she  made  no  secret  of 
it. 

Emily  threw  herself  in  his  way, 
and  had  many  a  sly  talk  with  him 
while  he  was  pretending  to  be  en- 
gaged with  young  Christie.  He 
flattered  her,  and  made  her  sweet 
on  him,  but  was  too  much  in  love 
with  Rosa,  after  his  fashion,  to  flirt 
seriously  with  her.  He  thought  he 
might  want  her  services :  so  he 
worked  upon  her  after  this  fashion, 
—  asked  her  if  she  would  like  to 
keep  an  inn. 

"Wouldn't  I  just?"  said  she 
frankly. 

Then  he  told  her,  that,  if  all  went 
to  his  wish  in  England,  she  should 
be  landlady  of  one  of  his  inns  in  the 
Cape  Colony.  "  And  you  will  get 
a  good  husband  out  there  directly," 
said  he.  "  Beauty  is  a  very  uncom- 
mon thing  in  those  parts.  But  I 
shall  ask  you  to  marry  somebody 
who  can  help  you  in  the  business, 
or  not  to  marry  at  all." 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  inn ! "  said 
Emily.  "  Husbands  are  soon  got 
when  a  girl  hasn't  her  face  only  to 
look  to." 

"  Well,  I  promise  you  the  inn," 
said  he,  "and  a  good  outfit  of 
clothes,  and  money  in  both  pockets, 


A  SIMPLETON. 


197 


if  you  will  do  me  a  good  turn  here 
in  England." 

"  That  I  would,  sir.  But  laws, 
what  can  a  pour  girl  like  me  do  for 
a  rich  gentleman  like  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Emily  ?  " 

'•  Nobody  better.  You  try  me, 
sir." 

He  looked  at  her  well ;  saw  she 
was  one  of  those  who  could  keep  a 
secret  if  she  chose ;  and  he  resolved 
to  risk  it. 

"  Emily,  my  girl,"  said  he  sadly, 
"I  am  an  unhappy  man." 

"You,  sir!  Why  you  didn't 
ought  to  be." 

"  I  am,  then.  I  am  in  love,  and 
cannot  win  her." 

Then  he  told  the  girl  a  pretty 
tender  tale,  that  he  had  loved  .Mrs. 
Staines  when  she  was  Miss  Lusig- 
nan  ;  had  thought  himself  beloved 
in  turn,  but  was  rejected.  And  now, 
though  she  was  a  widow,  he  had 
not  the  courage  to  court  her :  her 
heart  was  in  the  grave.  He  spoke 
in  such  a  broken  voice  that  the  girl's 
good  nature  Fought  against  her  little 
pique  at  finding  bow  little  he  was 
Smitten  with  her;  and  Falcon  soon 
found  means  to  array  her  cupidity 
on  the  side  of  her  good  nature.  lie 
gave  her  a  five-pound  note  to  buy 
glove-,  and  promised  her  a  fortune  ; 
and  she  undertook  to  be  s  crct  as 
the  grave,  and  Bay  certain  things 
adroitly  to  Mrs.  Staines. 

Accordingly,  this  young  woman 
omitted  no  opportunity  of  dropping 
a  word  in  favor  of  Falcon.  For 
one  thing,  she  s.iid  to  Mrs.  Staines, 
"  Mr.  Falcon  inust  be  very  fond  of 
children,  ma'am.  Why,  lie  worships 
Master  Christie." 

"  Indeed  !  1  have  not  observed 
that." 

■•  Why, no,  nui'ani.  lie  is  rather 
shy  over  it;  hut,  when  he  sees  us 
alone, he  is  sure  to  come  to  us,  and 
say,  '  Let  me  look  at  my  child, 
nurse  :  '  unci  he  do  seem  lit  to  I  it 
him.  Oust  he  says  to  me,  'This 
hoy  is  niv  heir,  nurse  '  What  did 
he  mean  by  that,  ma'am  '.'  " 
17' 


"  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  he  any  kin  to  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  None  whatever.  You  must  have 
misunderstood  hitn.  You  should 
not  repeat  all  that  people  say." 

"  No,  ma'am  :  only  I  did  think  it 
so  odd.  Poor  gentleman  !  I  don't 
think  he  is  happy,  for  all  his  money." 

"  He  is  too  good  to  be  unhappy 
all  his  life." 

"  So  I  think,  ma'am." 

These  conversations  were  always 
short ;  for  Rosa,  though  she  was  too 
kind  and  gentle  to  snub  the  girl,  was 
also  too  delicate  to  give  the  least  en- 
couragement to  her  gossip. 

But  Bosa's  was  a  mind  that  could 
be  worked  upon  ;  and  these  short  but 
repeated  eulogies  were  not  altogether 

without  effect. 

At  last,  the  insidious  Falcon,  by 
not  making  his  approaches  in  a  way 
to  alarm  her,  acquired  her  friendship 
as  well  as  her  gratitude;  and,  in 
short,  she  got  used  to  him,  and  liked 
him.  Not  being  hound  by  any  limit 
of  fact  whatever,  he  entertained  her, 
and  took  her  out  of  herself  a  little 
by  extemporaneous  pictures.  He 
told  her  all  his  thrilling  adventures 
by  tlood  and  field,  not  one  of  which 
had  ever  occurred;  yet  he  made  them 
all  sound  like  truth.  lie  invented 
strange  characters,  and  set  them 
talking.  lie  went  after  great  whales, 
and  harpooned  one,  which  slapped* 
his  l>oat  into  fragments  with  one 
stroke  of  its  tail,  then  died;  and  he 
hung  on  by  the  harpoon  protruding 
from  the  carcass  till  a  ship  came  ami 
picked  him  up.  He  shot  a  lion  that 
was  carrying  off  his  favorite  Hot- 
tentot, lie  encountered  another  ; 
Bounded  him  with  i  oth  barrel-  \  wa  i 
seized,  and  dragged  along  th  :  ground, 
and  gave  himself  up  for  lost  ;  but 
kept  firing  his  revolver  down  the 
monster's  throat,  till  at  last  he  siek- 

elieil  that    one,  Illnl     SO    escaped    OUt 

of  death's  maw.  He  did  not*  say  how 
he  ha  I  fired    in    the  air,  and    ridden 

fourteen  miles  on  end  al  the  bare 
sight  of  a  lion's  cub;  but,  to  com- 
pel] ate    thai     one    n    l  r\e,    ;  lu 


198 


A   SIMPLETON. 


into  a  raging  torrent,  and  saved  a 
drowning  woman  by  her  long  hair, 
which  he  caught  in  his  teeth.  He 
rode  a  race  on  an  ostrich  against  a 
friend  on  a  zebra,  which  went  faster, 
hut  threw  his  rider,  and  screamed 
with  rage  at  not  being  able  to  eat 
him ;  he,  Falcon,  having  declined  to 
run  unless  his  friend's  zebra  was 
muzzled.  He  fed  the  hungry, 
clothed  the  naked,  and  shot  a  wild 
elephant  in  the  eye ;  and  all  this 
he  enlivened  with  pictorial  descrip- 
tions of  no  mean  beauty,  and  as  like 
South  Africa  as  if  it  had  been  feu 
George  Robins  advertising  the  Con- 
tinent for  sale. 

In  short,  never  Mas  there  a  more 
voluble  and  interesting  liar  by  word 
of  mouth;  and  never  was  there  a 
more  agreeable  creature  interposed 
between  a  bereaved  widow  and  her 
daily  grief  and  regrets.  He  took 
her  a  little  out  of  herself,  and  did 
her  good. 

At  last,  such  was  the  charm  of 
infinite  lying,  she  missed  him  on 
the  days  he  did  not  come,  and  was 
brighter  when  he  did  come  and 
lie. 

Things  went  smoothly,  and  so 
pleasantly,  that  he  would  gladly 
have  prolonged  this  form  of  court- 
ship tor  a  month  or  two  longer 
sooner  than  risk  a  premature  decla- 
ration. But  more  than  one  cause 
drove  him  to  a  bolder  course,  —  his 
passion,  which  increased  in  violence 
by  contact  with  its  beautiful  object, 
and  also  a  great  uneasiness  he  felt 
at  not  hearing  from  Phoebe.  This 
silence  was  ominous.  He  and  shi 
knew  each  other,  and  what  the  other 
was  capable  of.  He  knew  she  was 
the  woman  to  cross  the  seas  after 
him,  if  Staines  left  the  diggings, and 
any  explanation  took  place  that 
might  point  to  his  whereabouts. 

These  double  causes  precipitated 
matters ;  and  at  last  he  began  to 
throw  more  devotion  into  his  man- 
ner. And,  having  so  prepared  her 
for  a  few  days,  ho  took  his  oppor- 
tunity, and  said  one  day,  "YVc  arc 


both  unhappy.  Give  me  the  right 
to  console  you." 

She  colored  high,  and  said,  "  You 
have  consoled  me  more  than  all  the 
world.  But  there  is  a  limit ;  always 
will  be." 

One  less  adroit  would  have 
brought  her  to  the  point ;  but  this 
artist  only  sighed,  and  let  the  arrow 
rankle.  By  this  means  he  out- 
fenced  her ;  for  now  she  had  listened 
10  a  declaration,  and  not  stopped 
it  short. 

lie  played  melancholy  for  a  day 
or  two;  and  then  he  tried  her  another 
way.  lie  said,  "  I  promised  your 
dying  husband  to  be  your  protector, 
and  a  father  to  his  child.  I  see  but 
one  way  to  keep  my  word  ;  and  that 
gives  me  courage  to  speak  :  without 
that,  I  never  could.  Rosa,  I  loved 
you  years  ago  :  I  am  unmarried  for 
your  sake.  Let  me  be  your  hus- 
band, and  a  father  to  your  child." 

Rosa  shook  her  head.  "  I  could 
not  marry  again.  I  esteem  you;  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you ;  and  I 
know  I  behaved  ill  to  you  before. 
If  I  could  marry  again,  it  would  be 
you.  But  I  cannot.  Oh,  never, 
never !  " 

"  Then  we  are  both  to  be  un- 
happy all  our  days." 

"1  shall,  as  I  ought  to  be.  You 
will  not,  I  hope.  I  shall  miss  you 
sadly;  hut,  for  all  that,  I  advise 
you  to  leave  me.  You  will  carry 
my  everlasting  gratitude,  go  where 
you  will :  that  and  my  esteem  are 
all  I  have  to  give." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  hope 
he  who  is  gone  will  forgive  my 
want  of  courage." 

"  He  who  is  gone  took  my  prom- 
ise never  to  marry  again." 

"  Dying  men  see  clearer.  I  am 
sure  he  wished  —  no  matter.  It  is 
too  delicate."  He  kissed  her  hand 
and  went  out,  a  picture  of  dejec- 
tion. 

Mrs.  Staines  shed  a  tear  for  him. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  him  lor 
several  days  ;  and  Bosa  pitied  him 
more  and  more,  and  felt  a  certain 


A   SIMPLETON". 


199 


discontent  with  herself,  and  doubt 
whether  she  had  done  right. 

Matters  were  in  tin's  state,  when, 
one  morning,  Emily  came  scream- 
in,;  in  from  the  garden,  "The 
child  !  Master  Christie  !  Where  is 
he  1    Where  is  he  I  " 

The  house  was  alarmed.  The 
garden  searched,  the  adjoining  pad- 
dock.     The  child  was  gone. 

Emily  was  examined,  and  owned, 
with  many  sobs  and  hysterical  cries, 
that  she  had  put  him  down  in  the 
summer-house  for  a  minute,  while 
she  went  to  ask  the  gardener  for 
some  balm,  balm-tea  being  a  favor- 
ite drink  of  hers.  "  But  there  was 
nobody  mar,  that  1  saw,"  she 
sobbed. 

Further  inquiry  proved,  however, 
that  a  toll  gypsy  woman  had  been 
seen  prowliny  about  that  morning; 
and  suspicion  instantly  fastened  on 
her.  Servants  were  sent  out  right 
and  [eft,  but  nothing  discovered  ; 
and  the  agonized  mother,  terrified 
out  of  her  wits,  had  Falcon  tele- 
graphed to  immediately. 

He  came  galloping  down  that  very 
evening,  and  heard  the  story.  He 
galloped  into  Gravesend,  and,  alter 
seeing  the  police,  sent  word  out  he 
should  advertise.  He  placarded 
Gravesend  with  rewards,  and  a  re- 
ward of  a  thousand  pounds;  the 
child  to  be  brought  to  him,  and  DO 
questions  asked. 

Meantime,  the  police  and  many 
of  the  neighboring  gentry  came 
about  the  miserable  mother  with 
their  vague  ideas. 

Down  comes  Falcon  again  next 

day  ;   tells   what  he   has  done,   and 

them     all    with    contempt 

"  Don'tyou  be  afraid,  Mrs.  Staines," 

said  he.    -  v.,,,  win  get  him  back. 

1  have  taken  the  sure  way.  This 
sort  of  rogues  dan  not  e.o  near  the 
police;  and  the  police  can't  find 
them.      You  have  no  enemies  :   it  is 

only  some  woman  that  has  fancied 

a  beautiful  child.  Well,  she  can 
have  them  by  the  score  for  a  t  ho  it- 
Band  poui 


He  was  the  only  one  with  a  real 
idea:  the  woman  saw  it,  and  clung 
to  him.     He  left  late  at  night. 

Next  morning,  out  came  the  ad- 
vertisements ;  and  he  sent  her  a 
handful  by  special  messenger.  His 
zeal  and  activity  kept  her  bereaved 
heart  from  utter  despair. 

At  eleven  that  night  came  a  tele- 
graph :  — 

"  1  have  got  him.  Coming  down 
by  special  train." 

Then  what  a  hurst  of  joy  and 
gratitude!  The  very  walls'  of  the 
house  seemed  to  ring  with  it  as  a 
harp  rings  with  music.  A  special 
train  too!  He  would  not  let  the 
mother  yearn  all  night. 

At  one  in  the  morning,  he  drove 
up  with  the  child  and  a  hired  nurse. 

Imagine  the  scene!  —  the  moth- 
er's screams  of  joy,  her  furious 
kisses,  her  cooing,  her  tears,  and  all 
the  miracles  ot  nature  at  such  a 
time.  The  servants  all  mingled 
with  their  employers  in  the  general 
rapture;  and  Emily,  who  was  palo 
as  death,  cried  and  sobbed  and  said, 
"  O  ma'am  !  Ill  never  let  him  out 
of  my  sight  again,  no,  not  for  one 
minute."  falcon  made  her  a  sig- 
nal, and  went  out.  She  met  hint 
in  the  garden. 

She  was  much  Rgitated,  and  cried, 
"  <  >h,  you  did  well  to  brine  him  to- 
day. I  could  not  have  kept  it  an- 
other hour.     I'm  a  wretch  !  " 

"  You  are  a  good  kind  girl  ;  and 
lure's  the  fifty  pounds  1  promised 
you." 

"  Well,  antl  I  have  earned  it." 
"  Of  coarse. you  have.     Meet  me 
in  tin:  garden  to-morrow  morning, 

and  I'll  show  von  you  have  done  a 

kind  thine  to  your  mistress,  as  well 
as  me.  And,  us  tor  the  fifty  pounds, 
that  is  nothing  ;   do  you  hear  '      It  is 

nothing  at  all,  compared  with  what 
I  will  do  tor  you,  if  you  will  be  true 
to  tin-,  and  hold  your  lQngU8." 

"  ( Mi  !  as  tor  that,  my  tongue 
sha'n't  betray  yon,  nor  shame  »"• 
You    are   a    gi  nth  man,    and    I    do 


200 


A   SIMPLETON. 


think  you  love  her,  or  I  would  not 
help  you." 

So  she  salved  her  nursemaid's 
conscience  with  the  help  of  the  fifty 
pounds. 

The  mother  was  left  to  her  rap- 
ture that  night.  In  the  morning 
Falcon  told  his  tale.  At  two,  p.m., 
a  man  had  called  on  him,  and  had 
produced  one  of  his  advertisements, 
and  had  asked  him  if  that  was  all 
square, — no  bobbies  on  the  lurk. 
" '  All  square,  my  fine  fellow,'  said 
I.  'Well/  said  he,  'I  suppose 
yon  arc  a  gentleman.'  —  'I  atn  of 
that  opinion  too,'  said  I.  '  Well, 
sir,'  says  he,  '  I  know  a  party  as 
has  found  a  young  gent  as  comes 
werry  nigh  your  advertisement.' > — 
'  It  will  be  a  very  lucky  find  to 
that  party,'  I  said,  '  if  he  is  on  the 
square.'  —  '  Oh !  we  are  always  on 
the  square,  when  the  blunt  is  put 
down.'  —  'The  blunt  for  the  child, 
when  you  like,  and  where  you  like,' 
said  I.  '  You  are  the  right  sort,' 
said  he.  '  I  am,'  replied  I.  '  Will 
you  come  and  see  if  it  is  all  right  ? ' 
^aid  he.  '  In  a  minute,'  said  I. 
Stepped  into  my  bedroom,  and  load- 
ed my  six-shooter." 

"  Whait  is  that  ?  "  said  Lusignan. 

"  A  revolver  with  six  barrels  :  by 
the  by,  the  very  same  I  killed  the 
lion  with.  Ugh  !  I  never  think  of 
that  scene  without  feeling  a  little 
quiver;  and  my  nerves  are  pretty 
good  too.  Well,  he  took  me  into 
an  awful  part  of  the  town,  down  a 
filthy  close,  into  some  boozing  den, 
—  I  beg  pardon,  some  thieves '  pub- 
lic-house." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend !  "  said  Rosa, 
"  were  you  not  frightened  1 " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  or 
play  the  hero  ?  I  think  I'll  tell  you 
the  truth.  I  felt  a  little  frightened, 
lest  they  should  get  my  money  and 
my  life  without  my  getting  my 
godson  :  that  is  what  I  call  him 
now.  Well,  two  ugly  dogs  came 
in,  and  said,  '  Let  us  see  the  flim- 
sies before  you  sec  the  kid.'  " 

"  '  That  is  rather  sharp  practice, 


I  think,'  said  I ;  '  however,  here's 
the  swag,  and  here's  the  watch- 
dog.' So  I  put  down  the  notes, 
and  my  hand  over  them,  with  my 
revolver  cocked,  and  ready  to  fire." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Rosa  panting* 
ly.  "  Ah,  you  were  a  match  lor 
them  !  " 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Staines,  if  I  was 
writing  you  a  novel,  I  suppose  I 
should  tell  you  the  rogues  recoiled  ; 
but  the  truth  is  they  only  laughed, 
and  were  quite  pleased.  '  Swell's 
in  earnest,'  said  one.  'Jem,  show 
the  kid.'  Jem  whistled ;  and  in 
came  a  great,  tall,  black  gypsy  wo- 
man, with  the  darling.  My  heart 
was  in  my  mouth;  but  I  would  not 
let  them  see  it.  I  said,  '  It  is  all 
right.  Take  half  the  notes  here, 
and  half  at  the  door.'  They 
agreed,  and  then  I  did  it  quick,  — 
walked  to  the  door;  took  the  child; 
gave  them  the  odd  notes  ;  and  made 
off  as  fast  as  I  could ;  hired  a  nurse 
at  the  hospital ;  and  the  rest  you 
know." 

"Papa,"  said  Rosa  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  there  is  but  one  man  in 
England  who  would  have  got  me 
back  my  child  ;  and  this  he." 

When  they  were  alone,  Falcon 
told  her  she  had  said  words  that 
had  gladdened  his  very  heart. 
"  You  admit  I  can  carry  out  one- 
half  of  his  wishes  ?  "  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  "  Yes  ;  "  then 
colored  high;  then,  to  turn  it  off, 
said,  "But  I  cannot  allow  you  to 
lose  that  large  sum  of  money.  You 
must  let  me  repay  you." 

"  Large  sum  of  money  ! "  said 
he.  "  It  is  no  more  to  me  than 
sixpence  to  most  people.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  my  money ; 
and  I  never  shall  know,  unless  you 
will  make  a  sacrifice  of  your  own 
feelings  to  the  wishes  of  the  dead. 
0  Mrs.  Staines,  Rosa  !  do  pray  con- 
sider that  a  man  of  that  wisdom 
sees  the  future,  and  gives  wise  ad- 
vice. Sure  am  I,  that,  if  you  could 
overcome  your  natural  repugnance 
to  a  second   marriage,  it  would  be 


A   SIMPLETON. 


201 


the  host  thing  for  your  little  boy 
(I  love  him  already  as  if  he  were  my 
own),  and  in  time  would  bring 
you  peace  and  comfort,  and  some 
day,  years  hence,  even  happiness. 
You  are  my  only  love  ;  yet  I  should 
never  have  come  to  you  agafn  if  he 
had  not  sent  me.  Do  consider  how 
strange  it  all  is,  and  what  it  points 
to,  and  don't  let  me  have  the  mis- 
ery of  losing  you  again,  when  you 
can  do  no  better  now,  alas !  than 
reward  my  fidelity." 

She  was  much  moved  at  this  art- 
ful appeal,  and  said,  "  If  I  was  sure 
I  was  obeying  his  will.  But  how 
can  I  feel  that,  when  we  both  prom- 
ised never  to  wed  again  ?  " 

"A  man's  dying  words  are  more 
sacred  than  any  other.  You  have 
his  letter." 

"  Yes ;  but  he  does  not  say  '  mar- 
ry again.' " 

"  That  is  what  he  meant,  though." 

"How  can  you  say  that?  How 
can  you  know  !  " 

"  Because  I  put  the  words  he 
said  to  me  together  with  that  short 
line  to  you.  Wind,  I  don't  say 
that  he  did  not  exaggerate  my  poor 
merits  :  on  the  contrary,  I  think  he 
did;  but  I  declare  to  you  that  he 
did  hope  I  should  t;ike  charge  of 
you  and  your  child.  Right  or 
Wrong,  it  was  his  wish  :  so  pray  do 
not  deceive  yourself  on  that  point." 

This  made  more  impression  on 
her  than  any  thing  else  he  could 
say;  and  she  said.  "  I  promise you 
one  thing,  —  I  will  never  marry  any 
man  bill  you." 

Instead  of  pressing  her  further, 
as  an  inferior  artist  would,  he 
broke  into  raptures,  kissed  her  hand 
tenderly,   and   was    In    such    high 

spirits,  and  so  Voluble  all  day,  that 
she  smiled  sw.-ctly  on  him,  and 
thought  to  herself,  "  Poor  soul  I  how 
happy  I  could  make  him  with  a 
word*!  " 

As   he  WM  always  watching  her 

—  a  practice  he  carried  further 

than   any  male  person  living,  —  he 

divined  that  sentiment,  and  wrought 


upon  it  so,  that  at  last  he  tormented 
her  into  saying  she  would  marry 
him  some  day. 

When  he  had  brought  her  to  that, 
he  raged  inwardly  to  think  he  had 
not  two  years  to  work  in ;  for  it 
was  evident  she  would  marry  him 
iu  time  :  but  no,  it  had  taken  him 
more  than  four  months,  close  siege, 
to  bring  her  to  that.  No  word  from 
Phcebe.  An  ominous  dread  hung 
over  his  own  soul.  His  wife  would 
be  upon  him,  or,  worse  still,  her 
brother  Dick,  who,  he  knew,  would 
beat  him  to  a  mummy  on  the  spot, 
or,  worst  of  all,  the  husband  of 
llosa  Staines,  who  would  kill  hitn, 
or  fling  him  into  a  prison.  He  must 
make  a  push. 

In  this  emergency  he  used  his 
ally,  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  told  him 
Mrs.  Staines  had  promised  to  marry 
him,  but  at  some  distant  date.  This 
would  not  do:  he  must  look  alter 
his  enormous  interests  in  the  colo- 
ny, and  he  was  so  much  in  love,  ho 
could  not  leave  her. 

The  old  gentleman  was  desperate- 
ly fond  of  Falcon,  and  hent  on  the 
match  ;  and  he  actually  consented 
to  give  his  daughter  what  Falcon 
called  a  little  push. 

The  little  push  was  a  very  great 
one,  I  think. 

It  consisted  in  directing  the  cler- 
gyman to  call  in  church  the  banns 
td  marriage  between  Reginald  fal- 
con ami  Rosa  St.iines. 

They  were  both  iu  church  to- 
gether when  this  was  done.  Rosa 
all  but  screamed,  and  then  turned 
red  as  lire,  and  white  as  a  ghost,  by 
turns.     Site  never  Mund  up  again 

all  the  service  ;   and.  iu  going  home, 

refused  Falcon's  arm,  and  walked 
swiftly  home  by  herself     Not  that 

she    bad    tbc    slightest    intention    of 

passing  tlii^   monstrous  thing  by  in 

silence.      I  >n  the  contrary,  her  wrath 

was  boiling  over,  and  so   hot,  that 

she  knew  ghe  should  make  a  scene 
in  the  street  if  she  said  a  word 
there. 

Once  inside  the  house,  she  turned 


202 


A  SIMPLETON. 


on  Falcon,  with  a  white  cheek  and 
a  flashing  eye,  and  said,  "Follow 
me,  sir,  if  you  please."  She  led  the 
way  to  her  father's  study.  "Papa," 
said  she,  "  I  throw  myself  on  your 
protection.  Mr.  Falcon  has  affront- 
ed me." 

"O  Rosa '."cried  Falcon,  affect- 
ing utter  dismay. 

"Publicly,  publicly.  He  has  had 
the  banns  of  marriage  cried  in  the 
church  without  my  permission." 

"  Don't  raise  your  voice  so  loud, 
child.  All  the  house  will  hear 
you." 

"  I  choose  all  the  house  to  hear 
me.  I  will  not  endure  it.  I  will 
never  marry  you  now,  —  never  ! " 

"  Rosa,  my  child,"  said  Lusignan, 
"  you  need  not  scold  poor  Falcon  ; 
for  I  am  the  culprit.  It  was  I  who 
ordered  the  banns  to  he  cried." 

"  O  papa !  you  had  no  right  to 
do  such  a  thing  as  that." 

"  I  think  I  had.  .  I  exercised  pa- 
rental authority  for  once,  and  for 
your  good  and  for  the  good  of  a 
true  and  faithful  lover  of  yours, 
whom  you  jilted  once,  and  now  you 
trifle  with  his  affection  and  his  in- 
terests. He  loves  you  too  well  to 
leave  you  ;  yet  you  know  his  vast 
estates  and  interests  require  his  su- 
pervision." 

"  That  for  his  vast  estates ! "  said 
Rosa  contemptuously.  "  I  am  not 
to  be  driven  to  the  altar  like  this, 
when  my  heart  is  in  the  grave. 
Don't  you  do  it  again,  papa,  or  I'll 
get  up  and  forbid  the  banns  ;  affront 
for  affront." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that,"  said 
the  old  gentleman  dryly. 

Rosa  vouchsafed  no  reply,  hut 
swept  out  of  the  room  with  burn- 
ing cheeks  and  glittering  eyes,  and 
was  not  seen  all  day  ;  would  not 
dine  with  them,  in  spite  of  three 
humble,  deprecating  notes  Falcon 
sent  her. 

"  Let  the  spiteful  cat  alone,"  said 
old  Lusignan.  "  You  and  I  will 
dine  together  in  peace  and  quiet." 

It  was  a  dull  dinner;  but  Falcon 


took  advantage  of  the  opportunity, 
impregnated  the  father  with  his 
views,  and  got  him  to  promise  to 
have  the  banns  cried  next  Sunday. 
He  consented. 

Rosa  learned  next  Sunday  morn- 
ing that  this  was  to  be  done ;  and 
her  courage  failed  her.  She  did  not 
go  to  church  at  all. 

She  cried  a  great  deal,  and  sub- 
mitted to  violence,  as  your  true 
women  arc  too  apt  to  do.  They 
had  compromised  her,  and  so  con- 
quered her.  The  permanent  feel- 
ings of  gratitude  and  esteem  caused 
a  re-action  after  her  passion  ;  and  she 
gave  up  open  resistance  as  hopeless. 

Falcon  renewed  his  visits,  and  was 
received  with  the  mere  sullen  languor 
of  a  woman  who  has  given  in. 

The  banns  were  cried  the  third 
time. 

Then  the  patient  Rosa  bought 
laudanum  enough  to  re-unite  her  to 
her  Christopher  in  spite  of  them 
all,  and,  having  provided  herself 
with  this  resource,  became  more 
cheerful,  and  even  kind  and  caress- 
ing. 

She  declined  to  name  the  day  at 
present ;  and  that  was  awkward. 
Nevertheless  the  conspirators  felt 
sure  they  should  tire  her  out  into 
doing  that  before  long;  for  they 
saw  their  way  clear :  and  she  was 
perplexed  in  the  extreme. 

In  her  perplexity  she  used  to  talk 
to  a  certain  beautiful  star  she  called 
her  Christopher.  She  loved  to  fancy 
he  M-as  now  an  inhabitant  of  that 
bright  star;  and  often,  on  a  clear 
night,  she  would  look  up,  and  beg 
for  guidance  from  this  star.  This 
I  consider  foolish :  but  then  I  am 
old  and  sceptical;  she  was  still 
young  and  innocent,  and  sorely  puz- 
zled to  know  her  husband's  real 
will. 

I  don't  suppose  the  star  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it,  except  as  a  focus 
of  her  thoughts  ;  but  one  fine  night, 
after  a  long  inspection  of  Christo- 
pher's star,  she  dreamed  a  dream. 
She  thought  that  a  lovely  wedding- 


A   SIMPLETON. 


203 


dress  hung  over  a  chair;  that  a  crown 
of  diamonds  as  large  as  an  almond 
sparkled  ready  for  her  on  the  dress- 
ing-table, and  she  was  undoing  her 
black  gown,  and  about  to  take  it 
off,  when  suddenly  the  diamonds 
began  to  pale,  and  the  white  satin 
dress  to  melt  away;  and  in  its  place 
there  rose  a  pale  face  and  a  long 
beard,  and  Christopher  Staines 
stood  before  her,  and  said  quietly, 
"  Is  this  how  you  keep  your  vow  !  " 
Then  he  sank  slowly  ;  and  the  white 
dress  was  Mack,  and  the  diamonds 
were  jet:  and  she  awoke  with  his 
gentle  words  of  remonstrance,  and 
his  very  tours,  ringing  in  her  ear. 

This  dream,  co-operating  with  her 
previous  agitation  and  misgivings, 
shook  Ilia-  very  much.  She  did  not 
come  down  stairs  till  near  dinner- 
time ;  and  both  her  father  and  Fal- 
con, who  came  as  a  matter  of  course 
to  spend  his  Sunday,  were  struck 
with  her  appearance.  She  was  pale, 
gloomy,  morose,  and  had  an  air  of 
desperation  about  her. 

Falcon  would  not  see  it.  He  knew 
that  it  is  salest  to  let  her  sex  alone 
when  they  look  like  that,  and  the 
storm  sometimes  subsides  of  itself. 

After  dinner  Rosa  retired  early; 
and,  soon  after,  she  was  heard  walk- 
ing rapidly  up  and  down  the  dress- 
ing-room. 

This  was  quite  unusual,  and  made 
a  noise. 

Papa  Lusignan  thought  it  incon- 
siderate ;  and  after  a  while,  remark- 
ing gently  that  he  was  not  particu- 
larly fond  of  noise,  he  proposed  they 
should  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  on 
th  ■  lawn. 

They  did  so;  hut  after  a  while, 
finding  thai  Falcon  was  not  smok- 
ing, he  -aid,  "  Don't  let  me  detain 
ROSS  i-  alone." 

Falcon  took  the  hint,  anil  went 
to  the  drawing-room.  Rosa  nut 
him  on  thr  Btairs,  with  a  scarf  over 
her   shoulders.      "  I    uiu.-t    speak    to 

papa,"  said  -he.    "  Where  i-  In-  '  " 

"  Mr  is  mi  the  lawn,  d<  ar  Rosa," 
said     Falcon    in     his    most    dulcet 


1  tones.  He  was  sure  of  his  ally,  and 
very  glad  to  use  him  as  a  buffer  to 
receive  the  first  shock. 

So  he  went  into  the  drawing-room, 
where  all  the  lights  were  burning, 
and  quietly  took  up  a  book.  Hut 
he  did  not  read  a  line  :  lie  was  too 
occupied  in  trying  to  read  his  own 
future. 

The  mean  villain  who  is  incapa- 
ble of  remorse  is,  of  all  men,  most 
capable  of  fear.  His  villain-  had, 
to  all  appearance,  readied  the  goal  ; 
for  he  felt  sure  that  all  Rosa's  strng- 
gles  would,  sooner  or  later,  succumb 
to  her  sense  of  gratitude  and  his 
strong  will  and  patient  temper. 
Hut,  when  the  victory  was  won, 
what  a  life  !  He  must  fly  with  her 
to  some  foreign  country,  pursued 
from  pillar  to  post  by  an  enraged 
husband  and  by  the  offended  law. 
And,  if  he  escaped  the  vindictive  foe 
a  year  or  two,  how  could  he  escape 
that  other  enemy  he  knew  and 
dreaded, —  poverty  ?  lie  foresaw  lie. 
should  come  to  hate  the  woman  be 
was  about  to  wrong,  and  she  would 
instantly  revenue  herself  by  mak- 
ing him  an  exile,  and,  soon  or  late,  a 
prisoner  or  a  pauper. 

While  these  misgivings  battled 
with  his  base  but  ardent  pas-ion, 
strange  things  were  going  on  out 
of  doors,  which,  however,  will  be 
best  related  in  another  sequence  of 
events,  to  which,  indeed,  they  fairly 
belong. 


CIIAFTER   XXIII. 
Staines  and  Mrs.  Falcon  landed 

at  Plymouth,  and  went  up  to  town 
by  I  he  same  train.  They  parted  in 
London,  —  Staines  to  go  down  to 
(nave-end,  Mr-.  Falcon  to  vi.-it  her 
husband's  old  haunts,  and  see  if  gho 
could  find  him. 

She  ilid  not  find  him  ;  but  she 
heard  of  him,  and  learned  thai  be. 
always  went  down  to  (irave-end 
from  Saturday  till  Monday. 


204 


A   SIMPLETON. 


Notwithstanding  all  she  had  said 
to  Staines,  the  actual  information 
startled  her,  and  gave  her  a  turn. 
She  was  obliged  to  sit  down;- for  her 
knees  seemed  to  give  way.  It  was 
but  a  momentary  weakness.  She 
was  now  a  wife  and  a  mother,  and 
had  her  rights.  She  said  to  herself, 
"  My  rogue  has  turned  that  poor 
woman's  head  long  before  this,  no 
doubt.  But  I  shall  go  down,  and 
just  bring  him  away  by  the  ear." 

For  once  her  bitter  indignation 
overpowered  every  other  sentiment, 
and  she  lost  no  time,  but,  late  as  it 
was,  went  down  to  Gravesend,  or- 
dered a  private  sitting-room  and 
bedroom  for  the  night,  and  took  a 
fly  to  Kent  Villa. 

But  Christopher  Staines  had  the 
start  of  her.  He  had  already  gone 
down  to  Gravesend  with  his  carpet 
bag,  left  it  at  the  inn,  and  walked 
to  Kent  Villa  that  lovely  summer 
night,  the  happiest  husband  in  Eng- 
land. 

His  heart  had  never  for  one  in- 
stant been  disturbed  by  Mrs.  Fal- 
con's monstrous  suspicion.  He 
looked  on  her  as  a  monomaniac,  a 
sensible  woman  insane  on  one  point, 
—  her  husband. 

When  he  reached  the  villa,  how- 
ever, he  thought  it  prudent  to  make 
sure  that  Falcon  had  come  to  Eng- 
land at  all,  and  discharged  his  com- 
mission. He  would  not  run  the 
risk,  small  as  he  thought  it,  of 
pouncing  unexpected  on  his  Rosa, 
being  taken  for  a  ghost,  and  terrify- 
ing her,  or  exciting  her  to  mad- 
ness. 

Now,  the  premises  of  Kent  Villa 
were  admirably  adapted  to  what 
they  call  in  war  a  reconnoissance. 
The  lawn  was  studded  with  lau- 
rustinas  and  other  shrubs  that  had 
grown  magnificently  in  that  Kent- 
ish air. 

Staines  had  no  sooner  set  his  foot 
on  the  lawn  than  he  heard  voices. 
He  crept  towards  them  from  bush  to 
bush ;  and,  standing  in  impenetra- 
ble shade,  he  saw  in  the  clear  moon- 


light two  figures,  —  Mr.   Lusignan 
and  Reginald  Falcon. 

These  two  dropped  out  only  a 
word  or  two  at  intervals  ;  but  what 
they  did  say  struck  Staines  as  odd. 
For  one  thing,  Lusignan  remarked, 
"  I  suppose  you  will  want  to  go  back 
to  the  Cape.  Such  enormous  es- 
tates as  yours  will  want  looking 
after." 

"  Enormous  estates  !  "  said  Staines 
to  himself.  "  Then  they  must  have 
grown  very  fast  in  a  few  months." 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  said  Falcon ;  "  but 
I  think  of  showing  her  a  little  of 
Europe  first." 

Staines  thought  this  still  more 
mysterious.  He  waited  to  hear  more ; 
but  the  succeeding  remarks  were  of 
an  ordinary  kind. 

He  noticed,  however,  that  Falcon 
spoke  of  his  wife  by  her  Christian 
name,  and  that  neither  party  men- 
tioned Christopher  Staines.  He 
seemed  quite  out  of  their  little  world. 

Staines  began  to  feel  a  strange 
chill  creep  down  him. 

Presently  Falcon  went  off  to  join 
Rosa  ;  and  Staines  thought  it  was 
quite  time  to  ask  the  old  gentleman 
whether  Falcon  had  executed  his 
commission,  or  not. 

He  was  only  hesitating  how  to  do 
it,  not  liking  to  pounce  in  the  dark 
on  a  man  who  abhorred  every  thing 
like  excitement ;  when  Rosa  herself 
came  flying  out  in  great  agitation. 

Oh  the  thrill  he  felt  at  the  sight 
of  her  !  With  all  his  self-possession, 
he  would  have  sprung  forward,  and 
taken  her  in  his  arms  with  a  mighty 
cry  of  love,  if  she  had  not  immedi- 
ately spoken  words  that  rooted  him 
to  the  spot  with  horror.  But  she 
came  with  the  words  in  her  very 
mouth,  "  Papa,  I  am  come  to  tell 
you  I  cannot  and  will  not  marry 
Mr.  Falcon." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  you  will,  my  dear." 

"Never!  I'll  die  sooner.  Not 
that  you  will  care  for  that.  I  tell 
you  I  saw  my  Christopher  last  night, 
—  in  a  dream.  He  had  a  beard ; 
but  I  saw  him,  oh,  so  plain  !  and  he 


A    SIMPLETON. 


205 


6aid,  '  Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your 
promise?  '  That  is  enough  for  me. 
1  have  prayed  again  and  again  to 
lii's  star  for  light.  I  am  so  per- 
plexed and  harassed  by  you  all,  and 
you  make  me  believe  what  you  like. 
Well,  I  hare  had  a  revelation.  It  is 
not  my  pour  lost  darling's  wish  I 
should  wed  again.  1  don't  believe 
Mr.  Falcon  am  more.  I  hear  noth- 
ing but  lies  by  day.  The  truth 
comes  to  my  bedside  at  night.  I 
will  not  marry  this  man." 

"  Consider,  Rosa,  your  credit  i< 
pledged.  You  must  not  be  always 
jilting  him  heartlessly.  Dreams ! 
nonsense.  There  —  I  love  peace. 
It  is  no  use  your  storming  at  me. 
1>  tve  to  the  moon  an  1  the  stars,  it' 
you  like,  and,  when  you  have  done, 
do  pray  come  in  and  behave  like  a 
rational  woman,  who  has  pledged 
her  faith  to  an  honorable  man,  and 
a  man  of  vast  estates,  — a  man  that 
nursed  your  husband  in  his  last  ill- 
ness, found  your  child,  at  a  great 
expense,  when  you  had  lost  him, 
and  merits  eternal  gratitude,  not 
eternal  jilting.  I  have  no  patience 
with  you." 

The  old  gentleman  retired  in  high 
dudgeon. 

Staines  stood  in  the  black  shade 
of  bis  cedar-tree,  rooted  to  theground 
by  this  revelation  of  male  villany 
and  female  credulity. 

He  did  not  know  what  on  earth  to 
do.  He  wanted  to  kill  Falcon,  but 
not  to  terrify  his  own  wife  to  death. 
It  was  now  too  char  she  thought  he 
was  dead. 

Ron  watched  her  father's  retiring 
figure  out  of  right.     "  Very  well." 

said  she,  clinching  her  teeth.  Then 
suddenly  she  tuned,  and  looked  up 
to  heaven.  "Do  yon  hear  .'"  said 
•he.  "My  Christie's  star!  I  am 
a  ]>oor  perplexed  creature.  1  asked 
yon  for  a  sign;  and  that  reiy  night 

I  saw  him  in  a  dream.      Why  should 

I   marry  out  of  gratitude  '.      Why 

should  [many  one  man  when  I  love 
another  '     What  does  it  m  liter  bis 

being  dead  ?     I  love  him  too  well  to 
18 


be  wife  to  any  living  man.  They 
persuade  me,  they  coax  me,  they  pull 
me,  they  push  me.  I  see  they  will 
make  me ;  but  I  will  outwit 
them.  See,  see !  "  and  she  held 
up  a  little  ph'al  in  the  moon- 
light. "  This  shall  cut  the  knot  for 
me :  this  shall  keep  me  true,  to  my 
(  hristie,  and  save  me  from  breaking 
promises  I  ought  never  to  have 
made.  This  shall  unite  me  once 
more  with  him  1  killed  and  loved." 
She  m "ant  she  would  kill  herself 
the  night  before  the  wedding  ;  which 
perhaps  she  would  not,  and  perhaps 
she  would.  Who  can  till  !  The 
weak  are  violent.  But  Christopher, 
seeing  the  jioison  so  near  her  lips, 
was  perplexed,  took  two  strides, 
wrenched  it  out  of  her  hand  with  a 
snarl  of  rage,  and  instantly  plunged 
into  the  shade  again. 

Kosa  uttered  a  shriek,  and  flew 
into  the  bouse. 

The  farther  she  got,  the  more  ter- 
rified she  became;  and  soon  Christo- 
pher heard  her  screaming  in  the 
drawing-room  in  an  alarming  way. 
They  were  like  the  screams  of  liio 
insane. 

He  got  terribly  anxious,  and  fol- 
lowed her.  A 11  the  doors  were  open, 
As  he  went  up  stairs,  he  heard 
her  cry,  "His  ghost,  his  ghost!  I 
have  seen  his  ghost !  No,  no !  I 
feel  his  hand  upon  my  arm  now.  A 
beard  !  and  so  he  had  in  the  dream. 
He  is  alive.  My  darling  is  alive. 
You  have  deceived  me.  You  arc  an 
impostor,  a  villain.  Out  of  the 
house  this  moment,  or  he  shall  kill 
you." 

'•  Are  you  mad  1  "  cried  Falcon. 
"  How  can  he  be  alive  when  1  saw 
him  dead  '  " 

This  was  too  much.  Staines  gave 
the  door  a  blow  with  his  arm,  and 
strode  into  the  apartment,  looking 
white  and  tremendous. 

Falcon  saw  death  in  his  face  ; 
gave  B  shriek,  drew  hi-  re\ol\  er,  and 
tired  at  him  with  as  little  aim  as  lie 
had  at  the  Lioness;  then  made  for 
the  open  window.     Staines  seized  a 


206 


A   SIMPLETON. 


chair,  followed  him,  and  hurled  it  at 
him  ;  and  l  lie  chair  and  the  man  went 
through  the  window  together,  and 
then  there  was  a  strange  thud  heard 
outside. 

llosa  gave  a  loud  scream,  and 
swooned  away. 

Staines  laid  his  wife  flat  on  the 
floor,  got  the  women  about  her ;  and 
at  last  she  began  to  give  the  usual 
signs  of  returning  life. 

Staines  said  to  the  oldest  woman 
there,  "  If  she  sees  me,  she  will  go 
off  again.  Carry  her  to  her  room, 
and  tell  her,  by  degrees,  that  I  am 
alive." 

All  this  time  Papa  Lusignan  had 
sat  trembling  and  whimpering  in  a 
chair,  moaning,  "  This  is  a  painful 
scene,  veiy  painful."  But  at  last 
an  idea  struck  him,  —  "  Why,  you 

HAVE    KOB15KD    THE    OFFICE  !" 

Scarcely  was  Mrs.  Staines  out  of 
the  room,  when  a  fly  drove  up  ;  and 
this  was  immediately  followed  by 
violent  and  continuous  screaming 
close  tinder  the  window. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  sighed  Papa  Lusig- 
nan.    "  But  never  mind." 

They  ran  down,  and  found  Fal- 
con impaled  at  full  length  on  the 
spikes  of  the  villa,  and  Phoebe 
screaming  over  him,  and  trying  in 
vain  to  lift  him  off  them.  He  had 
struggled  a  little,  in  silent  terror, 
but  had  then  fainted  from  fear  and 
lo-s  of  blood  ;  and  lying  rather  inside 
the  rails,  which  were  high,  he  could 
not  be  extricated  from  the  outside. 

As  soon  as  his  miserable  condi- 
tion was  discovered,  the  servants  ran 
down  into  the  kitchen,  and  so"  up  to 
the  rails  by  the  area  steps.  These 
rails  hid  caught  him  :  one  had  gone 
clean  through  his  arm;  the  other 
had  penetrated  the  fleshy  part  of 
the  thigh;  and  a  third  through  his 
car. 

They  got  him  off;  but  he  was  in- 
sensible, and  the  place  drenched  with 
his  Mood. 

Phoebe  clutched  Staines  by  the 
arm.  "  Let  me  know  the  worst," 
said  she.     "  Is  he  dead  1  " 


Staines  examined  him,  and  said, 
"No." 

"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

"I?" 

"  Yes.  Who  can,  if  you  cannot  ? 
Oh,  have  mercy  on  me !  "  And  she 
went  on  her  knees  to  him,  and  put 
her  head  on  his  knees. 

lie  was  touched  by  her  simple 
faith ;  and  the  noble  traditions  of 
his  profession  sided  with  his  grati- 
tude to  this  injured  woman.  "My 
poor  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  will  do  my 
best,  for  your  sake." 

He  took  immediate  steps  for 
stanching  the  blood ;  and  the  fly 
carried  Phoebe  and  her  villain  to 
the  inn  at  Gravesend. 

Falcon  came  to  on  the  road,  but, 
finding  himself  alone  with  Phoebe, 
shammed  unconsciousness  of  every 
thing  but  pain. 

Staines,  being  thoroughly  en- 
raged witli  Rosa,  yet  remembering 
his  solemn  vow  never  to  abuse  her 
again,  saw  her  father,  and  told  him 
to  tell  her  he  should  think  over 
her  conduct  quietly,  not  wishing  to 
be  harder  upon  her  than  she  de- 
served. 

Rosa,  who  had  been  screaming 
and  crying  for  joy  ever  since  she 
came  to  her  senses,  was  not  so 
much  afflicted  at  this  message  as 
one  might  have  expected.  He  was 
alive ;  and  all  things  else  were  trifles. 

Nevertheless,  when  day  after  day 
went  by,  and  not  even  a  line  from 
Christopher,  she  began  to  fear  he 
would  cast  her  off  entirely ;  the 
more  so  as  she  heard  he  was  now 
and  then  at  Gravesend  to  visit  Mrs. 
Falcon  at  the  inn. 

While  matters  were  thus,  Uncle 
Philip  burst  on  her  like  a  bomb. 
"  He  is  alive !  he  is  alive  !  he  is 
alive  !  "  And  they  had  a  cuddle 
over  it. 

"  O  Uncle  Philip  !  Have  you 
seen  him  ?  " 

"  Seen  him  ?  Yes.  He  caught 
me  on  the  hop,  just  as  I  came  in 
from  Italy.  I  took  him  for  a 
ghost." 


A  SIMPLETON. 


207 


"  Oh !  weren't  you  frightened  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  don't  mind  ghosts. 
I'd  have  half  a  dozen  to  dinner 
every  day,  if  I  might  choose  'em. 
I  couldn't  stand  Stupid  ones.  But 
I  say,  his  temper  isn't  improved  by 
all  this  dying.  He  is  in  an  awful 
rage  with  you;  and  what  for?  " 

"  O  uncle !  what  for  ?  Because 
I'm  the  vilest  of  women." 

"  Vilest  of  fiddlesticks !  It's  his 
fault,  not  yours.  Shouldn't  have 
died.  It's  always  a  dangerous  ex- 
periment." 

"  /  shall  die  if  he  will  not  forgive 
me  He  keeps  away  from  me  and 
from  his  child." 

"  I'll  tell  you.  He  heard  in 
Gravescnd  your  banns  had  been 
cried  :  that  has  moved  the  peevish 
fellow's  bile." 

It  was  done  without  my  con- 
sent :  papa  will  tell  you  so.  And 
oh,  uncle  !  if  you  knew  the  arts,  the 
forged  letter  in  my  darling's  hand, 
tin  way  he  wrought  on  me.  O 
villain,  villain !  Uncle,  forgive 
your  poor  silly  niece,  that  the  world 
is  too  wicked  and  too  clever  for  her 
to  live  in  it." 

"  Because  you  arc  too  good 
and  innocenf,"  said  Uncle  Philip 
"  There,  don't  you  be  downhearted. 
I'll  soon  l>ririLr  you  two  together 
again,  —  a  couple  of  ninnies.  I'll 
tell  you  what  is  the  first  thing. 
You  must  come  and  live  with  me. 
Come  at  once,  bag  and  baggage. 
He  won't  show  here,  the  Bulky 
brut.." 

Philip  Staines  had  a  large  house 
in  Cavendish  Square,  a  crusty  old 

fatient,  like  himself,  had  left  him. 
t  was  his  humor  to  live  in  a  Corner 

of  this  mansion  ;  though  the  whole 
was  capitally  furnished  by  his  judi- 
cious purchases  at  auctions. 

He  gave  Rosa,  and  her  boy,  and 
bis  nurse,  the  entire  first  floor,  and 
told    her  Bhe  was    there    for   life. 

"  Look    here."    slid    he,    "  this    last 

affair  has  opened  my  eyes.     Such 

wo n  as  you  arc  the  sweeteners 

of  existence.     You  have    my  roof 


no  more.  Your  husband  will  make 
the  same  discovery.  Let  him  run 
about  and  be  miserable  a  bit.  He 
will  have  to  come  to  book." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  My  Christopher  will  never  say 
a  harsh  word  to  me.  All  the  worse 
for  me.  He  will  quietly  abandon 
a  creature  so  inferior  to  him." 

"Stuff!" 

Now  she  was  always  running  to 
the  window  in  hope  that  Christo- 
pher would  call  on  his  uncle,  and 
that  she  might  see  him ;  and  one 
day  she  gave  a  scream  so  eloquent, 
Philip  knew  what  it  meant.  "  Oct 
you  behind  that  screen,  you  and 
your  boy,"  said  he,  "  and  be  as  still 
as  mice.  Stop  —  give  me  that  letter 
the  scoundrel  forged,  and  the  ring." 

This  was  hardly  done,  and  Rosa 
out  of  sight,  and  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  when  Christopher 
was  announced.  Philip  received  him 
very  affectionately,  but  wasted  no 
time.     "  Been  to  Kent  Villa  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  the  grim  reply. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  sworn  never  to 
say  an  angry  word  to  her  again  ; 
and,  if  I  was  to  go  there,  I  should 
say  a  good  many  angry  ones.  Oh  ! 
when  1  think  that  her  folly  drove 
me  to  sea,  to  do  my  best  for  her, 
and  that  I  was  nearer  death  for 
that  woman  than  ever  man  was, 
and  lost  my  reason  for  her,  and 
went  through  toil,  privations,  hun- 
ger, exile,  mainly  for  her;  and  then 
to  find  the  banns  cried  in  open 
church  with  that  scoundrel — say 
no  more,  uncle.  I  shall  ie\  er  re- 
proach her,  and  never  forgive  her." 

"  She  was  deceived." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that  ;  but  nobody 
has  a  right  to  be  so  great  a  fool  as 
all  that." 

"It  was  not  her  folly,  but  her  in- 
nocence, that  was  imposed  on.  You 
a  philosopher,  and  not  know  that 
wisdom  itself  is  sometimes  imposed 
on  and  deceived  by  cunning  folly  1 
Have  you  forgotten  your  Mil- 
ton '.— 


208 


A  SIMPLETON. 


".  At  "Wisdom's  gate  Suspicion  sleeps, 
And  deems  no  ill  where  no  ill  seems." 

Conic,  come :  are  you  sure  you  are 
not  a  little  to  blame'?  Did  you 
write  home  the  moment  you  found 
you  were  not  dead  1 " 

Christopher  colored  high. 

"Evidently  not,"  said  the  keen 
old  man.  "  Aha  1  my  fine  fellow, 
have  I  found  the  flaw  in  your  own 
armor  ?  " 

"  I  did  wrong  ;  but  it  was  for  her. 
I  sinned — for  her.  I  could  not 
bear  her  to  be  without  money  ;_  and 
I  knew  the  insurance.  I  sinned 
for  her.  She  has  sinned  uyainst 
me" 

"  And  she  had  much  better  have 
sinned  against  God,  hadn't  she  1 
He  is  more  forgiving  than  we  per- 
fect creatures,  that  cheat  insurance 
companies.  And  so,  my  fine  fellow, 
you  hid  the  truth  from  her  for  two 
or  three  months.'* 

No  answer. 

"  Strike  off"  those  two  or  three 
months  :  would  the  banns  have  ever 
been  cried  1  " 

"Well,  uncle," said  Christopher, 
hard  pressed, "  I  am  glad  she  has 
got  a  champion  ;  and  I  hope  you 
will  always  keep  your  eye  on  her." 

"  I  mean  to." 

"  Good-morning:." 

"  No  :  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I 
have  something  else  to  say,  not  so 
provoking.  Do  you  know  the  arts 
by  which  she  was  made  to  believe 
you  wished  her  to  marry  again  ?  " 

"  I  wished  her  to  marry  again  ! 
Are  you  mad,  uncle  ?  " 

"Whose  handwriting  is  on  this 
envelope?  " 

"  Mine,  to  be  sure." 

"  Now  read  the  letter." 

Christopher  read  the  forged  let- 
ter. 

"  Oh,  monstrous  !  " 

"  This  was  given  her  with  your 
ruby  ring,  and  a  tale  so  artful  that 
nothing  we  read  about  the  devil 
comes  near  it.  This  was  what  did 
it.  The  Earl  of  Tadcaster  brought 
her  title  and  wealth  and  love." 


"  What,  he  too !  The  little  cub 
I  saved,  and  lost  myself  for.  Blank 
him  !  blank  him  !  " 

"  Why,  you  stupid  ninny  !  you 
forget  you  were  dead.  And  he  could 
not  help  loving  her  :  how  could  he  ? 
Well,  but  you  see  she  refused  him  ; 
and  why  j  Because  he  came  without 
a  forged  letter  from  you.  Do  you 
doubt  her  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.  She  never 
loved  me  as  I  loved  her." 

'•  Christopher,  don't  you  say  that 
before  me,  or  you  and  I  shall  quar- 
rel. Poor  girl !  she  lay,  in  my 
sight,  as  near  death  for  you  as  you 
were  for  her.  I'll  show  you  some- 
thing." 

He  went  to  a  cabinet,  and  took 
out  a  silver  paper  :  he  unpinned  it, 
and  laid  Rosa's  beautiful  black  hair 
upon  her  husband's  knees.  "  Look 
at  that,  you  hard-hearted  brute!" 
he  roared  to  Christopher,  who  sat, 
any  thing  but  hard-hearted,  his  eyes 
filling  fast  at  the  sad  proof  of  his 
wife's  love  and  suffering. 

Rosa  could  bear  no  more.  She 
came  out  with  her  boy  in  her  hand. 
"  O  uncle !  do  not  speak  harshly 
to  him,  or  you  will  kill  me  quite." 

She  came  across  the  room,  a  pic- 
ture of  timidity  and  penitence,  with 
her  whole  eloquent  body  bent  for- 
ward at  an  angle.  She  kneeled  at 
his  knees,  with  streaming  eyes,  nnd 
held  her  boy  up  to  him.  "Plead 
for  your  poor  mother,  my  darling  : 
she  mourns  her  fault,  and  will  nev- 
er excuse  it." 

The  cause  was  soon  decided.  All 
Philip's  logic  was  nothing,  com- 
pared with  mighty  nature.  Chris- 
topher gave  one  great  sob,  and  took 
his  darling  to  his  heart  without  one 
word ;  and  he  and  Rosa  clung  to- 
gether, and  cried  over  each  other. 
Philip  slipped  out  of  the  room,  and 
left  the  restored  ones  together. 

I  have  something  more  to  say 
about  my  hero  and  heroine,  but 
must  first  deal  with  other  charac- 
ters, not  wholly  uninteresting  to 
the  reader,  I  hope. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


209 


Dr.  Staines  directed  Phoebe  Fal- 
con how  to  treat  her  husband.  No 
medicine,  no  stimulants ;  very 
wholesome  food,  in  moderation,  and 
the  temperature  of  the  body  regulat- 
ed by  tepid  water.  Under  these  in- 
structions, the  injured  but  still  de- 
voted wife  was  the  real  healer, 
lie  pulled  through,  but  was  lame 
for  life,  and  ridiculously  lame ;  for  he 
went  with  a  spring  halt,  a  sort  of 
hop-and-go-one  that  made  the  girls 
laugh,  aud  vexed  Adonis. 

Phoebe  found  the  diamonds,  and 
Offered  them  all  to  Staines  in  expi- 
ation of  his  villany.  "  See,"  she 
said,  "he  has  only  spent one." 

Staines  said  he  was  glad  of  it 
for  her  sake  ;  for  he  must  he  just  to 
his  own  family.  He  sold  them  for 
three  thousand  two  hundred  pounds. 
But  for  the  big  diamond  he  got 
twelve  thousand  pounds  ;  and  I 
helieve  it  was  worth  double  the 
money. 

Counting  the  two  sums,  and  de- 
ducting six  hundred  for  the  stone 
Mr.  Falcon  had  embezzled,  he  gave 
her  over  seven  thousand  pounds. 

She  stared  at  him,  aud  changed 
color  at  so  large  a  sum.  "  But  I 
have  no  claim  on  that,  sir." 

"  That  is  a  good  joke,"  said  he. 
"  Why,  you  and  I  are  partners  in 
tlic  whole  thing, — you  and  I  and 
Dick.  Why,  it  was  with  his  horse 
and  rifle  I  bought  the  big  diamond. 
Poor,  dear,  honest,  manly  Dick. 
No,  the  money  is  hone.-tly  yours, 
Mrs.  Falcon  ;  but  don't  trust  a  pen- 
ny to  your  husband." 

"  He  will  neve,  see  it,  sir.  I 
shall  take  him  back,  and  give  him 
all  his  heart  can  a-k  for,  with  this  ; 
hut  he  will  he  little  more  than  a 
servant  in  the  house  now,  u>  long 
as  Dick  is  single:  I  know  that." 
And  -he  could  :-till  cry  at  the  humi- 
liation of  her  villain. 

St. tines     made    her    promise    to 

write  to  him  ;  and  she  did  wi  ile 
him  a  sweet  womanly  letter,  to  B8J 
that  they  wen-  making  an  enormous 
fortune,  and  hoped  to  end  their  days 
18» 


in   England.     Dick  sent   his   kind 
love  and  thanks. 

I  will  add,  what  she  only  said  by 
implication,  that  she  was  happy, 
after  all.  She  still  contrived  to  love 
the  thing  she  could  not  respect. 
Once,  when  an  officious  friend  pit- 
ied her  for  her  husband's  lameness, 
she  said,  "  Find  me  a  face,  like  his. 
The  lamer  the  better  :  he  can't  run 
after  the  girls,  like  some." 

Dr.  Staines  called  on  Lady  Cicely 
Treherne.  The  footman  stared.  He 
left  his  card. 

A  week  afterwards  she  called  on 
him.  She  had  a  pink  tinge  in  her 
cheeks,  a  general  animation,  and  her 
face  full  of  brightness  and  archness. 

"Bless  me!"  said  he  bluntly, 
"  is  this  you  ?  How  you  are  im- 
proved !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  And  I  am  come 
to  thank  you  for  your  pwesewiption. 
I  followed  it  to  the  lettaa." 

"  Woe  is  me !  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  You  diwected  me  to  mawwy  an 
ice  man." 

"  Never  :  I  hate  a  nice  man." 

"  No,  no,  an  Lvishman  ;  and  I 
have  done  it." 

"  Good  gracious  !  you  don't 
mean  that !  I  must  be  more  cau- 
tious in  my  prescriptions.  After 
all,  it  seems  to  agree." 

"  Admiwablv." 

"  Ile  loves  vim  ?  " 

"To  distwaction." 

"  He  amuses  you  1  " 

"  Pwodigiously.     Come  and  see." 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Staines  live  with 
Uncle  Philip.  The  insurance  mon- 
ey is  returned  ;  but  the  diamond 
money  makes  them  very  easy. 
Staines  follows  bis  profession  now 
uniler  great  advantages,  —  a  noble 
bouse,  i  'ii  t  free  ;  the  curiosity  that 
attaches  to  a  man  who  hap  been 
canted  out  of  a  ship  in  mid  ocean, 
and  lives  to  idl  it.  And  then  Lord 
Tadcaster,  married  into  another 
noble  hOUSe,  swears  by  him.  and 
talks  of  him  :   so  does   Lady  Cicely 


210 


A  SIMPLETON. 


Minister,  late  Treherne ;  and,  when 
such  friends  as  these  are  warm,  it 
makes  a  physician  the  centre  of  an 
important  clienteUe;  but  his  best 
friend  of  all  is  his  unflagging  indus- 
try, and  his  truly  wonderful  diagno- 
sis, which  resembles  divination. 
He  has  the  ball  at  his  feet,  and, 
above  all,  that  without  which  worldly 
success  soon  palls,  — a  happy  home, 
a  fireside  warm  with  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Staines  is  an  admiring,  sym- 
pathizing wife,  and  an  admirable 
housekeeper.  She  still  utters  inad- 
vertencies now  and  then,  commits 
new  errors  at  odd  times,  but  never 
repeats  them  when  exposed.  Ob- 
serving which  docility,  Uncle  Philip 
has  been  heard  to  express  a  fear, 
that,  in  twenty  years,  she  will  be 
the  wisest  woman  in  England. 
"  But,  thank  Heaven  !  "  he  adds,  "  I 
shall  be  gone  before  that." 

Her  conduct  and  conversation 
affords  this  cynic  constant  food  for 
observation  ;  and  he  has  delivered 
himself  oracularly  at  various  stages 
of  the  study  :  but  I  cannot  say  that 
his  observations,  taken  as  a  whole, 
present  that  consistency  which  en- 
titles them  to  be  regarded  as  a  body 
of  philosophy.  Examples :  in  the 
second  month  after  Mrs.  Staines 
came  to  live  with  him,  he  delivered 
himself  thus  :  "  My  niece  Posa  is  an 
anomaly.  She  gives  you  the  impres- 
sion she  is  shallow.  Mind  your  eye : 
in  one  moment  she  will  take  you  out 
of  your  depth,  or  any  man's  depth. 
She  is  like  those  country  streams  I 
used  to  fish  for  pike  when  I  was 
young.  You  go  along,  seeing  the 
bottom  everywhere;  but  presently 
you  come  to  a  corner,  and  it  is  fif- 
teen feet  deep  all  in  a  moment, 
and  souse  you  go  over  head  and 
ears  :  that's  my  niece  Posa." 

In  six  months  he  had  got  to  this, 
—  and,  mind  you,  each  successive 
dogma  was  delivered  in  a  loud,  ag- 
gressive tone,  and  in  sublime  obliv- 
ion of  the  preceding  oracle,  "  My 
niece  Posa  is  the  most  artful  woman. 


(You  may  haw,  haw,  haw!  as 
much  as  you  like.  You  have  not 
found  out  her  little  game  :  I  have.) 
What  is  the  aim  of  all  women  1  To 
be  beloved  by  an  unconscionable 
number  of  people.  Well,  she  sets 
up  for  a  simpleton,  and  so  disarms 
all  the  brilliant  people,  -and  they 
love  her.  Everybody  loves  her. 
Just  you  put  her  down  in  a  room 
with  six  clever  women,  and  you  will 
see  who  is  the  favorite.  She  looks 
as  shallow  as  a  pond,  and  she  as 
deep  as  the  ocean." 

At  the  end  of  the  year  he  threw 
ofTthe  mask  altogether.  "  The  ijreat 
sweetener  of  a  man's  life,"  said  he, 
"  is  a  simpleton.  I  shall  not  go 
abroad  any  more  :  my  house  has 
become  attractive :  I've  got  a  sim- 
pleton. When  I  have  a  headache, 
her  eyes  fill  with  tender  concern, 
and  she  hovers  about  me,  and 
pesters  me  with  pillows.  When 
I  am  cross  with  her,  she  is  afraid  I 
am  ill.  When  I  die,  and  leave  her 
a  lot  of  money,  she  will  howl  for 
months,  and  say,  '  I  don't  want  his 
money :  I  waw-waw-waw-waw-want 
my  Uncle  Philip,  to  love  me  and 
scold  me.'  One  day  she  told  me, 
with  a  sigh,  I  hadn't  lectured  her 
for  a  month.  '  I  am  afraid  I  have 
offended  you,'  says  shs,  'or  else 
worn  you  out,  dear.'  When  I  am 
well,  give  me  a  simpleton,  to  make 
me  laugh.  When  I  am  ill,  give  me 
a  simpleton,  to  soothe  me  with  her 
innocent  tenderness.  A  simpleton 
shall  wipe  the  dews  of  death,  and 
close  my  eyes ;  and,  when  I  cross  the 
river  of  death,  let  me  be  met  by  a 
band  of  the  heavenly  host,  who 
were  all  simpletons  here  on  earth, 
and  too  good  for  such  a  hole,  so 
now  they  are  in  henven,  and  their 
garments  always  white  —  because 
there  are  no  laundresses  there." 

Arrived  at  this  point,  I  advise  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  to  retire,  grin- 
ning, to  fresh  pastures,  and  leave 
this  champion  of  "  a  simpleton  "  to 
thunder  paradoxes  in  a  desert. 


